Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 370: Doctor Anya’s Appointment

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, I pulled her skirt back into place, the delicate material dragging across her heated, overly sensitive thighs in a teasing, drawn-out manner. Once it cinched snugly around her waist once more, the edge hovered so scandalously short that it scarcely grazed the bottom swell of her buttocks—exposing her fully with the slightest lean forward.

The thong was gone now. In its place, my cum-drenched panties were crammed firmly into her rear, widening her, sealing every bit within her eager, twitching passage.

Her blouse got buttoned up sloppily—just two fasteners secured, the others ignored. The sheer silk outlined her puffy, marked breasts like lewd packaging; her chocolate nipples showed brazenly at the sides, tips rigid and inflamed, poking through the cloth with each ragged inhale.

She struggled to slip her feet into the towering red-bottomed Louboutins. As soon as she rose, her leg muscles tensed sharply, and a fractured, yearning cry escaped her lips—the soaked lace bunching further, rubbing her widened entrance, compelling more cream to seep beyond the improvised stopper and flow warmly along her inner legs.

In mere moments, I dressed: dark shirt clinging to my damp torso, trousers fastened over a shaft already swelling anew from viewing her, the crotch stained and tacky from her earlier flood upon me.

The aroma hung heavy and primal, impossible to miss: her pungent arousal nectar, my musky groin perspiration, the briny hint of her underarm lingering on my mouth, plus the raw, undeniable stench of a thoroughly used ass and dense semen oozing gradually past her packed underwear. Showering held no appeal. I craved every sordid trace adhered to me.

Doctor Anya had to catch a whiff the instant we entered—the sharp evidence that I'd freshly transformed my refined spouse into a leaking, rear-stuffed semen vessel right before her session.

I clasped Nathalie's hand. Her palm glistened, slick from anxious perspiration and likely traces of her own wetness that had trailed to her forearm.

"Ready to slink into that clinical office and let the doctor catch the exact scent of what a twisted, semen-filled anal slut you've turned into for me?" My tone stayed hushed, rough as grit, laced with sinister sweetness.

She raised her hazy, widened gaze to meet mine. Her mouth was plump, ajar, quivering with quick gasps. A slender drool thread linked her lower lip to her jawline.

"God yes... fuck yes..." she murmured, her voice splintering.

"I want her to see how ruined I am... smell your cum leaking out of my wrecked asshole... feel how my panties are soaked through with your load and my own juices... It’s throbbing so deep, stretching me open, every step makes me clench and push more out... I’m dripping down my legs... please... drag me to her like this... show her what you own..."

My arm wrapped firmly around her midsection, digits pressing into the yielding skin right over her hipbone. She attempted a regular stride—botched it utterly. With each faltering advance, the drenched fabric wedged in further, scraping her inflamed inner spot, causing her knees to wobble and her pelvis to buck ahead on its own.

Gentle, damp, vulgar squishing sounds marked every motion; new streams of semen and desire trailed down her thigh interiors, shining beneath the corridor illumination.

We tumbled into the rear seat. Silently, the driver accelerated toward the medical center.

Nathalie squirmed without pause—couldn't settle at all decently. Each minor bump, every road dip, thrust the crammed lace more forcefully against her tender insides.

Her back bowed, legs squeezed tight, one palm gripping my leg while the other lingered pointlessly above her crotch, torn between shame and craving to relieve herself before the chauffeur.

A deep, unbroken groan hummed in her voice box. Despite everything, her spare hand wandered to her thighs—fingertips grazing the glossy coating on her legs, then lightly tapping the lewd swell of material right within her expanded opening.

"Fuck... it’s leaking... I can feel your cum sliding out around the panties... my asshole’s pulsing around it like it’s begging for more..." she gasped near my shoulder, tone shattered.

Her pelvis swayed in small, futile loops on the upholstery, pursuing the friction, the expansion, the degradation.

My palm glided along her leg, gathering the heated, tacky path on my digits, then slipped them past her teeth.

"Suck," I commanded softly.

Obediently, she complied—eyes fluttering shut, tongue lapping hungrily at the flavor of her devastated openings mingled with my seed.

The vehicle continued onward.

She persisted in dripping.

And mere moments separated us from revealing it all to Doctor Anya.

Outside the shiny entrance of the Hospital, the car halted. I assisted Nathalie from it—practically hauling her—her limbs shaking so fiercely she could scarcely support herself without my hold cinched at her middle.

Every shift drove the semen-saturated panties further into her dilated rear, expelling new, balmy flows that crept down her leg insides in languid, indecent paths.

In the fresh air, the odor intensified: dense, earthy intercourse, her sharp feminine essence seeping in response, my perspiration and release still daubed on us like badges of conquest.

Through the sliding portals, we entered the chilled, hygienic quiet.

Immediately, attention snapped our way.

Staff in spotless attire halted in their tracks. A desk worker's writing tool dropped with a clink. A pair of female attendants ceased wheeling a cart, jaws dropping slack.

Glances flicked between me (the improbable man, sturdy-framed, arousal still semi-erect and evident through my moist trousers) and Nathalie (crimson-faced, unfocused stare, hem hiked to reveal shiny streaks on her legs, top unbuttoned to expose marked, erect peaks pushing the fabric).

Silence spread like a wave, followed by murmurs igniting like embers.

Their stares roamed us—ravenous, incredulous, eyes expanding. A novice attendant gnawed her lip until crimson dotted it; another rubbed her legs subtly, as though battling an abrupt throb.

My hold on Nathalie's midsection firmed, fingers burrowing into the pliant area above her hip, compelling her onward with another unsteady pace.

She let out a plaintive, fractured keen—pelvis twitching as the wet blockage shifted within. Another surge slipped free from her packed entrance, pattering softly onto the shiny tiles in small, moist spots.

The murmurs turned raunchier, tones quaking with pent-up desire.