Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 397: Two Asses Pissing in Sync

With a muffled snarl, I broke free from Angela's grasp, my dick pulsing with sharp agony as it sprang loose from her fingers. Stealthily I crept forward—boots hushed on the scattered leaves, breathing steady—until the enormous oak tree loomed before me.

As I pressed against it, the coarse bark grazed my shoulder, my frame tilted precisely to glance around the bend without detection.

Mira's shaky torchlight sliced through the shadows like a beam highlighting forbidden acts.

There they stood.

I edged nearer—breath bated, pulse racing alongside the relentless ache of my cock straining against the zipper—leaning further past the rugged bark.

In Mira's unsteady hold, the torchlight flickered a bit, throwing wild shadows, yet it held firm enough to reveal each lewd feature in stark, merciless glow.

There they crouched, Mira and Lisa, positioned together like exposed tributes under the night sky, spines bowed a touch for support, trousers and undergarments yanked down messily to tangle at their knees—baring the complete, fair swells of their rears to the chilly woodland breeze.

Lisa started things off, her guard outfit tugged low solely to unleash her hips. Her rear formed a pinnacle of sculpted beauty—solid, sporty globes initially squeezed firm, the light skin shining beneath the light like smooth stone.

A subtle layer of moisture gleamed in the crease, where her snug rear entrance tightened clearly, blinking under the illumination as she eased up.

She widened her legs more for steadiness, leg sinews tightening, and her vaginal folds—puffed and rosy from the evening's mounting strain—separated gradually, exposing the moist inner layers already leaking with far beyond mere eagerness.

A gentle exhale slipped from her mouth, airy and easing, as the initial warm gush surged out: a robust, vigorous spray of yellow urine curving in an ideal, vaporous path. It sizzled sharply on the parched foliage underneath, splashing in steady beats that drenched the soil into dark, sodden patches.

Sprays of liquid scattered, glinting in the torch's rays like small gems, a few bouncing back to dot her inner legs with cozy, tacky dampness.

Her rear globes quivered with every strain, the skin rippling softly as she pressed harder, expelling further—extended flows now, pouring consistently, the earthy aroma sharpening and personal in the atmosphere.

Her vaginal entrance gripped around the stream, outer lips quivering, the small nub emerging rigid and pulsing as though the letting go pushed her toward something dirtier.

Urine gathered amid her feet, fizzing a little prior to soaking in, abandoning her globes and crease sparkling with errant beads that ran along the rear's swell like playful strokes.

Mira, next to her—damn, Mira—embodied timid, shaking openness. Her fuller, gentler rear globes divided effortlessly in the profound crouch, lush and alluring, the fair mounds opening slightly to show the dim furrow in between.

Her rear entrance formed a compact, pinkish ring, spasming anxiously from the reveal, ringed by the soft tuft of black strands that sparkled in the light like mist-dampened fabric.

She adjusted her stance, legs quaking as she fought to remain balanced, her women's trousers knotted at her feet, limiting her stance—but that intensified the allure, compelling her knees closer and her rear to thrust outward more, globes spreading broader.

Her vaginal lips, puffed and glossy from the night's playful warmth, dangled full and divided in the torch's shine—deeper, excited pink inside, shining with her personal fluids blending with the rising urge. She nipped her lip, a faint whine escaping—part embarrassment, part easing—as the barrier at last gave way.

The opening burst was hesitant, a brief, warm trickle sliding along her inner leg, heating her flesh before she let go completely.

Then it rushed: a mighty, surging flow of urine bursting from her opening in a chaotic path, sizzling fiercely as it struck the dirt with potent splashes. The current started uneven—intense bursts that made her rear jiggle, globes shivering with each squeeze, urine misting out in thin veils that speckled her shins and the surrounding ground.

Beads stuck to her outer lips, pulling into yellow strings before breaking loose, her nub expanding clearly under the force, pulsing as it yearned for contact.

The aroma struck me stronger then—pungent, womanly, blended with her excitement—as her flow grew to a dense, constant rush, forming a hot pool under her that mirrored the torchlight upward, lighting the rear's base in damp, yellow luster.

Her rear entrance contracted with each effort, tightening and loosening as she drained herself, legs trembling from the effort and the taboo rush, a new blush spreading along her spine as though she felt unseen gazes on her deepest secret.

Urine spilled over the pool, flowing toward Lisa's, blending in a sordid mix, the joint sizzle resounding like a hidden melody.

From my spot, their forms bent together now—backs curving elegantly, locks falling ahead—rears fully bared, curved and defenseless, globes divided amply to hint at every secret line.

The torchlight seized every bit: how Mira's urine tapered to slow leaks, adhering to her layers before dropping; Lisa's closing effort, a final surge that abandoned her crease leaking and glossy.

They lingered in the crouch a moment more—breaths ragged, legs glossy, openings bared and twitching in the aftermath—as if relishing the primal, beastly unleashing... or fearing the instant they'd clean and dress, concealing what my gaze had already claimed.

My dick throbbed intolerably then—swollen, stiff, seeping constantly into my trousers in warm, gluey beats that stained the cloth dark at the crown.

Each pulse carried another surge along the length, fluid trailing beneath, causing the rough fabric to stick lewdly to the widened tip. The shadowy craving twisted deeper in my core, a beast that hungered for beyond mere sight.

Mira was shattering—her form revealing her timidity with each shining bead that had run down her inner legs, each tremble of her lush rear as she released under that pitiless light—and before long, she'd yearn for more than simple easing.

She'd yearn for the stares, the palms, the dick that had shadowed her looks all evening.

I watched them move—Lisa standing first with a faint whisper of cloth, yanking her snug outfit back over her solid rear, Mira trailing behind more hesitantly, face still red as she drew her trousers over moist flesh, dabbing quickly with foliage before rising.

The torchlight lifted, snagging the gloss of sweat and urine on their legs for one last, dirty instant.

I retreated to Angela's position before they circled the tree—noiseless, hunter-like—my hardness jolting sharply with every stride.

Angela waited there, propped on the trunk with arms folded beneath her full chest, lifting them so her peaks pressed obvious against her shirt. Her gaze fell right to the blatant swell bulging my pants, the damp patch now coin-sized, and her mouth twisted into a languid, dirty grin.

She drew near, warmth from her form pressing into me, one palm gliding low to cup my dick once more—digits outlining the wet shape, gripping the moist tip through the cloth until I gasped.

"Do you want to see... me peeing?" she murmured, tone rough and laced with allure, lips grazing my ear.

"I can let you take a closer look... really close. Spread my legs wide, hold the light right between my thighs so you can watch every drop slide out of my wet cunt. You can even touch if you want—feel how hot and slippery I am after watching those two."