Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 418: Mira’s Crying Confession

In a single, frantic movement, Mira extended her hand backward, her petite fingers encircling the girthy root of my dick that remained buried within her. She gritted her teeth and hissed as she gradually—painfully—drew me out.

The withdrawal proved excruciating: her rear entrance gripped every ridged centimeter as if reluctant to release, the swollen, battered edge extending lewdly once more prior to the plump tip emerging with a vulgar, moist pop.

A viscous strand of saliva, pre-cum, and her personal lubrication linked us momentarily before breaking apart. Her opening remained agape briefly—rosy and shining, fluttering in the chilly breeze—prior to commencing its gradual seal, the mistreated circle spasming as though my presence lingered.

She pivoted afterward, shifting to her side to confront me directly on the slim bedding. Her bosom rose and fell with labored gasps, breasts heaving beneath the flimsy tank top, nipples protruding sharply against the material like projectiles.

Perspiration adhered dark locks to her brow and throat; droplets from tears had etched glossy trails along her face. Her legs glistened and quivered, vulva folds engorged and shadowed with excitement, a shiny rivulet of her fluids streaked from her thighs clear to her calves.

For an extended instant, our gazes locked—panting heavily, the atmosphere between us charged and sordid.

Then Mira surged forward.

Her palm darted upward and sealed my lips—strong, quivering digits forcing my mouth closed. Her skin carried the flavor of brine and her own sorrow. Her stare was expansive, feral, irises dilated to inky voids from alarm and a deeper craving—something voracious.

“Shhh,” she murmured, tone raspy and unsteady, scarcely heard above the far-off roar of surf beyond. “Don’t... don’t utter a word. They’ll hear.”

Her free hand lingered below, digits wrapping slackly about my persistently pulsing member—smeared with her anal moisture and drool—as if torn between repelling me or drawing me nearer. She shuddered intensely, the vibration transmitting via each touch point: her hand on my lips, her hold on my length, the press of her naked leg to mine.

I remained still. Silent. Merely allowed my glance to drop toward her grasp on me—my dick twitching in her clasp, oozing new pre-cum that trickled across her fingers—then return to her expression.

She gulped forcefully, neck muscles flexing plainly. Her breaths came short and uneven. The fingers across my mouth shook, yet she kept them in place.

I seized Mira’s quaking hand, my digits enveloping hers with soft yet resolute pressure, sensing the sticky remnants of our prior indulgence still adhering to her flesh. “Come with me...” I breathed, tone deep and gravelly, hardly breaking the dense quiet in the cavern where Angela and Lisa feigned slumber.

I swiftly concealed my continually rigid cock within my trousers, the cloth bulging uncomfortably around the persistent erection, the fastening snagging briefly on the slippery pre-cum that had spread all over.

Mira groped clumsily for a moment—her hands fluttering like foliage in a gale as she grabbed the drenched underwear she’d ejected before, the material stained and gleaming with spittle and tears.

She shoved them hurriedly into her pocket as if hiding a shameful truth, flinching as the action tugged at her tender buttocks. Then she yanked her sagging pants upward over her hips, the elastic band grating harshly against the chafed, palm-imprinted flesh where I’d struck her repeatedly.

She clamped her lip to suppress a whine, her legs remaining glossy and tacky from her own excitement leaking downward like an betrayer’s admission. She trailed after me shoeless, strides tentative yet compliant, the fresh nocturnal breeze striking us like a crisp buffet as we passed the rough cavern entrance, the grains of sand chill and coarse beneath our soles.

Beyond, the lunar orb had ascended further, bathing a pale luminescence over the ebony swells pounding steadily on the boulders, as if the sea derided our hurried respirations.

The atmosphere felt sharp, infused with oceanic essence, dispersing the muggy odor of perspiration and intimacy from the grotto. I rotated to regard her, permitting my face to redden with the simulated guilt I donned like a tailored disguise, my sight falling to the earth separating us as though unable to confront her eyes.

“That... I’m sorry...” I uttered, scratching the rear of my nape clumsily, my words infused with pretended mortification. “I thought you were Angela. When I went out to piss, Angela was lying there, right where you ended up, and when I came back... I just assumed it was her. The light was so dim, and you two switched... fuck, Mira, I didn’t mean to...”

Mira’s complexion turned a profound scarlet, her gaze flitting aside like frightened fowl, clutching her limbs snugly about her form as if to contain the disgrace surging within. Her tone emerged tiny, timid, abashed, fracturing at the borders like fragile frost.

“It’s... Sister Angela... she wanted to lie between us. So we switched places while you were gone. She said it would be warmer that way... closer to the wall or something. I didn’t think... I mean, I didn’t expect you to...”

I furrowed my forehead in overstated bewilderment, advancing a short step nearer, the aroma of her stimulation still attached to her like scent. “Why didn’t you say anything? The moment I touched you... You could’ve stopped me.”

Her eyes jerked to meet mine—abruptly gleaming with a blend of fury and mortification, even as moisture lingered at the rims, poised to cascade.

“How could I?! You... you stuffed that thing—those panties—in my mouth before I could even breathe, let alone speak! I tried to shake my head, to push you away, but you just... ”

“You kept going, whispering all those things about Angela, and I... I was too shocked, too scared to make noise!”

I cringed dramatically, posture sagging as if the globe’s burden had descended upon it. “I’m sorry, Mira... I really didn’t know. Please... don’t tell Angela about it. I don’t know what she’ll think... or do... if she finds out I mistook you for her and... god, the things I did. She might think I wanted this, that I planned it. It could ruin everything.”

Mira’s bottom lip trembled fiercely, her torso undulating with brief inhales. Her voice splintered into a gentle, sobbing pitch, tears at last escaping and carving new routes along her heated face. “Do you... Do you hate me...? After all that... after what happened... do you think I’m dirty now? Ruined?”

The inquiry struck like a blow to the stomach, but I performed it flawlessly, approaching with a tone heavy with fabricated worry. “Why are you saying that? Hate you? Mira, no...”