Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 431: Angela’s Swollen Pussy

I didn’t tease Mira anymore.

I eased my finger out of her still-fluttering asshole—slow, deliberate, letting her feel every inch of withdrawal until the puffy rim winked shut with a tiny, wet pop. A thin string of her own slick and my precum stretched between us for a heartbeat before snapping.

Mira let out a long, shaky sigh of relief, her whole body sagging against me like the tension had finally drained out of her.

But when she lifted her head, her cheeks were flaming crimson, eyes glassy and annoyed. She rolled them dramatically—classic Mira sass—even as her thighs trembled and fresh wetness glistened on her inner legs.

I smirked, brushing a damp strand of hair off her flushed face.

She tried to stand—quick, determined, like she could escape the embarrassment by sheer willpower—but her knees buckled the second she put weight on them.

A soft, mortified ”fuck—” slipped out as she grabbed my shoulder to steady herself, legs wobbling like a newborn foal. Her torn dress—once a skimpy little thing that had clung to every curve like sin—hung in pathetic rags around her hips now, barely covering the sticky mess between her thighs.

”I... I’m going to wash myself...” she stammered, voice cracking, refusing to meet my eyes. ”I... I smell like... like sex and shame and your cum...”

Her gaze dropped to the shredded fabric clinging to her body. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

”Give me a new dress... and I want a decent one. That one was so obscene... everyone could see my ass cheeks every time I moved.”

I chuckled low—dark, amused—already reaching into the duffel bag I’d dragged in from the jeep yesterday.

I pulled out the clothes from Supermarket Store: dark-wash denim jeans, snug but not slutty, a plain black t-shirt that would hug her tits just enough to remind me what was underneath, and a black leather jacket—soft, worn-in, the kind that smelled faintly of newness and adventure.

”Here, baby girl,” I said, handing them over with mock formality. ”Decent enough for my embarrassed little wife. Though I gotta say... I liked seeing you half-naked and dripping my load down your legs.”

Mira snatched the bundle from me, shooting me a glare that was equal parts annoyed and helplessly aroused. She turned her back—modest now, suddenly—and started shimmying into the jeans.

The denim slid up her thighs with a soft rasp, hugging the curve of her ass like it was painted on. She had to wiggle her hips to get them over the swell, and every little bounce made her cheeks jiggle just enough to remind me how red and marked they still were from my hands.

The t-shirt came next—stretching tight across her chest, nipples poking faintly against the fabric even through the bra she’d managed to salvage. The leather jacket went on last, zipped halfway up like armor.

She looked... fuck, she looked edible. Innocent on the surface, but I knew what was underneath: a freshly-fucked asshole still tender and winking every time she shifted, a pussy that hadn’t stopped leaking since I pulled out, thighs sticky with the evidence of how many times she’d come on my cock last night.

Mira smoothed her hands down the front of the jacket, took a deep breath, then finally turned to face me—chin high, cheeks still burning.

”Better,” she muttered. ”At least now I don’t look like I just got railed in a cave by my... by you.”

I stepped closer, crowding her space just enough to make her pulse jump in her throat.

”You still smell like you got railed in a cave by me,” I murmured, dipping my head to drag my nose along the side of her neck. ”Sweat, cum, that sweet little tang of your pussy when you squirt... It’s all over you, baby. No amount of new clothes is hiding that.”

She shivered—hard—then shoved at my chest weakly.

”Stop... or I’ll never be able to walk out of here without everyone knowing.”

I grinned, stepping back with my hands raised in mock surrender.

Before she could say anything else, movement caught my eye at the cave mouth.

Lisa.

She stepped inside, silhouetted against the pale morning light for a second before the shadows swallowed her again.

Her eyes flicked between us—Mira standing there freshly dressed and flushed, me naked and half-hard, cock still glistening from Mira’s ass—and something dark and hungry flashed across her face.

Lisa licked her lips once—slow, deliberate, tongue dragging across the lower one like she was tasting the memory of last night’s mess—then walked toward us with that predatory sway she couldn’t quite hide.

Angela stirred then—groggy, eyelids fluttering open like she was waking from a fever dream. She blinked once, twice, then pushed herself up on shaky elbows.

A soft, pained whimper escaped as she sat fully upright, legs splaying apart instinctively. Her pussy was on full display—swollen, dark pink lips puffy and glistening, clit still engorged and peeking out like a little pearl, inner folds slick with the remnants of her endless squirts and my cum that had leaked down from her wrecked asshole overnight. She stared down at herself, brows furrowing in a mix of complaint and filthy satisfaction.

”Hmph... It’s all swollen now...” she muttered, voice thick with sleep and lingering lust. One finger traced the outer edge of her mound—barely touching—and she hissed softly at the sensitivity.

”You bad guy... fucked me so hard I can barely close my legs... my poor little pussy’s throbbing as it got pounded by a jackhammer...”

Mira’s eyes snapped to Angela’s exposed cunt like magnets. The blush that had barely faded roared back across her cheeks—bright, guilty crimson.

She swallowed hard, thighs pressing together under the new denim, but the movement only made her wince. Every tiny shift reminded her of the burn still lingering in her own asshole, the way it had stretched and gaped around my cock at dawn.

She tried to move toward Angela anyway—limping, awkward, each step sending a fresh jolt through her core. A soft gasp slipped out every time her weight shifted forward—half pain, half the filthy aftershock of remembering how deep I’d been inside her.

”Angela...” she breathed, voice small and trembling, reaching out like she needed to touch, to comfort, to share the ache.