Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 505: Meeting Hot Aunt Diana

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head while gazing at Mom's departing form, her hips undulating in that purposeful, seductive sway she employed whenever she knew she'd ensnared me.

That playful, sly sparkle in her eyes—as though she'd just passed me a ticking explosive and now lingered to watch whether I'd hurl it away or clutch it tight.

This marked the initial occasion she'd ever requested such a task from me.

Not that Mom ever truly requested. She hinted. She alluded. She dangled tempting prospects like prohibited delicacies, her tone laced with sweet venom.

Yet this occasion stood apart. Diana wasn't merely another casual victory, another workplace toy Mom had steered toward me. She was Mom's companion. Her university companion.

I cannot handle her as if she were a Stone Age female.

No harsh grips, no savage control—not unless I craved Mom's fury. And instinct warned me Diana wouldn't shatter without effort. She'd prove gentler, sharper, more polished. A test of another sort.

I shoved those notions away, rolling my shoulders while straightening my tie. Initially, I had to encounter her. Observe her. Grasp her essence. Only then could I devise how to compel her to address Mom as desired—without breaching a boundary beyond repair.

Breakfast sprawled luxuriously—towering stacks of golden pancakes, bacon crisped into an intricate pattern, vibrant fruits shimmering in the dawn glow.

The servants had surpassed their usual excellence, per tradition. I dined quietly, the fork's tap on exquisite porcelain the sole noise in the deserted dining hall. Thoughts churned wildly, visions unfolding—how might Diana respond to me? Resistant? Intrigued? Privy to Mom's schemes already?

The wall clock inched toward 2 PM, every tick resounding like thunder in my head. Time to depart.

I activated the fob, and the garage rumbled open, unveiling my collection—the fierce Bugatti with its razor edges and brute force, alongside the ebony Mercedes-Benz S-Class, its contours buffed to reflective perfection.

Typically, I'd choose the Bugatti—the rush of velocity, the engine's savage roar, its arrival heralded before I even showed. But not today. Luggage factored in. And Diana.

I settled into the Mercedes, leather seats yielding warmly under me, the fresh auto aroma blending with my subtle cologne trace.

The motor surged alive with a profound, rumbling growl, vibrations pulsing through the wheel under my palms.

I tightened my hold, sensing the restrained might humming below, then eased out, tires whispering softly over the asphalt drive.

The highway unfurled ahead, breeze lashing by the glass as I sped up, urban views melting into colorful blurs.

Upon arriving at the airport, my thoughts whirled, possibilities branching—how would Diana greet me? Withdrawn? Teasing? Conscious of Mom's orchestrated ploy?

Sudden realization struck.

Damn. Mom never described Diana's appearance to me.

I clenched my jaw, fingers blanching on the wheel. How could I spot her amid countless faces? Contact Mom, confess my blunder, endure her mockery? Or improvise and trust luck?

Fate chose for me.

For there she appeared—a woman.

She lingered by the arrivals entrance, a sight so captivating the whole terminal dissolved into a foggy backdrop.

Tall and poised. Her stance majestic, even burdened by trailing bags, wheels gliding effortlessly across shiny flooring. Blonde locks flowed straight and lustrous, a shimmering cascade draping her shoulders, gleaming like liquid gold.

They outlined her features—prominent cheekbones, chiseled and striking, plump lips glossed in rich crimson, hazel eyes speckled with amber, piercing and evaluative, as if appraising me prior to any exchange.

Yet her figure froze me solid.

Her breasts were breathtaking—plump, weighty, pressing boldly against the crimson turtleneck sweater molded to her like another layer of skin.

The material stretched taut over her décolletage, suggesting the profound cleft within, her bosom heaving subtly with each calm inhale.

The sweater cinched her midriff, highlighting the soft widening of her hips, then billowed into a ebony maxi skirt brushing the ground, material eddying at her heels with each elegant stride.

The skirt molded to her rear's contour—plump, taut, the sort to brim over my grasp if seized.

She pivoted, eyes sweeping the throng—

—and flashed a grin.

Straight toward me.

"Hello..."

Her tone flowed like molten honey, velvety and lush, laced with a shadowy edge—mirth? Defiance? Lips curved, teeth grazing her bottom lip briefly as she advanced, heels striking crisply on tile amid the airport din.

"You must be Dexter..." Her gaze trailed over me languidly, intently, pausing at my shoulders, torso, then snapping back to my features.

"My goodness..." A chuckle escaped her lips as she placed her hand on her chest, fingers spreading across her breasts in a manner that pulled my gaze irresistibly.

"Last time we met, I could cradle you in my arms..." Her eyes shadowed slightly, tongue slipping out to moisten her lip.

"But now, take a look..." Her tone softened, growing warmer, like silk encasing iron. "You've grown so much."

I cleared my throat and adjusted my tie beneath her piercing gaze, feeling my cock twitch in my trousers. "Aunt Diana."

Her brows arched faintly, her smile shifting to playful and aware. "Oh, come on..." She dismissed it with a wave, her slender, graceful fingers tipped with nails matching the deep red of her lips.

"Just call me Diana." Her tongue darted out once more, gliding along her lower lip before she nipped it gently, her gaze dropping to my mouth and holding there a moment too long before rising again.

"‘Aunt’ makes me sound so old." She purred the words, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the gesture highlighting the elegant line of her neck and capturing my attention.

A slow, knowing grin spread across my face as my fingers tightened on the luggage handle while I grabbed it. "Alright, Diana."

Diana's lips parted slightly, her breath catching for an instant before she composed herself, her smile turning sharper, more feral. "Mmm."

With fluid elegance that masked the electric tension crackling between us, Diana settled into the passenger seat, her skirt hiking up enough to reveal the silky skin of her thighs.

I loaded her suitcase into the back, its heavy thump resounding in the tight space before I returned to the driver's seat.

That's when it hit me.

The seatbelt remained unfastened on her.

Leaning close, my face mere inches from hers, I murmured darkly, "Diana..."

She startled, breath catching sharply, lashes fluttering while she gazed at me, a soft pink blush coloring her cheeks. "D-Dexter—!" Her voice came out breathless and hesitant, fingers gripping the seat's edge tightly.

I stayed put.

Reaching over her instead, my arm grazed the fullness of her breasts as my fingers located the seatbelt. Her breath stuttered once more, body going rigid while I drew the strap over her lap, the buckle locking with a crisp click.