Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

The last traces of Jennifer’s pussy still clung to my toes, the musky, sweet scent of her arousal lingering as I swallowed the last bite of my breakfast.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my gaze lingering on Emily for a moment—her lips still swollen from our kiss, her eyes bright with innocence.

I leaned in, cupping her face, and crushed my lips against hers one last time, my tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She moaned softly, her body melting against mine, her fingers clutching at my shirt.

I leaned in, my hand cupping her face, my thumb brushing over her swollen lips. ”Be a good girl while I’m gone,” I growled, my voice rough with promise.

Then I crushed my mouth against hers, my tongue plunging past her lips, claiming her in a deep, sloppy kiss. Emily moaned, her fingers clawing at my shirt, her body arching into mine. I pulled back, leaving her breathless, her lips glistening with saliva, her eyes wide and needy.

”I’ll be back soon,” I murmured, my voice a dark promise. ”And when I do, I’m fucking you so hard you won’t walk straight for a week.”

Emily whimpered, her thighs pressing together, her pussy no doubt throbbing under the table. ”Don’t take too long,” she breathed, her voice husky with need.

I grinned, adjusting the bulge in my pants before standing and walking toward the door. The morning sun hit my face, but my mind was still consumed by the memory of Jennifer’s tight, used asshole, the way her pussy had dripped for me, the way she had begged me to fuck her harder.

The Research & Development building stood tall and imposing, a monolith of glass and steel, gleaming under the sun. The air around it hummed with energy, the low buzz of machinery and scientific activity vibrating through the ground.

I strode toward the entrance, my boots crunching on the gravel, my hand resting on the grip of my gun—a comforting weight, a reminder of the power I wielded.

Two guards stood flanking the door, their postures rigid, their eyes sharp and unforgiving. The one on the left was burly, his arms crossed over his chest, a thick scar running from his temple down to his jaw.

The other was a leaner, his fingers dancing over a tablet, his gaze flicking up to meet mine as I approached.

”ID,” the scarred one grunted, his voice like gravel.

I pulled out my identification, flipping it open and holding it out. The guard snatched it, his eyes scanning the details before handing it back. ”Purpose?” he demanded, his gaze dropping to the gun at my hip.

”Here to report to Doctor Angela,” I replied, my voice cool, unshaken.

The guards exchanged a glance, then the leaner one nodded, tapping something into his tablet. ”We’ve got your info,” he said, his tone gruff. ”Go inside, right into the lab, then left down the corridor. Her office is the last door on the right.”

I nodded, suppressing a smirk. Typical. My father-in-law had already greased the wheels and made the arrangements. The old man knew how to pull strings when it suited him. I pushed through the doors, the cool, sterile air of the building washing over me.

The interior of the facility was vast, a labyrinth of pristine white corridors and humming machinery. Scientists in white coats rushed past, their faces focused, their hands clutching clipboards and digital devices. The air smelled of antiseptic and ozone, the atmosphere charged with intellect and secrets.

I followed the directions, my boots echoing against the polished tiles. The lab was a hive of activity—microscopes glinting under fluorescent lights, test tubes bubbling with mysterious liquids, monitors displaying streams of data. People barely glanced at me, too absorbed in their work to notice the predator in their midst.

Finally, I reached the corridor, turning left until I stood before a door with a sleek plaque: Dr. Angela, Head of Bio Research. I raised my hand and knocked, the sound sharp and authoritative.

A voice—smooth, mature, dripping with arrogance—called from inside. ”Come in.”

I pushed the door open and stepped into the office, my breath catching in my throat.

Fucking hell.

Doctor Angela was spectacular. She sat behind a large desk, her posture erect, commanding. Her skin was snow-white, flawless, and gleaming under the harsh light like polished marble.

Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight, elegant bun, accentuating her high cheekbones and sharp jawline. But it was her body that demanded attention—voluptuous, curvaceous, built for sin.

Her lab coat strained over her massive tits, the buttons barely containing their heavy weight.

The fabric clung to her cleavage, hinting at the deep valley between them, the swell of her breasts threatening to spill free with every movement.

My cock twitched violently, imagining my hands gripping those tits, my mouth sucking on her nipples, my teeth biting down just enough to make her moan.

Her waist was cinched, flaring out into wide, child-bearing hips that begged to be gripped, fucked, ruined. The lab coat ended mid-thigh, revealing a pair of sheer black stockings that hugged her legs like a second skin, leading down to a pair of fuck-me heels that click-clacked against the floor as she shifted in her seat.

She looked up from her tablet, her piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. They were cold, calculating, but there was something else lurking beneath the surface—heat, hunger, a predatory gleam that matched my own.

”You must be Mike,” she purred, her voice smooth as whiskey, rich with authority. ”Oliver’s son-in-law.”

I shut the door behind me, the click of the lock echoing in the room. My eyes raked over her body, lingering on the way her coat hugged her curves, the way her tits rose and fell with every breath. ”That’s me,” I replied, my voice low, dark, filled with promise. ”And you’re Doctor Angela.”

She set the tablet down, leaning back in her chair, her fingers steepled in front of her. The movement caused her coat to part slightly, revealing a glimpse of black lace beneath—a bra that barely contained her tits, the fabric stretched tight over her nipples, which pressed against it, hard and begging for attention.

”I’ve heard a lot about you,” she murmured, her gaze flicking over me appraisingly, lingering on the bulge in my pants. ”Mostly good things. Mostly.”

I stepped closer to her desk, my presence filling the room, dominating the space. The scent of her perfume—something expensive, floral, with a hint of spice—drifted toward me, mixing with the sterile smell of the lab. It was intoxicating.