Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 405: Thumb in Her Ass

A sly grin tugged at my thoughts inside. Angela was fully aware of my game. Each outrageous act chipped away further at Mira’s sturdy defenses—the devoted mom, the loyal spouse, the lady who always played by the rules.

My goal was for her to witness it all, to crave it, to justify it in her mind. I aimed to push her toward that final excuse to surrender... to turn her back on all her cherished convictions... and surrender completely to me.

I lightly tapped the end of Angela’s nose in fun, then fished out the moist remnant of her first panties from my pocket. “Take these back, as well,” I instructed.

Angela looked down at her body, then up at me with a crooked grin. “Your cum’s still dripping from me,” she murmured softly, nearly playful. “These panties will just soak up more. The pants might end up the same way, likely.”

I shifted my eyes to the side briefly.

Mira remained frozen in place. She hadn’t budged at all—partly hidden by the massive trunk of an ancient banyan tree, her palm pressed to the rough bark like it alone supported her weight.

The torchlight highlighted the shiny moisture in her gaze, how her mouth hung slightly open, allowing quick, shaky inhales to escape. She watched without blinking, completely captivated, as the lewd dark blotch grew across the front of Angela’s fresh pants.

Angela lingered there so nonchalantly, legs a bit spread, permitting my cum to keep oozing from her in thick, sticky drops that seeped further into the cloth with each small movement of her hips. And at me—positioned with my cock still semi-erect in my trousers, grinning as if I commanded the entire evening.

I moved right up behind Angela once more, allowing her to sense my warmth, the firm swell pushing firmly into the split of her rear. Next, I swung my palm down sharply—CRACK—straight onto one plump cheek. The noise rang out crisp and dirty amid the foliage.

Angela’s frame jerked sharply. “Aaaah—fuck!” she yelped, a blend of chuckle and groan, curving her spine to push her breasts ahead into the fire’s glow.

She turned her face to glance back at me, her eyes sparkling with that ideal blend of sassy protest and raw desire.

“Hmm... what the hell are you up to? You were so damn rough before... my poor pussy’s going to be puffy and aching by morning. I’ll limp around all day thanks to you, you jerk.”

I wrapped both arms around her waist, digits sinking into the tender skin just over the beltline, drawing her rear into me so she could rub that drenched spot directly along my growing bulge.

My tone stayed hushed and gravelly, yet intentionally clear—loud on purpose—so it reached the dim area where Mira hid.

“Who’s to blame for that, eh?” I rumbled, my mouth grazing the curve of her ear.

“Who played the dirty little flirt, dropping down over my cock and pissing all over it like she claimed it as hers? Warm flow sliding down my shaft, trickling from my balls as you groaned like a slut in season... how could I possibly resist after that?”

Angela released a deep, unashamed chuckle, swaying her hips in a lazy, nasty loop that made the damp cloth scrape against me with a clear squelch. “Mmm... you enjoyed it, though. You stiffened up so much the instant I started. Felt your cock pulsing, desperate to plunge back into me even as I kept leaking on you.”

She slid a hand down between her legs, palming the drenched area and stroking boldly, fingertips shoving the wet fabric onto her puffy clit. “Still can’t wrap my head around how much you unloaded after. See me—your heavy cream’s still flowing out. These pants are wrecked, and I’ve hardly taken ten steps.”

I slapped her rear once more—this time with more force—observing the skin jiggle and turn rosy even beneath the shadowed material.

She let out a sharp cry, followed by a drawn-out, sultry moan, her legs wobbling a touch so she leaned a palm on the closest trunk. That shift forced out another hefty dollop of cum; I watched it stain the cloth darker, a new damp trail creeping along the inner side of her leg.

“Talk that way again,” I warned, my voice sinking into a menacing hum as I rocked my cock into her from the back, making her sense its full girth, “and I’ll fold you over right now and fill that eager pussy with another round. Stuff it so packed you’ll drip for days. Ensure that every seat you take tomorrow reminds you precisely who controls this pussy.”

Angela let out a soft whine, her head falling back onto my shoulder. “God, yes... do it. Fuck me once more. Let it trail down my thighs as I head to camp. Let them all catch the scent of what you’ve done to me.”

She stopped for a beat, then tossed in a husky, mocking murmur that carried like no secret: “Wager Mira’s going crazy back there... picturing you shoving her against a trunk and overflowing her ignored wedded pussy just like this.”

I avoided glancing at Mira’s spot. No point. I caught her reaction—the small, strangled intake she failed to muffle, the soft shuffle of fabric as her legs squeezed tight, likely soothing the pulsing need down there. Her breaths came in harsh, irregular bursts, as if battling the urge to stroke herself.

Mira showed no sign of fleeing. No backing away.

She stood pinned behind that broad trunk, her legs shaking so fiercely I could nearly detect the subtle tremor in her muscles under her jeans. Her simple cotton top—the modest kind she’d use to settle her children for bed—failed to conceal her hardened nipples, jutting pointed and needy against the cloth as if pleading for the touch she’d never sought.

Her stare fixed on Angela’s hand, the deliberate, brazen loops Angela drew across that inky, saturated spot at her groin, working my seeping cum further into the fabric until it shone slickly under the torch’s beam.

I refused Mira any chance to steady herself.

In a single fierce pull, I snagged my fingers in the band of Angela’s ripped first pants—the tattered remnants still hanging limp around her ankles like trophies of war—and tore them fully free. The cloth gave with a pleasing shred, baring the complete swell of her backside, the pale skin marked with lingering pink from prior strikes. Angela gasped in shock, lurching ahead a bit before I gripped her hips to hold her firm.

I parted her cheeks broadly with my hands, exposing the valley to the chilly evening breeze. Then I placed my thumb’s tip squarely on her snug, wrinkled rear entrance—firmly, purposefully, without alert.

Angela went still. Her entire form stiffened.