Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 401: Angela’s Crotch Ripped with a Loud Chrrrr

Angela pressed close against me, her rough whisper tickling my ear: "I almost came three times... just from walking... my clit’s so fucking sensitive now... if I move wrong, I’m gonna squirt right here in front of them..."

Across the flames, Mira perched—her stare glued to Angela’s lap, to the blatant damp mark, to how Angela’s thighs continued to quiver. Words failed her. Yet her breaths raced, light and rapid, fingers knotting the grass, legs grinding subtly in frantic loops.

Lisa flung another branch onto the blaze, embers leaping skyward.

The evening dragged on—gentle fire popping softly, sodden denim sticking to Angela’s legs, her exposed pussy seeping constantly under the wrecked seam of her pants, and Mira gazing from the other side like a creature famished.

Her gaze darted repeatedly to Angela’s lap, to the shadowy, widening blotch on her trousers, to how Angela’s hips jerked in small, uncontrolled loops whenever she adjusted.

The trap ensnared her tightly now. And Angela—bare pussy slick and oozing beneath her jeans—served as ideal lure.

Mira and Lisa positioned themselves facing us, reclining against the broad oak trunk, legs pulled close, flickering fire glow casting their features in dancing amber and gloom.

Lisa appeared at ease, nearly entertained; Mira seemed devastated—face reddened, mouth ajar, breaths light and hurried, thighs squeezed so firm that a slight shake rippled through her limbs.

I met Angela’s gaze and pitched my tone just loud enough to reach over the fire. "Wife... let’s go to sleep."

Angela looked toward Mira—intentionally lingering—before giving a single nod. She crawled my way on all fours, the shift causing her jeans to scrape harshly against her naked clit.

Upon arriving, she slipped into my embrace, her back molding to my chest, limbs entwining with mine. Her mouth brushed my ear, her breath warm and unsteady.

"I feel... itchy... in my pussy..." she murmured, her tone breaking at the end. "It’s throbbing so bad... every time the denim drags over my bare clit I almost cum again... fuck, Dexter, you ruined me."

I pulled her closer, one arm wrapping her midsection, the other drifting low to palm the drenched front of her jeans—mashing the soaked material directly onto her puffed folds. She quivered sharply, teeth sinking into her lip to stifle the groan.

Next, I rolled us over fluidly—so I spooned her from behind, torso to her spine, pelvis snug against her rear.

Angela confronted Mira and Lisa over the fading fire; her front lay open to their sight, while my frame concealed much of my hands’ impending actions.

I nuzzled into her raven locks—drawing in the aroma of campfire, perspiration, and the subtle sharpness of her prior urine-tinged excitement—then trailed my palm down the swell of her butt, gripping one side firmly enough to draw a soft gasp.

My erection—still rigid, still dripping—thrust demandingly against the rear of her jeans, precisely where her bare pussy wept under the cloth.

Angela’s breath caught. No moan escaped—none could—but her form curved faintly, urging backward into me, pleading without sound.

She raised her chin slightly to address across the fire, tone even though a shake coursed through her. "Mira... Lisa... you can sleep. Husband will keep look-out. Don’t worry."

Mira and Lisa agreed—Lisa with a casual "Night," Mira with a hesitant "Okay..."—and stretched out on the ground.

Yet Mira rolled to her side, facing Angela straight on. Their stares connected over the dim blaze—Mira’s broad and hazy, Angela’s hooded and shadowed with desire.

I held a scheme.

My digits located the moistened front of Angela’s jeans. I snagged two into the stitching beneath the zipper—and ripped.

A deliberate, gradual tear sliced the still night—cloth yielding to my force, the gash forming a jagged opening directly above her naked pussy.

Mira’s head snapped up. "What’s that sound?"

Angela’s eyes widened in alarm. She managed a composed, winded chuckle. "It’s... nothing. Probably... some rustling of leaves due to wind..."

Mira scowled, eyes falling to Angela’s lap—but the fire’s glow and position concealed the harm for the moment. She eased down again, gaze lingering, breaths still too rapid.

I refused to pause.

I tugged my zipper open—shaft bursting out once more, hefty and glossy, tip shining with new pre-cum. Angela sensed the broad head prod between her legs right away. She stiffened, legs spreading barely enough beneath the shredded denim.

I seized her shoulder—solid, claiming—aligned, and drove forward.

The crown of my cock invaded her with a gradual, unyielding glide—widening her exposed, urine-slicked channel broad, compelling her engorged folds to yield to my thickness. Her core felt like searing silk—scorching, sodden, gripping eagerly the moment I pierced.

The slick schlick of entry remained soft yet lewd, her fluids sheathing me at once, trickling down my sack in heated streams.

Angela’s eyes bulged. She clamped her bottom lip fiercely, a drop of blood forming. A stifled groan hummed in her throat—"Mmmphhh..."—hardly restrained, masked as a drowsy exhale. Her frame spasmed once, pelvis tilting back on its own to swallow more length.

Mira’s eyebrows knit. "Angela? You okay?"

Angela mustered a trembling grin, tone fracturing, phrases spilling in hitches as I plunged further—another stout segment distending her quivering walls, tip scraping her g-spot. "Y-yeah... I’m f-fine... just... nnh... tired... long night... hah..."

I hilted fully—sack snug to her rear through the split denim, each throbbing vein sunk completely in her convulsing core. Her depths pulsed madly around me, squeezing my length like a frantic grasp, clit pulsing against the coarse lip of torn cloth.

A new surge of her essence seeped around my root, drenching the denim more.

Angela’s palm shot backward—nails clawing my hip, wordlessly urging motion while she battled silence. "Mira... you... you should sleep... really... we’re... we’re all safe... nnnghh..."

The final noise leaked as a choked whine—sharp and yearning—when I withdrew a fraction and shoved back, languid and profound, churning her drenched interior.

Her pussy gripped fiercely, walls quaking, striving to draw me deeper. The damp schlick rang clearer now; she squeezed her thighs shut on reflex, locking my cock firmer within.

Mira levered up on one arm, worry blending with a deeper shade—intrigue, craving. "You sure? You sound... weird. Like you’re in pain or something."

Angela’s eyes fluttered shut briefly as I circled my hips—mashing the plump tip of my cock to her cervix, hauling every ridge over her tender front wall.

Her clit snagged on the shredded denim edge, chafing roughly with each minor shift. A new flood of pussy-fluid spurted around my shaft, drenching my balls and pattering the earth.

"I-I’m... f-fine... really..." Angela stuttered, pitch rising with each syllable as I launched a deliberate, tormenting pace—brief pumps that held me embedded, tip tormenting her g-spot without mercy. "Just... ah... sore... from... from walking... nnh... earlier... hah... my legs are... are shaking..."