Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 389: Mira’s Heavy Tits Mold to My Shoulders

With care, I guided her to turn until her back pressed against the tree trunk, then lowered her softly onto the cushioned grass below.

Mira gazed at me through large, hesitant eyes, her face reddened by both agony and shame. "Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.. after a while.."

"Shh," I murmured softly, repeating the calming whisper from before when my thumb had touched her lips. "Allow me to handle this."

Gently, I raised Mira’s hurt foot with boundless care, my fingers grazing the slim strap of her sandal before sliding it off. The footwear came away without resistance, exposing the graceful curve of her sole, where her polished nails gleamed under the dim moonlight.

Next, I removed her sock—delicately, to avoid disturbing the sensitive area—and placed both items on the grass nearby. Her exposed heel nestled into my hand as if it were its natural place; it felt heated, tender, slightly moist from the muggy evening atmosphere that enveloped Lucknow once night fell.

My other hand supported her lower leg, with my thumb positioned along the sleek muscle, sensing the faint tremor of discomfort that remained in her muscles. As I turned her ankle ever so slightly—just to check—she drew in a quick gasp.

"Ow—!" Her unoccupied hand rushed to her lips, stifling the exclamation into a quiet, personal whimper.

"Easy," I breathed. "I’ve got you."

I started the massage—methodical, circular motions using my thumbs to apply light pressure to the puffy area just over the ankle bone, extending along the tendons, then returning to the center.

The movements flowed in a steady, captivating pattern. I began with feather-light touch, then increased the depth as the warmth from my hands drew out the swelling. Her breaths grew even; the tension creasing her forehead relaxed.

Time slipped by quietly, broken only by the whisper of leaves above and the far-off hum of the party we had abandoned.

Soon, the noticeable puffiness diminished—the skin evened out, the irritated redness ebbed away until her ankle appeared pristine once more. Mira released a prolonged, trembling sigh.

"Dexter..." Her tone was gentle, astonished. "I feel much better. The pain... It’s almost gone."

She hadn’t truly registered the change yet. Hadn’t sensed the subtle flow of Eternal Vitality I had directed into her while her eyelids drooped, the faint golden heat I allowed to flow from my hands directly into her flesh, mending sinews and joints to flawless condition in mere moments. A hidden boon, unseen, untraceable. She’d never realize the full extent of my restoration.

I offered her a slight, lopsided grin and placed her foot back on the grass with caution.

"But you’re still not ready to trek all the way back," I noted, my voice hushed and practical. "Not just yet. The terrain’s rough, and you might sprain it again if you bear weight too quickly."

Without waiting for protest—or even full comprehension—I pivoted, dropping to my knees before her and offering my back.

"Why not hop on?" I suggested, glancing back. "I’ll give you a piggyback ride. It’ll be simpler. Safer."

I refused to let her dwell on it. "Hurry—we need to get there before the light fades more. Let’s go."

Mira paused for just a moment. Then I sensed her moving closer—her small hands gripping my shoulders as she leaned in. Her torso molded tightly to my back; the plush, ample form of her breasts compressed warmly against me through our flimsy garments.

A faint, unintended noise slipped from her—a soft "Aaha..."—part shock, part something rawer, more open. Her arms encircled my neck, hesitant initially, then firming as she wrapped her legs around my hips to steady herself.

I slid my arms beneath her thighs, hands supporting the undersides of her knees, and rose fluidly. She weighed little—much less than the emotional burden she carried, with all that openness and reliance clinging to me like an extra layer. Her breath brushed hot against my neck’s side; her face hovered close to my ear. Each stride I made swayed her softly against me, her form adapting naturally to my walking pace.

The route to the parking spot lay still now, with most attendees already heading toward the glowing lamps by the entrance. I moved at a measured pace, intentionally, allowing the closeness of our stance to deepen between us. Mira’s fingers intertwined lightly at my collarbone; now and then, they tightened, as if affirming her right to cling so firmly.

Within me, that shadowy endurance unfurled further.

I rose effortlessly, Mira’s form nestling completely onto me as though designed for it. Her thighs gripped firmly around my midsection, the supple inner strength contracting on instinct to stay balanced. Her arms encircled my neck more securely, digits weaving into the strands at my neck’s base, her warm exhales grazing my throat’s edge with each breath.

And then—God—her breasts.

They pressed warmly into my upper back the moment I stepped forward, their full, weighty softness shaping ideally to the firm surface of my shoulder blades via only the light fabric of her kurta and my shirt.

No bra this evening, or if present, it was too sheer to matter, providing no true shield. I sensed every voluptuous contour of hers, the manner in which her nipples—already stiffened by the chilly night breeze or maybe by something far more provocative—brushed faintly against the material with every shift in my gait.

The pattern emerged at once, unavoidable.

Step. Her breasts trailed upward along my back in a languid, enticing slide, the rub transforming her nipples into firm, persistent nubs that taunted me across two thin fabrics.

Step. They descended once more, landing heavier, hotter, the complete undersides molding into me like lush fruit yearning for support.

Each motion swayed her subtly forward and backward against me. The shift seemed minor to distant observers—just a guy transporting a hurt lady—but in this nearness, it was sheer, agonizing sensuality.

Her pulse hammered against my spine in rapid, quivering beats. Her breaths turned light, ragged; every few paces, a small, unwitting noise slipped out—a quiet "mmh" or a faint intake—each resonating directly into my flesh.

I maintained my speed intentionally leisurely, prolonging the trail’s effect. The garden lamps spaced wider here, darkness gathering thicker, creating a sense of seclusion despite the lingering voices from the central event.

No one could precisely observe how her body shifted against mine, how her hips tilted faintly with my steps, rubbing the warmth from her legs against my lower back in small, unwitting loops she likely didn’t even notice.

In my mind, the low, pleased laugh echoed once more.