Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 353: Mira’s Bra Pops, Tits Spill Free

I pivoted slightly in her direction, allowing the flames to light up my entire form—my cock standing thick and stiff, pointing boldly skyward, its tip darkened and shining subtly in the flickering light.

"I’m not letting them bite me there," I snarled, my tone gravelly with feigned haste and genuine desire. "Hell if I know what these ants are capable of—they might be damn poisonous, for all I care."

Her objection faded away unspoken.

Mira's hazel eyes, wide and unblinking, fixed downward—riveted—upon my hard-on. For a few intense heartbeats, she just gazed, mouth slightly open, her breaths quick and irregular.

The redness beginning on her face now spread along her neck and over the upper curves of her chest, tinting her flesh a warm pinkish hue. Her arms, folded defensively across her bosom, relaxed a bit; one palm slid downward without thought until her fingers grazed the edge of her trousers, shaking lightly.

"Hide... hide that away," she stammered, though her voice emerged gentle, broken, more like a whisper of longing than an order. Her stare stayed glued to my shaft; in fact, it intensified, her pupils dilating hugely in the glow of the fire.

Mira's words broke once more, even quieter, as the heat flushed from her face to the rise of her bosom.

"Look... look away, you deviant..."

Yet even while uttering those words, her arms hung loosely folded—no longer fully concealing, no longer truly guarding. Her legs stayed clamped firmly, tiny involuntary movements revealing the persistent ants still irritating the damp, engorged crease of her intimacy under the tattered undergarments.

I refused to turn.

"No way," I replied, deep and gritty. "I’ve got to get rid of these damn ants before they head to more dangerous spots."

Instead, I moved nearer to the flames, the warmth caressing the fronts of my legs, casting my body in dancing orange tones and darkness. My erection—throbbing intensely, with prominent veins bulging beneath the stretched flesh—protruded ahead, its reddened tip gleaming softly with a drop of pre-cum that shimmered in the fire's radiance like liquid amber.

My fingers dropped from my member, causing the sturdy shaft to sway weightily once prior to steadying, remaining firm and shiny in the fire's gleam as if pleading for her caress.

With my back facing her, my posture firm, all my muscles tensed in expectation, the chilly evening breeze played over my exposed body as the fire's glow warmed my chest.

A dull throb pulsed in my balls, swollen and laden, and I sensed yet another droplet of pre-cum forming at the end, trickling gradually and tackily along the bottom of my length. Damn, the idea of her watching me—though out of my sight—made it pulse stronger than before.

From behind, Mira's breaths grew uneven—brief, harsh intakes hinting at fear clashing with a deeper instinct, a dirty warmth knotting up her core.

I realized those cursed ants kept going, their minuscule feet scampering across her tenderest areas like tiny jolts of electricity, but it had shifted beyond mere agony; it was becoming something sinful, something impossible to dismiss.

Her peaks, released from that frilly confinement, had to be diamond-firm, tightened in the cool evening, craving a twist or a lick. And further down—hell—her folds puffy and wet, her sensitive spot emerging, twitching at each unintended graze from the bugs or her quivering digits.

"You jerk... finished yet?" she snapped, her voice strained with need, yet now laced with a throaty quality, as if holding back a groan. "Face forward right now... and don’t even think of glancing back. I’ll end you."

But the way she uttered "end you" sounded airy, nearly teasing, as though challenging me to push her limits. The embarrassment echoed in her tone, and I imagined her face scorching crimson as her form rebelled, her legs slippery with excitement unrelated to terror now.

I stayed perfectly still. Rather, I angled my head a touch, sufficient to direct my words toward her, in a deep murmur tinged with pretended worry that oozed playful mischief. "Got any of those ants creeping in there too?" I inquired, allowing the phrase to linger thickly, provocative.

"Have you lost your mind? Hurry up and brush them off—what are you holding out for? You wouldn’t want them nipping at that cute little slit of yours, right? Or perhaps... you would?" I tacked on the final part with a grin she couldn't spot, my shaft twitching at the lewd vision—her writhing, the ants toying with her nub until she leaked, frantic.

Her response was a strangled, angry "Jerk..." that dissolved into a quiet inhale, right as another insect trailed directly across her throbbing button.

The humiliation scorched through her, that much was clear—far too stubborn to undress before me, yet too aroused to halt the blaze igniting in her thighs. She moved, and a subtle slick sound reached me, her legs chafing pointlessly, just worsening the sensation.

At last, the noises arrived—delicious, wicked symphony to my hearing.

Initially, the gentle click of her bra hook undoing, despite her prior attempt; perhaps verifying, or her fingers quaked too much for a proper first go.

A swift, desperate shuffle of lace while she pulled the bands from her shoulders, the material sighing over her damp-with-sweat flesh.

I envisioned it vividly: the dark bra cups lifting from her rising chest, her plump, weighty breasts tumbling out with a gentle jiggle, tips already sharply erect, shadowed and stiff from the bugs' unceasing provocation and the nasty warmth gathering deep inside.

Several rapid passes of her palms, flicking the critters off, though I wager her digits paused—swirling around those rigid points, squeezing a tad too firmly, sparking surges right to her center. Then the light taps of small forms dropping to the ground and a stifled cry she attempted to stifle.

Following that—her trousers scraping downward, hesitant initially, then wild. The hush of cloth gliding along her rounded legs, bunching at her ankles with a muted drop. She stumbled free of them, and I caught her flinging them away, the action likely causing her rear to sway enticingly.

Then the clear noise of fabric and trim being tugged free in a single urgent, risqué pull: her drenched underwear stripped from the spot where it adhered lewdly to her inflamed lips, the material adhering briefly before peeling off with a damp pop.

A tiny, unintended breath slipped from her as the fresh night chill struck her exposed core—warm, slippery, and pulsing, her folds inflated and shiny, her clit protruding like a tiny switch yearning for a press.

I listened as she shook the clothes fiercely, soft bumps and flutters while she aimed to remove the remaining ants, her breaths escalating, nearly heaving, every out-breath quivering with the mix of mortification, ease, and the persistent throb the insects had ignited.