Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 7: Sexy Tribal Milfs

~4 minute read · 954 words
Previously on Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks...
The protagonist unboxed his fourth gift, gaining the Limit Breaker ability that promised limitless potential and cellular control over his body, though he remained vulnerable without combat skills. Eager for protection, he opened the final gift to acquire the Healing Factor, rendering him immortal against injuries and diseases, yet he fretted over secrecy and survival needs like food and water. Frustrated by his zero Pervert Points, he explored the Super-Market Store's vast offerings of items and skills, all too expensive to afford in the jungle. A system prompt led him to activate the Live World Map Function, revealing his location amid dense forests and clusters of moving red dots at the jungle's edge, hinting at distant groups on a world resembling Earth.

The crimson markers on my map throbbed rhythmically, mocking my eagerness. Individuals. Or whatever came near enough to qualify. Mortals? Sprites? Feline lasses? That notion triggered a thrilling buzz in me, fierce and charged. This realm wasn't simply a confinement—it was a recreation ground, and I alone grasped the guidelines.

I chose to head toward those crimson spots, mentally selecting the zone. It zeroed in on the spot, while the map revealed the distance in kilometers. Twelve kilometers separated it from my position. A curse burst from me unavoidably.

"You want me to walk 12 km? I'm going to die..." Trekking that distance held no appeal for me.

Then, eyeing my outfit, I recalled the Magical Tool. Could this item shift into a mode of transport? I tested the idea, and in a flash, the tool transformed into a mountain bike. It struck me that this was genuinely a magical device, constrained solely by my fancy.

Uncertainty lingered about the nature of those red-dot entities—humans, another species, or even their disposition toward strangers. To stay stealthy, I configured an electric motor and pedaled silently toward them.

Thick foliage cluttered the route, turning the journey arduous despite the mountain bike. Nevertheless, I arrived eventually and reshaped the Magical Tool into a t-shirt and shorts to don.

The view revealed a settlement, a tribal outpost featuring huts crafted from mud and thatch. Five hundred meters remained, requiring a downhill foot approach from my vantage.

To scout the locals undetected, I flattened myself on the incline. Once more, I morphed the Magical Tool into binoculars and gazed through them.

Humans clad in leafy attire came into view, with females' coverings scarcely shielding nipples and pussies—pubic hair peeked through effortlessly. Males grasped spears fashioned from wooden poles sharpened with stone tips at the ends.

"Don’t fucking tell me that I came to the past, like 10000 B.C., or maybe even the Stone Age. If that’s the case, then I am fucking screwed. How will I live with these savages?" Curses flowed from me uncontrollably.

Abruptly, a notifying voice resounded within my thoughts...

[Congratulations, Host! You have successfully identified your current era as the Stone Age. As a reward for this discovery, you have been awarded 100 Pervert Points.]

"Motherfucker..." The curse slipped out in a hushed, incredulous snarl, my digits clawing into the moist soil underneath. The system hadn't just stranded me—it had hurled me into antiquity.

Or perhaps not true history at all. Perhaps a parallel realm, a distorted echo of the timeline where norms diverged, where existence diverged.

A sharp breath escaped me, thoughts churning wildly. "The Stone Age. Genuine damn primitivism." Absent metropolises. Absent gadgets. Absent codes. Merely brutal endurance, and I—Dexter Williams, eternal deviant—tossed into its heart like a twisted gag.

The prize drew my gaze: 100 Pervert Points, a modest balm in this bizarre domain. Cursing the system for this exile was irresistible, yet I couldn't ignore how it had preserved my vitality.

As an immortal entity amid the Stone Age epoch, that realization sparked a thrilling tremor in me. Boundless ramifications stretched out, the prospects thrilling yet daunting.

Among these rudimentary folk, I could emerge as a GOD, commanding this pristine territory.

Possessing 100 Pervert Points, I promptly opted for an acquisition. A water bottle claimed only 2 Pervert Points, which I obtained.

It appeared in my grip, chilled and slick with moisture. I swallowed greedily, the fluid easing down my gullet. An ordinary delight before, but here? It equated to opulence.

Staring at the drained bottle clutched in my palm, an idea bloomed. I inspected the system repository, an intangible void that mocked physical constraints.

Could objects return to that space as well? Mentally directing it, the vacant water bottle vanished into the system storage from my hold. A chuckle rose; this capability was superb. Infinite capacity unlocked countless opportunities.

Still, a sigh weighed on me regarding my predicament. Finding joy in a simple water bottle—how lowly.

Recalling the comforts of my former existence now lost—the rides, the societal clout—all erased. Yet, viewing the Supermarket Store, I grasped the chance to revive luxuries, potentially exceeding them.

Achieving that demanded accumulating further Pervert Points, which hinged on females. I resolved to scrutinize the tribal women more closely.

Prone on the ground with binoculars gripped, an wave of lust enveloped me inevitably. The settlement's women presented a captivating spectacle, their figures bearing witness to relentless daily exertion.

The initial woman caught my eye, perched before her dwelling, her visage blending allure with fortitude. Her complexion mirrored a sizzling Mexican allure, a singular mix neither fully tan nor fair, yet irresistibly sensual. Her breasts loomed large, ample and curved, featuring dark, stiffened nipples craving nibbles and caresses.

A lithe waist narrowed to expansive hips that rocked alluringly with each shift. Her lengthy, ebony locks flowed down her spine, outlining her features and emphasizing prominent cheekbones alongside lush lips.

The remaining women matched this mold, their frames lean and shapely, complexions spanning pale ivory to toasty caramel hues. Each sported extended tresses reaching their midsections, a vivid divergence from the crude environs. Their bosoms swelled firm and bountiful, nipples taut and beckoning.

Thighs robust and sinewy evidenced their constant physical toils. Upon those thighs, elaborate tattoos swirled in dynamic motifs that appeared to twist and pulse in motion. These markings fused ebony and crimson, sharply offsetting their skins, as if chronicling narratives of their journeys and trials.

Bone-crafted necklaces adorned them, repulsive in my old life, yet here symbols of elegance, embodying their toughness and endurance.

Gleaming and refined, the bones clashed against the harsh surroundings. Tucked amid their breasts, they rested against the inviting heat of their mounds.