Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 505: Meeting Hot Aunt Diana

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head as I watched Mom’s retreating figure, her hips swaying with that deliberate, teasing rhythm she used when she knew she’d hooked me.

That childish, knowing glint in her eyes—like she’d just handed me a live grenade and was waiting to see if I’d throw it or keep it.

This is the first time she’s ever asked me to do something like this.

Not that Mom ever asked. She suggested. She implied. She dangled opportunities like forbidden fruit, her voice dripping with honeyed poison.

But this? This was different. Diana wasn’t some random conquest, some office plaything Mom had pushed my way. She was Mom’s friend. Her college friend.

I can’t treat her like I would a Stone Age woman.

No rough hands, no brutal dominance—not unless I wanted to risk Mom’s wrath. And something told me Diana wasn’t the type to break easily. She’d be softer, smarter, more refined. A challenge in a different way.

I pushed the thoughts aside, rolling my shoulders as I adjusted my tie. First, I needed to meet her. See her. Understand her. Then, I’d figure out how to make her call Mom what she wanted—without crossing a line I couldn’t come back from.

Breakfast was a spread—golden pancakes stacked high, crisp bacon arranged like a delicate lattice, fresh fruit glistening under the morning light.

The maids had outdone themselves, as always. I ate in silence, the clink of my fork against the fine china the only sound in the empty dining room. My mind raced, scenarios playing out—how would Diana react to me? Would she be resistant? Curious? Already aware of Mom’s games?

The clock on the wall ticked closer to 2 PM, each second echoing like a drumbeat in my skull. Time to move.

I pressed the fob, and the garage door hummed open, revealing my fleet—the sleek, predatory Bugatti, all sharp angles and raw power, and the black Mercedes-Benz S-Class, its curves polished to a mirror-like sheen.

Normally, I’d take the Bugatti—the thrill of speed, the growl of the engine, the way it announced my presence before I even arrived. But today? Today, I had luggage to consider. And Diana.

I slid into the Mercedes, the leather seats warm and supple beneath me, the new-car scent mingling with the faint hint of my cologne.

The engine roared to life with a deep, throaty purr, the vibration humming through the steering wheel beneath my fingers.

I flexed my grip, feeling the power coiled beneath me, before pulling out, the tires gripping the paved driveway with a soft hiss.

The open road stretched before me, the wind whipping past the windows as I accelerated, the cityscape blurring into streaks of color.

When I reached the airport, my mind raced, scenarios unfolding—how would Diana react to me? Would she be reserved? Playful? Already aware of the game Mom had set in motion?

Then it hit me.

Shit. I didn’t ask Mom what Diana looks like.

I gritted my teeth, my knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. How the hell was I supposed to find her in a sea of strangers? Should I call Mom, admit my oversight, and risk her teasing? Or wing it and hope for the best?

The decision was made for me.

Because then I saw a woman.

She stood near the arrivals gate, a vision so striking that the entire airport faded into a hazy blur around her.

Tall. Elegant. Her posture regal, despite the luggage she dragged behind her, the wheels rolling smoothly over the polished tile. Her blonde hair was straight, silken, a golden waterfall cascading over her shoulders, catching the light like molten metal.

It framed her face—high cheekbones, sharp and defined, full lips painted a deep, wine-red, and eyes that were hazel, flecked with gold, sharp and assessing, like she was already dissecting me before I’d even spoken a word.

But it was her body that rooted me in place.

Her tits were magnificent—full, heavy, swelling against the red high-neck sweater that clung to her like a second skin.

The fabric strained over her cleavage, hinting at the deep valley between them, the swell of her breasts rising and falling with every measured breath.

The sweater hugged her waist, accentuating the gentle flare of her hips, before flaring into a black long skirt that swept the floor, the fabric swirling around her ankles with every graceful step.

The skirt clung to the curve of her ass—round, firm, the kind that would overflow my hands if I gripped it.

She turned, her gaze scanning the crowd—

—and then she smiled.

Directly at me.

"Hello..."

Her voice was like warm honey, smooth and rich, with a hint of something darker—amusement? Challenge? Her lips curled, her teeth sinking into her lower lip for just a second before she stepped closer, her heels clicking against the tile floor, the sound sharp in the bustling airport.

"You must be Dexter..." Her eyes raked over me, slow, deliberate, lingering on my shoulders, my chest, before flicking back to my face.

"My goodness..." She chuckled, her hand pressing to her chest, her fingers splayed over her breasts in a way that drew my eyes like a magnet.

"When I met you last time, I could hold you in my arms..." Her gaze darkened, just a fraction, her tongue darting out to wet her lip.

"Now look at you..." Her voice dropped, softer, warmer, like velvet wrapped around steel. "All grown up."

I cleared my throat, straightening my tie under her intense stare, my cock stirring in my pants. "Aunt Diana."

Her eyebrows lifted, just a touch, her smile turning playful, knowing. "Oh, please..." She waved a hand, her fingers long and elegant, her nails painted that same dark red as her lips.

"Call me Diana." Her tongue peeked out again, tracing her lower lip before she bit it, just lightly, her eyes flicking to my mouth, then back up, lingering there for a beat too long.

"’Aunt’ makes me feel ancient." Her voice was a purr, her fingers brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the movement drawing my eyes to the delicate curve of her neck.

I grinned, slow and knowing, my fingers flexing on the luggage handle as I reached for it. "Okay, Diana."

Diana’s lips parted, just a fraction, her breath hitching before she recovered, her smile sharpening, predatory. "Mmm."

Diana slid into the passenger seat with a grace that belied the tension humming between us, her skirt riding up just enough to tease the smooth expanse of her thighs.

I stowed her luggage in the back, the thud of the suitcase echoing in the confined space before I slid back into the driver’s seat.

And that’s when I noticed.

She hadn’t buckled her seatbelt.

I leaned in, my face inches from hers, my voice a dark murmur. "Diana..."

She jolted, her breath hitching, her eyelashes fluttering as she stared at me, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. "D-Dexter—!" Her voice was breathy, uncertain, her fingers clutching the edge of her seat.

I didn’t pull back.

Instead, I reached across her, my arm brushing the swell of her tits, my fingers finding the seatbelt. Her breath hitched again, her body tensing as I pulled the belt across her lap, the buckle clicking into place with a sharp snap.