Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 371: Doctor Anya Prescribes Sex Toys

Nathalie's breathing caught, turning into a moan she was unable to hold back. One hand gripped my shirt tightly, while the other lingered close to her lap, fingers quivering as though desperate to ease the intense pressure building within her.

I bent closer, my lips grazing her ear. "You sense their stares, don't you, baby?"

She nodded wildly, her eyes glazed over and unfocused. "Yeah... damn... they can detect your cum seeping from me... my ass is tightening around those panties... forcing even more out... it's trickling down my thighs... please... keep going..."

We arrived at Dr. Anya's office, located at the corridor's far end. Each stride brought Nathalie a mix of agony and bliss—her calves tightening in the red Louboutins, her ass cheeks squeezing under the skimpy skirt, every shift producing a faint, slick sound that rang out in the abrupt silence.

I rapped on the door once. Solid. Commanding.

"Enter..." The calm, expert tone drifted from within.

Anya's office carried the scent of disinfectant mixed with costly fragrance—right up until our entrance.

The door latched closed after us, trapping the heavy, primal aroma of lust with the five of us inside. Anya occupied the space behind her broad desk, clad in a neat white coat, her silver hair tied back strictly, spectacles resting on her nose.

On her left, Olivia (in her early thirties, blonde ponytail, lab coat sleeves pushed up to reveal firm forearms) and Nancy (late twenties, cropped black hair, name tag a bit crooked) leaned over a pile of patient files, their pens halted in mid-scribble.

All three lifted their heads simultaneously.

Anya's face colored right away—two vivid pink spots appearing high on her cheekbones. Her eyes darted from my features to the prominent swell still pressing against my moist trousers, then shifted to Nathalie: skirt pulled up improperly, thighs shining with new streaks, blouse parting to reveal the marked undersides of her breasts, nipples standing rigid like tiny peaks beneath the silk.

Olivia's pen fell from her grasp and tumbled over the desk. Nancy drew in a quick breath via her nostrils, which widened, before she sealed her lips to contain any emerging noise.

"Kindly... have a seat," Anya said, her tone rougher than what workplace etiquette demanded.

I steered Nathalie ahead. She attempted to settle properly—without success. Rather, she balanced awkwardly on the chair's side, one hip raised, one buttock suspended to prevent the drenched bundle of panties from pressing further into her widened opening.

In doing so, her skirt inched higher; a shadowy, damp area spread clearly over the light skin of her right buttock—dense, milky semen that had escaped the borders of her improvised stopper and drenched the material.

She remained unaware.

But the others weren't.

Three pairs of eyes fixed on that shiny mark. Three noses flared in synchronized, uncontrollable response.

Olivia's legs squeezed beneath the desk. Nancy's breaths grew quick and noticeable. Anya took off her glasses with shaky hands, placed them aside, then tilted forward a touch—sniffing once more, longer now, as if resistance was futile.

"What... is that odor?" Nancy murmured, her voice breaking at the end. She seemed half-famished.

Anya gulped noticeably. "It's... quite unique."

Nathalie's breath snagged into yet another muffled moan. Her elevated hip quivered; the motion caused a new spurt of my semen to seep beyond the taut edge of her asshole. A gradual, heated stream flowed along the rear of her thigh, in plain view to all present, gathering at last on the leather below her.

Anya's pupils had expanded fully behind her composed facade. "Nathalie... are you... hurt? Or... ill?"

Nathalie shook her head rapidly, her glazed gaze jumping among the three women like a cornered creature. "No... I'm not hurt..." she breathed, her voice hoarse and unsteady. Her face flamed red as she glanced my way, searching for approval, for aid, for further indulgence.

I lowered my gaze to the ground, shoulders slumping, acting the role of the guilty, overburdened spouse. My words emerged soft, quivering, hardly heard. "Doctor... this... It's on me. Seeing Nathalie in that outfit... prepared for the visit... I lost all restraint. We... we went at it. Right in the bedroom. I simply... gave in."

Anya's throat moved clearly. She grasped it at once—I'd taken my wife fiercely and completely just before arriving, filled her up, let her drip all along the hospital halls.

The realization lingered in the atmosphere like haze. She cleared her throat with a quick cough, attempting to restore decorum, yet her voice had already dropped, grown more throaty.

"Did you... attempt the technique I suggested previously?" she inquired, her eyes shifting between us.

I shook my head, still fixed on my footwear, my tone fracturing with pretended remorse. "Doctor... forgive me. I truly can't hold back. During the sessions you oversaw here, I fought it... I restrained myself. But at home... just us... I'm sorry, Doctor. I failed."

Anya's flush intensified, creeping to her neck. Olivia and Nancy had frozen entirely—breaths light, eyes enlarged, legs clamped firmly under the desk. The space stank of our presence: heavy semen, widened ass, Nathalie's ongoing gradual drip, my scent still attached to our bodies.

Anya cleared her throat once more. "Have you... found outlet with others? Or... employed devices? To meet your needs without... overwhelming Nathalie?"

I shook my head swiftly, gaze lowered. "No, Doctor. Not at all. Just her."

Anya let out a breath, drawn out and unsteady. "In that case, I urge you to consider sex toys. They might... ease the pressure. Offer your wife a break."

I raised my head finally, allowing frustration and fierce desire to show in my look. My voice broke on purpose. "But Doctor... how could any device compare to... the genuine article? To something so warm, so firm, so penetrating... I—"

Anya interrupted, sitting up straighter, striving for firm command despite her nipples hardening visibly through her blouse and her pupils remaining dilated. "Mr. Dexter," she stated firmly, "not all remedies are pleasant. You mustn't focus solely on your satisfaction. I'm deeply worried about your wife's well-being."

"If you persist... in keeping her this way constantly—stuffing her over and over, expanding her past her body's limits for recovery—she could suffer serious harm. Rips. Infections. Lasting laxity. Is that the future you desire for Nathalie?"

Nathalie let out a whimper at the statement—part humiliation, part overwhelming excitement. Her raised hip shook; another heavy strand of my cum pushed past the soaked panties and trailed noticeably along her inner thigh, falling to the floor in a deliberate, shining drop. The damp area on the leather seat under her had expanded clearly.