Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 549 - 40 Years Old Virgin Pussy

Diana’s blush intensified, her shoulders tensing almost as if she braced herself for my evaluation, sensing my focused attention.

"I... I didn't manage to shave them..." she confessed, her voice reduced to a mere whisper, her gaze skittering away in a clear display of shame. She was mortified—ashamed to reveal this private aspect of herself, this potentially 'unwanted' trait she feared I might find displeasing.

However, her assumption was incorrect.

Without any hesitation, I gently lifted her arm, bringing her underarm close to my lips, and took a deep, deliberate breath.

The aroma was uniquely hers—a musky, warm, living scent. It was not the sterile freshness imparted by soap and razors, but the genuine Diana, the raw essence beneath her carefully constructed facade. "It doesn't smell bad," I murmured, my breath a warm caress against her skin. "In fact, it carries your sweet fragrance."

And then, I tasted her.

A slow, unhurried sweep of my tongue across the soft, sensitive skin of her armpit. Diana’s entire frame trembled violently, a broken, yearning sound escaping her throat.

"Hmmm—" The noise was a blend of intense pleasure and utter shock, her fingers digging into my hair as I repeated the deliberate action, my tongue tracing the delicate curve of her underarm, savoring her essence, marking her as mine.

"D-Dexter...!" she gasped, her voice quivering, her body seized by tremors. She was thoroughly wet now, her panties utterly soaked, her desperate need manifesting as a slickness that dripped down her thighs. The potent mix of shame, overwhelming arousal, and raw sensuality was almost too much, yet entirely insufficient.

I withdrew slightly, just enough to meet her gaze, my lips still slick with her taste, my eyes dark pools reflecting raw hunger.

The way her skin flushed a deep crimson under my intense stare, the way her breath caught in her throat—it was utterly captivating. "You are absolutely perfect, Diana," I growled, my voice thick with unfulfilled desire, each word a potent vow. "Every. Single. Part. Of. You."

Then, with a sudden, unexpected movement, my hands darted upwards, my fingers closing around her nipples through the delicate lace of her bra.

I gave them a firm pinch—hard—and twisted, just enough to elicit a sharp gasp from her, her back arching involuntarily as waves of pleasure and pain surged through her veins.

"Ah—! D-Dexter...!" she cried out, her voice and body wracked with tremors. The thin lace offered little insulation against the intense sensation, her nipples hardening and aching intensely beneath my firm grip.

At that precise moment, Angela appeared.

Her arms encircled me from behind, her body pressing firmly against my back as her lips met mine in a fiery, consuming kiss.

Her taste was one of pure sin and fierce possession, her tongue exploring mine with insistent passion as her hands roamed freely over my chest and stomach, claiming me even as I immersed myself in claiming Diana. When she finally broke away, her breath was hot against my ear, her voice a low, provocative purr.

"Diana..." she murmured, her eyes fixed intently on the other woman, "you are truly drenched... Look, it has even started to drip..." She gestured subtly towards the sheets, where a dark, glistening stain had begun to form beneath Diana’s panties.

The fabric was thoroughly soaked, the dark blue lace clinging to her skin like a second layer, the intricate embroidery barely discernible beneath the slick sheen of her intense arousal. A single, slow, thick droplet of her bodily fluid had escaped, marking the sheet below her, the potent, musky scent of her desire hanging heavy and palpable in the air.

Diana’s face flushed a furious crimson. She attempted to cover herself, her hand darting down to press urgently against her panties as if she could somehow conceal the indisputable evidence of her burgeoning desire.

"D-Don't..." she stammered, her voice barely audible, a fragile whisper. But her efforts were futile. The pervasive dampness had already permeated the fabric, rendering it transparent where it clung tightly to her intimate flesh; the dark tendrils of her pubic hair were now faintly visible through the delicate lace. Her fingers trembled as she pressed her palm flat against herself, a desperate, silent plea to somehow erase the undeniable proof of her overwhelming need for me.

However, I had no intention of allowing her to retreat into concealment.

I grasped my cock, its veins throbbing, the tip already slick with engorged need, and deliberately slapped it against her panties with a wet, resonant thwack. The sound was unmistakably obscene, the sensation it produced even more so—her radiating heat seeping through the fabric, her body jolting involuntarily at the direct contact.

"Aunt," I stated, my voice a low, teasing growl, "would you prefer I leave you writhing in such exquisite pain?" My cock twitched against her, the hardened head pressing insistently into the damp fabric, a clear demand for entry.

Diana’s breath hitched audibly as she glanced down at my cock—thick, heavily veined, rigid as steel—pressing insistently against her panties, its tip already glistening with eager pre-cum. She bit her lower lip, her eyes flicking upwards to meet mine, and for a fleeting moment, I perceived the internal conflict—the warring emotions of hesitation, lingering shame, and overwhelming need.

Then, with deliberate slowness, she made her choice.

Her fingers, quivering slightly, hooked into the waistband of her panties, drawing them down her hips, then further down her thighs—but not completely.

She allowed them to pool around her knees, the damp, clinging fabric adhering to her skin. And there, revealed beneath her hand, lay the ultimate prize—her pussy, concealed yet conspicuously exposed. Her palm lay flat against herself, her fingers splayed wide, as if attempting to shield her most intimate self from my ravenous gaze.

My vision was clear. From beneath her hand, the dark, thick mass of her pubic hair was visible, wild and shining with moisture from her arousal. The scent emanating from her was potent—a raw, sweet, musky aroma. And nestled within those dark curls, I could glimpse the untouched, tight slit of her vulva, its lips swollen and red with desire.

"Dexter..." she breathed out, her voice a mixture of shyness and yearning. "Let's not be hasty... Wait... I'll show you properly tonight..."

I refused to let things unfold that way.

My hand swiftly moved out, covering hers. With a strong, unyielding grip, I pushed her fingers apart. And then, there it was—Diana's vulva, fully exposed. A dense patch of dark, glistening curls framed her slit.

The hair was damp, slick with her arousal, the strands clinging to her skin. Her lips were tightly closed, a virgin opening, the pink flesh peeking out from the dark curls, pristine and for me. The fragrance was intoxicating—heavy, musky, uniquely hers.

Diana's whole body trembled. Her blush deepened as she stammered, "D-Dexter, this is the first time... I'm showing you... I meant to groom it... but—"

I cut her off before she could continue.

My gaze was fixed on her vulva, my member hardening at the sight. She was magnificent—natural, pure, real. The mere thought made my mouth water.

I didn't give her the opportunity to object, to overthink, or to conceal herself. In a single, fluid movement, I knelt before her. My hands gripped her thighs, spreading them just enough to grant me access.

And then I began.

My mouth covered her vulva, my tongue parting her lips with a long, slow lick. The instant my lips met her damp curls, the moment my tongue grazed her slit—

Diana cried out.

Her back arched off the bed, her thighs closing around my head as a choked, desperate sound escaped her throat.

"Aaaaaaaaaah—! D-Don't—! N-NOT LIKE THIS—!" Her fingers dug into my hair, her hips thrusting against my mouth as if she were torn between pulling me closer and pushing me away.

But it was already too late.