Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Diana’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, one that carried the weight of centuries and the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly where she stood.

The corners of her eyes crinkled just slightly, as if she were savoring the moment, the way one might relish the first sip of a fine wine.

”I am his aunt,” she said, her voice smooth, almost musical, but with an edge that demanded attention. ”And his official wife.”

The words hung in the air like a blade suspended above silk. Angela’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to still—even the droplets of water clinging to Angela’s skin paused their descent.

She didn’t lash out. Didn’t snarl or bare her teeth. Instead, her shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, as if she’d been handed a truth she couldn’t argue with, no matter how much it stung. Her fingers, still resting possessively on my waist, tightened almost imperceptibly before loosening again.

”Official wife...” she repeated, the words tasting foreign on her tongue, as though she were testing their weight, their meaning. There was no anger in her voice, only a quiet, reluctant acceptance, as if she’d just been outmaneuvered in a game she hadn’t even realized she was playing.

I turned my head to look at Angela, my expression unreadable. The air between us was thick with unspoken questions, with the kind of tension that only exists when two forces of equal will collide. ”Yeah,” I said, my voice low, almost casual, as if I were confirming the weather. ”She’s the wife chosen by my mom. I brought her back from my timeline.”

Angela’s grip on me faltered for the first time. Her dark eyes, usually so sharp and knowing, widened as the implications of my words crashed over her like a wave. ”Your timeline?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality unfolding before her.

”You mean... You can travel back and forth between different timelines?” The question wasn’t just disbelief—it was awe, laced with the faintest thread of fear. She had seen me do the impossible before. She had felt the impossible in the way I moved, the way I commanded the world around me. But this? This was something else entirely. This wasn’t just power. This was control over the very fabric of existence.

I didn’t answer with words. A single, slow nod was all it took.

Angela’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven rhythms. She had always known I was more than human—more than anything she had ever encountered.

She had felt it in the way time seemed to bend around me, in the way the soldiers outside snapped to attention at my mere presence. But time travel? The ability to pluck someone from another era, another reality, and bring them here? That wasn’t just godlike. That was the kind of power that could unravel the universe if wielded carelessly.

For a moment, she just stared at me, her mind racing. Then, as if the weight of it all had finally settled into her bones, she exhaled a shaky breath.

”Oh, my god...” The words escaped her in a rush, barely more than a sigh. Her fingers, still damp from the shower, trembled slightly where they rested against my skin. She wasn’t just shocked—she was humbled, in a way she hadn’t been in a long, long time.

Diana watched the exchange with a satisfied glint in her eyes, as if she had just witnessed the final piece of a puzzle click into place.

There was no triumphant smirk, no gloating—she didn’t need to. The truth of her position, of our position, was written in the way Angela’s confidence had wavered, if only for a moment.

It was in the way Angela’s fingers had trembled, in the way her breath had hitched, as if the ground beneath her had shifted ever so slightly. Diana’s satisfaction was quiet, almost serene, the kind that came from knowing she held a power no one could take from her.

And me? I just stood there, watching them both, a faint smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. Because this was only the beginning. The real game was just getting started.

Angela pulled back slightly, her arm still loosely wrapped around my waist, as if she were reluctant to let go completely. She turned her gaze to Diana, her expression a mix of defiance and curiosity, as though she were sizing up a rival she hadn’t expected to respect.

”I... I am Angela,” she said, her voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. ”I am Dexter’s woman.” The words weren’t a challenge—they were a statement, a reminder of her place in my world, in my life.

Diana tilted her head slightly, her eyes tracing Angela’s form with an appraising gaze. There was no malice in it, no jealousy—just a quiet acknowledgment of something she couldn’t deny.

”Oh, I know who you are, Angela,” Diana said, her voice warm but carrying a teasing edge. ”Dexter has told me so much about you.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment, watching as Angela’s grip on me tightened ever so slightly. ”Though I have to say, he didn’t do you justice.”

Angela’s eyebrows rose, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. ”Oh?” she said, her voice sharp but intrigued. ”And what exactly did he say?”

Diana chuckled softly, a sound that was both playful and knowing. ”Oh, you know Dexter. He’s not one to gush. But I can see why he’s so... attached to you.” Her gaze dropped for a moment, lingering on Angela’s chest, where the delicate black lace of her bra struggled—and failed—to contain the fullness of her breasts.

The fabric was damp, clinging to her skin, and the sheer material did little to hide the soft curves beneath. ”Though I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be this... well-endowed.” She smirked, her eyes flicking back up to meet Angela’s. ”They are as big as mine.”

Angela’s cheeks flushed at the boldness of Diana’s words, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could suddenly shield herself from Diana’s gaze.

But it was futile. The lace was too thin, too sheer, and the dampness only made it worse. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, outlining every curve, every swell, in a way that was impossible to ignore. ”You’re... quite direct,” Angela said, her voice a mix of amusement and discomfort. ”I wasn’t aware Dexter had a habit of comparing his women.”

Diana laughed, the sound rich and warm. ”Oh, he doesn’t have to. A woman knows these things.” She stepped a little closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ”Tell me, Angela, do you always walk around like this when Dexter’s away? Or is this a special welcome-home outfit?”