Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 435: Officer Megan’s Complaint

Megan's gaze tightened a touch as she scanned us once more—our spotless attire, free of sand stuck to the bottoms, without hair matted by salt or skin scorched from the sun.

Angela's sundress seemed newly cleaned, the lightweight cotton murmuring softly along her legs with each gentle motion, the hem climbing high enough to hint at the smooth roundness of her backside if she leaned over even slightly.

Mira's jeans appeared sharp and deep-colored, clinging to her curves like eager fingers, yet I could still detect the subtle, remaining scent of her in-flight release on my trousers where she'd rubbed against me.

Lisa's tank top stuck to her damp-with-sweat body, her nipples showing as dark outlines beneath the material, her cargo shorts undone at the waist as if one heavy breath would make her slide them away.

Even I seemed unaffected by the outdoors: no sweat marks, no grime in my shirt's folds, hair still moist but tidy from the cave's water dip, my cock semi-erect and bulging against my fly from recalling Mira's breasts pressed firmly to my torso.

She paused—obviously considering her next words, her policewoman's stare darting from one face to another as if listing dangers, advantages, vulnerabilities. Her uniform—formerly crisp and commanding—draped more loosely on her build now, the cloth worn and streaked with dirt, cuffs pushed up to reveal sun-browned, muscular arms marked by scars from who-knows-what clashes in this never-ending disaster.

Yet despite the fatigue, she remained striking: tall and fit, her hips widening just right below the belt to suggest a snug, welcoming pussy if one could breach her defenses.

Her breasts pushed against the buttoned shirt, the third button open due to the warmth, a light layer of perspiration shining in the dip at her neck.

"That... Mr. Dexter..." she began, her tone cautious, nearly courteous even with the weariness carved into the subtle wrinkles near her eyes, "have you discovered something beyond? I mean, your outfits... and... you all appear as if you just walked out of some fancy magazine. Spotless. Refreshed. No dirt. What on earth occurred out there?"

I held her stare firmly, allowing a slight, relaxed grin to pull at my mouth—gradual, aware, the sort that indicated I'd noticed how her eyes had dropped to Angela's bust, then Lisa's bare stomach, then paused a moment extra on the damp patch I knew lingered faintly on Mira's fresh jeans under the right angle of light.

"We came across some bags outside," I replied offhandedly, waving loosely toward the distant line as if it were trivial, as if the enchanted device buzzing in my belt pocket wasn't the secret behind summoning fresh garments and full supplies from nowhere.

"Mostly clothing. Fresh stuff—grocery store finds, left behind in the turmoil. And we've fortunately located a spot to live... sturdy cover, etched directly into the rocks, shielded from the gusts and showers. Food isn't an issue anymore—lots stored, tinned items, new grabs. There's a creek close by loaded with fish. Pure water as well. Clear as glass. You could sip it right away, or... put it to other uses. Soaking. Washing up after a grimy, long evening."

Megan's eyes brightened—real astonishment crossing her weary face, easing the tense clench of her chin for the initial moment.

She even hopped a bit, her boots grinding softly into the sand, as if the statement had shaken her from the profound tiredness weighing on her frame.

"Really?" she whispered, her voice breaking with a hint of optimism, bending ahead without thought, her top opening slightly to reveal the dark cleft between her breasts, the subtle shape of a dark bra holding them steady.

"That's... that's damn good. We were barely managing to locate anything. The creek we used had some fish initially, but they've all been taken now. Traps have been barren for days."

"The children are left with crumbs, Paul's hacking up blood on most nights, and we're all stretching water like it's treasure. Damn, I haven't had a real clean-up in... hell, two weeks? My skin's rough as grit. If you've got pure water and fish... that alters it all."

She broke off, already pivoting halfway to her companions as if ready to issue commands, gather the fatigued figures by the campfire—Jack still glaring at the ocean like it could devour his anger, Bill scattering sand in short, angry sweeps, Nicole holding onto Mira like a savior, her tiny fists bunched in her mom's leather coat.

The other survivors—Hailey with her keen gaze, Paul slumped on a box breathing raggedly—stirred as well, whispers spreading among them like early rain spots.

I cleared my throat once—softly, on purpose—slicing through her building thrill like a blade through fine cloth.

"Um... did you get something wrong, Officer Megan?" I stated, my voice steady but laced with firmness, moving nearer so she needed to look up to face me, near enough that I caught the subtle, base aroma of her—perspiration, brine, and a deeper note, like a woman untouched for ages and beginning to yearn.

"I meant I discovered these for myself. Why would I share? Do you believe heaven just drops into your hands here? No. All things come with a cost."

The atmosphere turned quiet—thick, charged, the roar of the surf abruptly overwhelming in the shocked hush. Megan halted in mid-inhale—her eyes flaring wide, lips separating a bit as the statement embedded like barbs.

The spark of hope that had ignited in her emerald eyes vanished as swiftly as it appeared, swapped for shocked incredulity, then a tougher edge: a burst of rage that colored her cheeks beneath the grime streaks, her plump lips tightening into a narrow slit. Her hands clenched at her hips—law enforcement reflexes battling pure, urgent survival urge, digits jerking as if she were moments from reaching for the holstered gun that was gone now.

"That... I..." she faltered, her tone falling to a whisper, retreating a step as if my declaration had pushed her bodily.

"You're joking. We're... we're just clinging on here, Dexter. The kids are starving—Nicole's been passing her portions to the young ones. Paul's temperature is rising once more; we've run out of medicine."

"I've been foraging until my soles are raw, returning with nothing. And you arrive—pristine, with your ladies looking like they've had luxury pampering—chatting about creeks and fish like it's some fancy getaway? You're saying you've got provisions, fresh water, cover... and you're going to keep it all? Let us waste away while you set up your cozy setup?"

Her pitch climbed on the final phrase—breaking with wrath and a rawer, more fragile layer, as if the fatigue had peeled away her protections. She waved abruptly at her crew, the gesture stretching her shirt taut over her torso, buttons pulling hard.