Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 422: Assassin Suit in Tatters

The urge proved too strong to ignore—the image of her positioned there, mortified yet unbowed, her figure revealing its secrets through each quiver.

My palms surged upward, seizing the flimsy material of her swimsuit top—no, actually, it was that revealing assassin outfit she'd donned, the form-fitting piece that clung to her like a second skin, pulled taut across her breasts and core following our previous scuffle.

The fabric showed signs of wear at the borders from the intense treatment, and I clutched the collar with both hands, pulling forcefully in opposing directions.

Riiiip.

The cloth ripped with a crisp, gratifying noise, dividing straight down the middle across her breasts. Her ample bosoms burst forth right away—plump, yielding orbs jiggling into the open atmosphere, areolas deep and erect from the chilly cavern draft and her excitement.

Mira let out a sharp intake of breath, a shrill "Ahh!" slipping from her mouth as her palms instinctively rose to shield herself, but it was too late—the reveal was total, her breasts rising and falling with the surprise, fair complexion shining under the lantern glow, subtle crimson traces from my prior fondling still evident.

Yet I had more in mind. My palms descended further, digits catching the gusset of her outfit where it adhered to her leaking core.

The cloth was drenched completely, tacky with her fluids, and I sensed the warmth radiating from her center.

With a snarl, I tore that section as well—shredding the stitching with raw power, the material yielding in a damp tear that bared her entirely. Her labia separated a bit with the action, glossy and engorged, a dense thicket of dark, coiled strands bordering her mound like an untamed allure.

Fluids shimmered on her inner legs, trickling gradually toward my torso, where she sat astride me, the earthy aroma striking me intensely.

Mira inhaled sharply once more—more intensely this time, a strangled "Oh god... Dexter!"—her form twitching as if shocked by electricity, legs tightening around me as new tears of shame and desire gathered in her eyes.

She attempted to press her legs together, but being astride me prevented it, exposing her furry, leaking vagina fully to everyone. "You... you ripped it... I can’t believe..." she murmured, palms fluttering ineffectually, uncertain if they should shield her breasts or her core.

Angela drew nearer, her gaze fixed on Mira’s uncovered intimacy with a blend of mirth and craving, running her tongue over her lips deliberately. "Oh, Mira, look at that hairy little pussy of yours... all bushy and wild, like you haven’t trimmed it in years."

"Jack must’ve been too busy ignoring you to even notice, huh? Bet his cock was nothing like Dexter’s—probably tiny, limp, couldn’t even get you wet like this."

"How long has it been since he fucked you, sweetie? Months? Years? No wonder you’re dripping like a faucet for my husband... that poor neglected cunt’s starving for a real man."

Lisa joined from the opposite side, inching nearer on her knees, her stare centered between Mira’s legs with a sly smile. "Damn, Angela’s right—that bush is out of control. Jack’s dick must’ve been pathetic if he left you like this, all overgrown and desperate."

"I can see your juices shining from here, Mira... how many nights did you lie there, fingering yourself thinking about someone—anyone—fucking you proper?"

"Bet it’s been forever since you’ve been stretched as Dexter did earlier in your ass. Look at you, pussy lips all puffy and red, clit poking out like it’s begging. Jack probably couldn’t even find it with a map."

Mira wriggled atop me, her breaths evolving into gentle moans as the mocking phrases struck deep, her core contracting noticeably, additional wetness seeping out to drench my shirt. "S-stop... It’s embarrassing..." she pleaded, yet her pelvis tilted ahead unbidden, rubbing her damp warmth against my chest, creating a glossy path.

"Jack... he hasn’t touched me in... in two years... his cock was small, okay? Barely filled me... but Dexter... oh god, I’m so wet for him..."

Angela chuckled lightly, extending a digit to trail along Mira’s leg, gathering a drop of her fluid and savoring it with a murmur. "Two years? No wonder you’re such a mess down there—hairy and horny, ready to cream just from a rip and a look. But don’t worry, sister... We’ll shave that bush tomorrow, make you smooth and pretty for him. For now, though, let him see how desperate Jack left you."

Lisa agreed with a nod, her palm gliding up Mira’s spine provocatively. "Yeah, and compare that to Dexter’s monster—thick, veined, the kind that ruins you for anyone else. Jack’s little prick probably felt like a finger. Bet that’s why your pussy’s clenching like that now, imagining him splitting you open while we watch."

I rumbled beneath her, my erection throbbing achingly in my trousers, palms ascending to seize her bared breasts—kneading firmly, thumbs circling her nipples until she bowed and yelped.

"Fuck, Mira... you’re soaking me already," I snarled, thrusting my hips upward to make her sense my rigidity pushing against her rear.

"Angela and Lisa are right—your husband was a fool to leave this dripping cunt untouched. But now it’s mine... and I’m going to fuck every last drop out of you while they tease you about how pathetic he was."

Mira’s defiance shattered utterly, her frame softening against me as she rubbed more insistently, mewling. "Please... Dexter... take me... I don’t care about Jack anymore... just fuck me like the god you are..."

Angela and Lisa shared fervent looks, their prior chuckles fading into deep, husky sighs that permeated the cavern like mist.

The vivid lantern illuminated every lewd aspect in brilliant amber—perspiration droplets trailing down Mira’s heated flesh, the manner her shredded assassin suit hung in pointless fragments, her substantial breasts undulating with each unsteady breath, that feral, drenched thicket encircling her engorged, leaking core like a shadowy crown of abandonment.

Angela acted first, advancing on her knees with feral elegance. She sought no consent—none required. Her digits slipped amid Mira’s quivering legs, separating the tangled strands brusquely until she located that plump, pulsing nub emerging as if it had awaited recognition for ages.

Angela nipped it—firmly—using thumb and forefinger, manipulating the tender bud with merciless accuracy.

Mira’s entire form spasmed as if struck by current. "A-ahh—Sister Angela—!" she stuttered, tone fracturing into a piercing, fractured keen.

Mira’s pelvis surged ahead without control, seeking the acute blend of bliss and ache, but Angela merely wrenched firmer, yanking the inflated gem until it turned a furious crimson.