Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 361: Tricking Bill

Mira's tears fell from her chin in streams, splattering against the stone just inches away from my face—hot, briny droplets that settled right on my cheek.

I scaled upward more, acting as if each small advance drained my blood, my air, and my resolve—until my hand lay close enough to grasp.

Mira's fingers grazed mine—trembling fiercely.

"Yeah... just give me your hand... we've got you... We've got you, Dexter... come on—come on—!"

I stretched upward—my fingertips meeting hers—then I intentionally drew back, allowing my "hold" to loosen slightly, making my body droop like my power was giving out.

"It's too dangerous, Mira..." I whispered hoarsely, my voice heavy with pretended agony and fatigue. "If we're not careful... I might drag you both down... I—I can't risk that... not you... not Bill... I'd rather drop than bring you with me..."

Mira shook her head wildly—tears scattering everywhere.

"No—no—no—just give us your hand—there are two of us—pulling you is not difficult—please, Dexter—please trust us—please let us save you!"

Bill abruptly leaned out farther—guilt etched on his features, his voice quiet.

"Mom... let me pull him up. Let me do it. Please."

Mira paused—then gave a swift nod, her voice quivering.

"Okay—Bill—grab him—careful—be careful—don't let go—!"

I held out my hand.

Bill's damp palm wrapped around my wrist—shaking, hesitant.

I braced my feet on the cliff wall and pressed down—subtle, constant pressure—so even with Bill's strongest tug, I hardly shifted.

Mira's brow furrowed—bewilderment slicing through her fear.

"Bill—what are you doing? Why can't you pull him—? Pull harder—pull with everything—!"

She bent out more—extending her free hand to seize my wrist next to Bill's.

The instant her fingers clamped onto me—firm, frantic—I eased off the downward push.

They yanked as one—and I lifted a couple of inches.

Mira's voice burst with frantic optimism.

"Yeah—just a bit more—Bill, what are you doing? Pull—pull harder—use both hands—!"

Bill's hold grew slippery from sweat—quivering, sliding.

I devised a sharper idea—something harsher, more ideal.

I activated the Supermarket Store interface inside my thoughts.

Purchased.

It appeared right away on the fingers in Bill's grasp—cold metal slipping onto my index finger.

I activated the concealed trigger.

A thin, scentless spray burst over Bill's palm.

His fingers loosened immediately—numb, powerless. He couldn't even curl them around my wrist now.

All my weight plunged onto Mira by herself.

She gasped—her eyes flaring wide with alarm and rising terror.

"Bill—what are you doing—?! Hold on—HOLD ON—! Don't let go—Bill—!"

Her clasp tightened in desperation—both hands now gripping my wrist, nails biting into my flesh, muscles bulging.

I aided her—allowing her to haul me up bit by bit—until my chest rose past the ledge.

Mira dragged me the final stretch with a strained grunt—pulling me onto firm earth, tumbling back with me partly atop her.

The second I was secure, she flung herself across me—arms encircling my neck, form squeezing firmly against my own.

I sensed her full breasts pressed flat to my torso—plush, heated, rising and falling with each gasping, crying breath.

"Dexter—oh God—Dexter—you're safe—you're safe—you're alive—"

She pressed her face into my neck—tears drenching my skin, her body quaking so hard that every shudder passed through her to me.

I encircled her with my arms—tender, shielding—embracing her as if she alone tethered me to existence.

Behind her, Bill remained rooted—hands dangling loosely, complexion ashen, gazing at his numb digits in bewilderment and mounting disgrace.

Mira drew away slightly to cradle my face—thumbs wiping away grime and staged blood from my cheeks, tears still flowing.

"I thought I lost you," she breathed, her voice cracking repeatedly. "I thought you were gone forever."

I locked eyes with her—calm, unwavering, showing her every bit of the "hero" she longed for me to embody.

"Don't worry, I am fine..." I said, softly clearing her tears.

Then she embraced me once more—firmer—murmuring fractured words near my ear:

"Thank you... thank you for saving my son... thank you for coming back to me... thank you for not dying..."

I kept her near—sensing her pulse pound against mine—and grinned into her hair where she wouldn't notice.

The ring had vanished already—melted away into inventory.

Bill lingered mute—his hand limp and idle, remorse and puzzlement marked on his youthful features.

Mira at last twisted her head—her gaze sharpening as she spotted Bill there, unmoving, unhelpful, just fixated on his own hand.

Her look changed—joy fading into doubt, then into budding wrath.

"Bill... why didn’t you pull? Why did you let go? I felt it—your hand just... stopped. What happened?"

Bill stuttered, his voice tiny.

"I—I don’t know, Mom—my hand—it went numb—I couldn’t—I couldn’t hold on—"

Mira's features stiffened.

"Numb? You let go because your hand went numb? He was hanging there—Dexter was hanging there—and you just... let go?"

Bill recoiled.

"I didn’t mean to—I swear—I tried—"

Mira rose—still clutching me, though her frame rigid with abrupt rage.

She faced Bill completely.

"You tried? You tried? He almost died saving you—again—and you couldn’t even hold on for ten seconds?"

Her tone sharpened—piercing, quaking with ire.

Bill retreated a pace.

"Mom—I—"

She advanced—swiftly.

Her palm struck his cheek—sharper than earlier, the crack resounding like thunder.

Bill's head jerked aside. A crimson mark flared at once on his skin.

"Don’t you dare make excuses!" Mira yelled, tears continuing but now blended with anger. "He threw himself off a cliff for you! He could have died—for you! And you stand there whining about your hand going numb? You ungrateful—selfish—little—"

She lifted her hand once more.

Bill winced—tears rising in his eyes.

"Mom—please—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—"

Mira's hand halted in mid-swing.

She regarded him—truly regarded—and a shift cracked her demeanor.

She let her arm fall.

Her shoulders slumped.

She pivoted back to me—eyes brimming anew.

"I’m sorry, Dexter... I’m so sorry..."

She dropped down next to me—drawing me in again, hiding her face in my shoulder.

I ran my fingers through her hair—gently, calming.

"It’s okay," I whispered. "He’s just a kid. He’s scared. He’s in shock. It's not his fault. Don’t blame him."

Mira nodded into me—sobbing softly.

Bill remained there—cheek burning, gaze lowered, tears falling to the soil.

He didn't utter a word.

He didn't stir.

He simply eyed his numb hand... and the manner in which his mother held onto me like I was her sole remaining anchor in the world.

I embraced Mira more firmly.

And smiled—subtle, concealed, triumphant—into her hair.

The slap had been flawless.

The numbness had been flawless.

Her fury toward her own son—flawless.

Now, each time she glanced at Bill, she'd recall how he "failed" her right then.

And each time she glanced at me, she'd recall how I never faltered.

How I rescued her son.