Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

”Doctor Anya... I really can’t—mmph—feel the build-up at all like this. It’s just... pressure. Deep pressure. No finish line.” You let your lashes flutter, playing the confused patient to perfection. ”Is something wrong with my... receptors? Or maybe the donor’s technique isn’t...”

Anya blinked rapidly behind her fogged glasses, cheeks burning as she tried to drag her professionalism back from the abyss. She cleared her throat—twice—then forced her voice into something resembling medical authority.

”Mr. Dexter,” she began, words still trembling at the edges, ”if... if the current... configuration is not providing sufficient... sensory feedback for... for climax, then perhaps... perhaps a layered approach would... would be more effective.” She swallowed hard, eyes flicking to Nathalie’s wrecked, leaking body on the recliner.

”Nathalie... why don’t you... Why don’t you position yourself atop the doll? Provide... provide tactile overlay. Give your husband the... the illusion of... of actual penetration. For... for therapeutic realism. Yes. That’s... that’s the clinical rationale.”

Nathalie didn’t even hesitate. Her eyes were glassy with desperate need; she scrambled off the recliner on shaky legs, thighs slick and trembling, and climbed onto the examination table.

The doll lay flat beneath her—silicone cunt still stretched around half my cock—and Nathalie straddled it carefully, lowering herself so her dripping pussy hovered just above the doll’s mound.

She spread her legs wide, knees braced on either side of the toy, ass lifted slightly so her swollen, cum-smeared holes were presented like an offering. Her own cunt glistened obscenely in the harsh overhead light—lips puffy, clit throbbing visibly, fresh arousal dripping in slow strings onto the doll’s fake skin below.

I stepped forward, cock still buried in the cool silicone, and reached between her thighs. My fingers found her clit immediately—engorged, slick, hypersensitive—and I rubbed slow, firm circles while I rolled my hips, feeding another thick inch deeper into the doll beneath her.

Nathalie’s head fell back on a broken moan. ”Y-yes... god, yes... touch me... please... it’s... it’s almost like you’re inside me again...”

The illusion was filthy and perfect: every thrust I made into the doll pushed the silicone upward, nudging the underside of Nathalie’s clit and outer lips.

My fingers kept working her—rubbing, pinching lightly, then stroking down through her drenched folds to tease her entrance without entering.

She rocked back against the pressure, grinding her pussy against the doll’s mound in tiny, frantic circles, chasing the ghost of real penetration while my actual cock pistoned into the toy inches below.

Olivia and Nancy had stepped to the side—close enough to watch every obscene detail, far enough that they weren’t quite touching me anymore. But neither could look away.

Olivia’s hands twisted in the hem of her scrub top, knuckles white. ”This... this dual-layer stimulation should... should increase... proprioceptive input,” she stammered, voice wrecked.

”The... the warmth from Mrs. Dexter’s... her... her vulva against the... the doll’s surface is... is providing additional thermal... cues. And... and the lubrication transfer is... is...” She trailed off as a fresh bead of my pre-cum leaked out around my cock and trickled down to mix with Nathalie’s dripping arousal.

Olivia’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. ”It’s... It’s creating a... a very realistic... composite environment. Very... very wet. Extremely... conductive.”

Nancy stood beside her, thighs pressed so tightly together I could see the dark patch spreading across the crotch of her scrubs. She tried to contribute—tried so hard.

”Documentation... we should... should note the subject’s manual stimulation of the... the clitoral complex,” she managed, voice high and breathy.

”Simultaneous... simultaneous thrusting into the... the secondary orifice. The... the visual and tactile overlap is... is likely to... to accelerate... ejaculatory inevitability.” She whimpered the last two words like a confession, then added in a tiny, broken whisper, ”It’s... It’s working already. Look how... how hard he’s throbbing inside her... I mean... inside the doll. Under her.”

Anya had one hand braced on the edge of the table now, the other hovering dangerously close to the waistband of her own pants. She watched my fingers circle Nathalie’s clit faster, watched Nathalie’s hips jerk and grind, watched my cock disappear again and again into the toy while Nathalie’s real cunt wept onto it.

”The... the patient is exhibiting... classic signs of... of mounting arousal,” Anya choked out. ”Increased... respiratory rate. Visible... tumescence of the... the glans. Pre-ejaculate production... escalating. Mrs. Dexter’s... her... her pelvic floor is... is contracting rhythmically. She’s... she’s very close again. We... we may need to... to prepare for... for simultaneous release. For... for comparative data.”

Nathalie’s sob was half laugh, half plea. ”Please... don’t stop... rub me harder... fuck that thing deeper... make me feel it... make me cum on top of her while you... while you fill her up instead of me...”

My fingers pressed harder on her clit—rubbing in tight, relentless circles—while I slammed forward, burying myself to the hilt in the doll. The silicone gripped, the pressure of Nathalie’s body above added heat and friction, and her pussy lips kissed the base of my cock on every upstroke, smearing her wetness along my skin.

Olivia let out a strangled sound. ”That... that contact... it’s... It’s direct now. Skin to... to skin. That’s... that’s not protocol, but... but it’s... It’s effective. So... so effective.”

Nancy’s hand finally slipped between her own thighs—over the scrubs, pressing hard. ”I... I need to... to monitor my own... physiological response... for... for science...”

The room filled with wet slaps, broken moans, and the desperate, failing attempts at medical jargon as four women watched—and one begged—while I fucked the doll beneath my writhing, dripping wife.

Nathalie ground down harder against the doll’s mound, her slick pussy lips sliding over the cool silicone each time I thrust deeper into the toy beneath her. My fingers worked her clit relentlessly, pinching and rolling the swollen nub until her thighs quivered uncontrollably.

Pre-cum leaked from my buried cock in steady pulses, mixing with her dripping wetness to create a filthy, glistening mess that smeared across both her real flesh and the fake one below.

Olivia stood inches away, her professional facade crumbling like wet paper. She stared at the obscene junction where my cock disappeared into the doll, her hand slipping under her scrub top without a second thought. Fingers found her own nipple through the thin bra, twisting hard enough to make her gasp.

”Fuck... look at that,” she breathed, voice dropping low and filthy, no more stammering excuses.

”Your cock’s splitting that plastic bitch wide open, but it’s her real cunt that’s begging for it. I can see her clit twitching every time you rub it—god, I’d kill to feel that thick head pounding me instead. Bet you’d stretch me till I scream...”

Nancy pressed closer on the other side, her thighs rubbing together frantically as she abandoned all pretense. One hand dove straight down the front of her scrub pants, fingers plunging into her own soaked folds with a wet squelch.

”Shit, yeah... hump that doll harder, Mr. Dexter,” she moaned openly, eyes glazed with hunger.

”I want to see you wreck it—make it leak your cum like her ass is still doing. Fuck, I’m fingering myself just watching... my pussy’s so wet thinking about how you’d feel balls-deep in me, stretching me raw...”

Anya leaned against the table, her white coat shrugged off her shoulders now, revealing the tight blouse underneath clinging to her sweat-damp skin. She didn’t even try to sound like a doctor anymore—her hand shoved roughly into her pants, knuckles tenting the fabric as she rubbed her clit in furious circles.