Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 391: No Trust Left for Mira

Mira's mouth trembled, yet a strangled cry escaped her. She attempted once more, stuttering with frantic urgency, "J-Jack, please... hear me... my ankle truly got injured... I c-couldn’t move... Dexter lifted me because... because the pain overwhelmed me... I’m speaking the truth, I vow by our children..."

Her tone shattered entirely on that final phrase. New tears cascaded over her face, blending with the crimson imprint from the slap.

I advanced closer, lifting my hands in a display of fretful worry, my tone tuned just right—concerned, sincere, a bit unsteady.

"No—Jack, please, hear me out. It’s nothing like that. You’re getting it all wrong. We’re blameless. Nothing occurred, I promise on my life..."

Jack whirled toward me as if eager to rip out my windpipe.

"Oh, you pair of beasts—male and female in rut!" he growled. "Do you believe I’m sightless? Her ankle pained her so intensely she couldn’t step, so you needed to hoist her like a wanton bride on her wedding night? Then why in hell is there zero blemish on it right now?!"

He stooped low with flair, seized Mira’s ankle harshly, and pulled it out for all to inspect. The flesh appeared perfect—sleek, unscarred, without puffiness, no flush, no abrasion, zilch.

"See this!" he bellowed, his pitch breaking amid victory and fury. "Not one damn trace! Craft a smarter lie next time you deceive, you disgusting duo of frauds!"

Mira remained rigid, her frame quaking fiercely. She refrained from shouting in return. She skipped any further hesitant plea. She just crumbled.

Quiet, gut-wrenching cries ripped through her as she gazed at the ground, droplets flowing nonstop from her jaw.

The onlookers' scornful glares bore into her from all directions—murmurs of "shameless," "whore," "poor Jack," faint chuckles from several tipsy attendees. Her weeping rang so genuine, so completely heartbreaking that for a fleeting, odd instant, even I sensed a faint twinge resembling remorse.

Resembling.

For this setup was ideal.

Jack hawked a glob at her toes, then pivoted sharply and charged toward the dwelling, Bill throwing one final reviled glance at his mom prior to trailing after.

The attendees started to scatter in groups, already fishing out devices, already firing off the rumors.

Mira stayed planted in place on the moisture-kissed turf, shuddering like foliage in the fading gust. The scarlet palm outline on her face burned fiercely beneath the lamp glow, a vicious mark of all that had just collapsed before scores of observers.

Droplets etched shiny paths along her features, falling quietly onto the earth by her uncovered soles. She appeared tiny—tinier than ever before—drained, completely isolated amid the expanding ring of condemning looks.

I met Angela’s gaze over the brief gap. One purposeful, knowing blink. She grasped it right away.

Angela approached without pause. She traversed the turf in swift, quiet strides, her silk scarf billowing after her like a soft appendage.

Upon arriving at Mira, she held back words initially—just encircled her with both arms in a strong, encompassing embrace. Mira went rigid for a moment, then slumped into her, face pressed into Angela’s side. The cries that had stayed hushed up to then erupted in subdued, tearing surges.

Angela gripped her firmer, one palm gliding steadily along Mira’s spine, whispering gentle, soundless reassurances into her locks. The assembly observed—some with compassion, most with barely hidden contempt—but Angela paid no mind. She just remained there as a barrier until Mira’s sobs eased into uneven, gasping inhales.

Mira at last raised her head, lids puffy and bloodshot, fringes matted with moisture. She scanned Angela’s expression with exposed, urgent longing.

"Don’t you... Don’t you doubt me as well?" Her tone fractured on each syllable. "Don’t you believe... that I truly share something... with your spouse?"

Angela shook her head gradually, gaze firm and warm.

"I trust my husband," she stated plainly. No added details. No justification. Merely calm assurance.

Mira’s mouth opened on a hushed, fractured breath. "Trust..." she murmured, the term feeling strange on her lips. Trust. The element nobody had extended to her this evening. Not Jack, who had labeled her a harlot before the crowd.

Not Bill, who had eyed her with loathing and departed. Not even Nicole—her very daughter—who had lingered stiffly next to her son, stare broad with disloyalty and humiliation.

They had all branded her whore, slut, a shameless one. The phrases lingered in her mind, freezing her spirit until it resembled frost splintering beneath steps.

Angela cradled Mira’s unharmed side of the face tenderly, finger wiping off a new droplet.

"Sister... Mira... let’s depart this place," she uttered gently. "If we linger further, we’ll just become a spectacle. No benefit arises from remaining here in this manner."

Mira’s eyes wandered over the turf—toward Bill and Nicole, who clustered together by the light’s border, limbs folded, expressions shut tight. Then to Jack, who slouched against a post with a flask gripped, glaring at her as if she were grime he yearned to scrub from his boot.

"My children..." Mira’s tone quivered. "They require me..."

Angela pressed her shoulders. "Sister, I’m not urging you to forsake them. Absolutely not. I’m merely suggesting... let’s settle our nerves. Everyone. Allow the evening some space to settle. Then we can converse, we can clarify, we can attempt anew once the rage has faded. At this moment... right now they’re too wounded to listen to you."

Mira regarded her offspring for an extended while. Then an inner shift occurred—not quite yielding, but a fatigued, drained yielding.

"I understand," she breathed.

She scrubbed her features harshly with her scarf’s hem, blurring moisture and liner into shadowy lines. Then, with measured, purposeful paces, she headed toward Bill and Nicole.

Both stiffened as she drew near.

Mira halted at a proper interval. Her speech was faint, raspy from the weeping.

"Look after yourselves," she uttered. "Please... avoid any risks. Nourish well. Rest. Reach out if you require something... even if it’s merely to berate me once more."

Bill’s chin tightened; he averted his view. Nicole gnawed her mouth until it paled, gaze gleaming yet holding back tears.

Mira faced Jack at the end.

"Jack..." Her speech wavered. "I’m placing them under your watch."

Jack snorted—a rough, rejecting noise, akin to chasing off a wandering mutt.

"Vanish from my view," he grumbled, spinning away.

A new droplet trailed down Mira’s face. She left it untouched this round. She merely pivoted and headed back our way—toward Angela, toward me—her naked feet noiseless on the turf.

The darkness had settled completely by then. The lamps appeared fainter, the atmosphere chillier, denser with the aroma of evening flowers and far-off showers. The majority of attendees had wandered to the edges or to their vehicles; the turf felt expansive and deserted.