Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 410: Jetpack Ride: Mira’s Shock

Angela's eyes sparkled with joy like a holiday feast. She relaxed against the chilly stone wall, her hand drifting idly to her lower belly—right above the spot where my cum lingered, still seeping out gradually.

"I crave a thick, juicy ribeye steak—medium rare, with edges seared perfectly, swimming in garlic herb butter. And a large glass of red wine—something rich, smooth, the type that colors your lips. Make it luxurious, husband. Pamper me."

Lisa slapped her palms together excitedly. "Hamburger! Double cheese, extra crunchy bacon, pickles, onions, everything on it. Golden fries—salty and piping hot. And a chocolate milkshake so dense I have to use a spoon. Pile on extra whipped cream."

Mira remained silent for a moment, her gaze shifting between Angela and me. The desire in her eyes went beyond mere hunger for a meal. It mirrored the intense, wide-eyed longing from the previous night when the pants materialized—pure wonder blended with a fiercer, more profound urge. She yearned to witness it once more. She sought confirmation. She longed to see the unbelievable unfold before her very eyes.

Yet we continued the pretense—acting as if this ability was something we were still "concealing" from her.

Angela noticed the expression right away. She moved nearer to me, wrapping an arm around my waist, her fingers spreading claimingly across my abs. "Dexter... I believe we can rely on Mira now. Truly rely on her. You no longer need to keep it secret from her."

Lisa agreed vigorously, already savoring the thought by running her tongue over her lips. "Yes. She's witnessed plenty of strange things by now. We should just include her in the enjoyment."

I looked into Mira’s eyes, pretending a hint of hesitation. "I understand... but it's tough. Describing something like this... it alters everything. Folks don't typically react well to it."

Angela’s grin grew mischievous—teasing, nearly feral. She drew closer, her voice lowering to that seductive murmur she employed for provocation. "Husband... let me reveal it to her. It's thrilling~ I've been eager to witness her reaction when she finally acknowledges what she suspects."

Mira cocked her head, adopting a convincingly bewildered look worthy of an award. "What... what do you all mean?"

Angela giggled, approaching Mira as if confiding the most tantalizing secret imaginable. "Mira... didn't you wonder how Dexter conjured that pizza from thin air last night? Fresh, steaming, with cheese bubbling away? And those beers—chilled to perfection, beads of moisture trailing down the bottles? You stared at them like they were illusions. Because they were."

Mira proved an impressively skilled pretender. She creased her forehead, her mouth tightening into ideal simulated puzzlement. "Wasn't that merely... a sleight of hand? He must have discovered some preserved pizza in a deserted site, warmed it by the flames... correct? And the beers might have been chilled in a nearby brook or similar. It was smart, but..."

Angela burst into laughter—deep, resonant, full of glee—fully aware Mira was fabricating. She joined the act seamlessly, her eyes gleaming. "Alright, alright... okay. Just inform my husband what you'd like to eat. And choose something challenging for him this round. Something intricate. Something impossible to mimic with simple fire-cooking methods."

Mira paused—barely an instant—then locked eyes with me. Eagerness flared there, vivid and voracious. "I desire... sushi. Fresh salmon nigiri, bluefin tuna rolls with avocado, wasabi served separately. And a generous bowl of tonkotsu ramen—rich pork broth, extra soft-boiled eggs featuring runny yolks, nori sheets, green onions, bamboo shoots... all of it."

Angela applauded once, thrilled. "Ideal. Now—everyone—fix your gaze on my husband. Don't blink. Don't make a sound."

I inclined my head, allowing a relaxed, easy grin to form on my lips. With a simple thought command, I purchased the items and retrieved them all from System Storage.

A subtle ripple passed through the air.

Initially: Angela’s ribeye materialized on a level stone surface—plump slice, browned exterior shining, garlic butter pooling in warm rivulets, vapor ascending in savory wisps. Next to it: a sturdy crystal goblet filled with deep cabernet, eddying gently, reflecting the light like crimson.

Lisa’s double cheeseburger appeared afterward—bun browned to a deep amber, cheese melting over crunchy bacon, pickles visible, fries heaped tall and crunchy, flecks of salt glinting. The chocolate milkshake rose high in a chilled glass—viscous so the straw remained upright, whipped cream mounded generously.

Mira’s platter arrived final: a refined wooden plank bearing sushi—salmon nigiri shining in pale rose, tuna rolls neatly coiled and flawless—alongside a hot bowl of tonkotsu ramen, broth milky pale, eggs split to reveal creamy golden yolks, green onions sprinkled like festivities.

The scents assaulted simultaneously—roasted beef, soy sauce, bone broth, cocoa, vintage—filling the cavern as though a dining spot had just materialized within.

Mira’s chopsticks tumbled from her grasp, rattling against the rock.

"H-how...?" Her words broke—soft, quivering. "How could this be? This... this defies logic... the sushi is fresh. The fish—it’s shimmering as if freshly sliced. The ramen... It’s still piping hot. The eggs... they’re flawless. This can't be genuine. This can't—"

Angela moved nearer to me, molding her form tightly to my side, one hand gliding up my torso possessively as she regarded Mira with triumphant, nearly arrogant fondness.

"My husband is a god, Mira."

Mira’s head jerked upward. "What?"

Angela prodded me lightly, her eyes dancing. "Husband... observe her. She refuses to accept it still. She’s straining to make sense of it. Why not demonstrate something truly enchanted? Something she can't dismiss as ’stored provisions and a smart fire’."

I grinned slyly, delved into System Storage, and extracted the Magical Tool—the polished obsidian wand vibrating with subtle azure power.

I aimed it at a stone the size of a fist lying nearby.

The stone gleamed, elongated, remolded—transforming into a shiny black sports car, its engine rumbling softly and menacingly.

Mira inhaled sharply, retreating a pace. "No... impossible..."

I gestured with the wand once more. The car crumpled inward, alloy bending like foil, reconfiguring into a dull-black assault rifle—safety disengaged, muzzle polished.

Mira’s fingers rose to cover her mouth. "That’s... utterly impossible..."

Another wave. The rifle melted away and reformed as a streamlined jetpack—harnesses extending, boosters firing with a gentle azure light.

Mira’s legs wobbled faintly. "Dexter... what are you?"

Before she could comprehend more, I advanced, encircled her waist with one strong arm—dominant, claiming, drawing her tightly to me—and engaged the jetpack.

We rose from the floor in a fluid, quiet surge. Mira shrieked—sharp, surprised, sheer astonishment—gripping me immediately. Her arms encircled my neck, legs coiling around my hips in a frantic hold, thighs clamping my sides so firmly I sensed the urgent warmth from her core despite the fabric barriers.