Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks - Chapter 219

Chapter 219: Jealous Mother-In-Law
I stared at her, unblinking.

Jennifer swallowed, her bravery faltering for a second before she masked it with another huff. “Well? Say something!”

“Yes, Mother-in-law,” I replied, my voice steady.

Jennifer smirked, her lips curling in what she thought was a triumphant expression, but her hands trembled, giving her away. “Good,” she hissed, trying to sound commanding, but her voice wavered, betraying the fragile act she’d built.

With a dramatic flourish, she leaned in and spat on my cock, her saliva hitting the shaft before slowly dripping down, glistening in the dim light. “There,” she purred, fingers resuming their awkward, hesitant strokes, like she was handling something foreign. “Now it’s marked by me.”

Her touch was clumsy, unsure, her eyes darting between my cock and the bathroom door, as if expecting Emily to burst in and catch her. “You better remember this,” she whispered, her voice laced with fake authority, “or else—”

Suddenly, a voice cut through the tension, sharp and unexpected—

“Honey, where are you? I’m leaving for work!”

Oliver’s voice.

Jennifer’s entire body froze, her fingers still wrapped around my cock, her eyes widening in sheer horror. “W-What the—?!” she hissed, panicked, her face draining of color. “S-Shit—!”

“Coming!” she squeaked, her voice cracking as she yanked her hand away like my cock was on fire. She stumbled back, nearly tripping over her own feet, her gaze locked on the door as if Oliver might barrel in any second.

“F-Fix yourself!” she hissed, pointing at my pants with wild, frantic gestures, “and don’t you dare—”

But she didn’t finish. Instead, she whirled around, her heels clicking furiously against the floor as she darted toward the door, smoothing her hair and adjusting her clothes in a desperate attempt to look composed.

“I-I’ll deal with you later!” she hissed over her shoulder, her voice barely more than a terrified whisper, before slipping out and shutting the door behind her with a sharp click.

Silence.

I glanced down at my cock, still glistening with Jennifer’s spit, my pajama pants pooling around my ankles like a humiliating trophy. A slow, knowing smirk spread across my face, my mind rewinding the last few minutes—Jennifer’s bratty demands, her shaking hands, the way her voice cracked when Oliver called for her.

Pathetic.

But then it hit me—the realization settling in like a poisoned thrill. Jennifer wasn’t just angry. She wasn’t just possessive.

She was jealous.

Jealous of her own daughter.

The thought sent a jolt of dark satisfaction through me. Emily—obedient, eager, willing to drop to her knees without whining, without threats, without playing childish power games. Emily, who knew her place.

And Jennifer? She knew it too.

That was why she hated it.

The Aftermath

The bathroom door creaked open.

Emily stepped out, fresh from the shower, her hair dripping wet, clinging to her shoulders in dark, glossy strands. The towel wrapped around her body was barely holding on, clinging to her curves, hinting at the softness beneath. Steam still curled around her, giving her an ethereal, almost innocent glow—a sharp contrast to the filthy things I knew she’d let me do to her.

“Go in,” she said, her voice soft but firm, already drying her hands on a small towel. “Take a shower.” She glanced at the rumpled bed, then at me, her eyes flickering briefly to my still-exposed cock before snapping away, a faint pink creeping into her cheeks. “I’ll go help Mom in the kitchen.”

I nodded, watching as she turned, the towel shifting just enough to tease the curve of her ass. Fuck. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Emily paused at the doorway, glancing back at me over her shoulder.

“Don’t take too long,” she murmured, her tone light, playful, but her eyes held something deeper—a challenge, a promise.

Then she was gone, leaving me alone with the weight of what had just happened.

I went inside the bathroom, and the water pounded against my skin, scorching hot, washing away Jennifer’s spit, Emily’s saliva, the lingering scent of both of them. I leaned against the tiles, my hand bracing against the wall, my mind racing.

Jennifer’s jealousy was a weapon. Emily’s obedience was a trap.

And I was caught in the middle, loving every second of it.

I washed quickly, efficiently, scrubbing away the evidence of both women—the mother who thought she owned me, the daughter who knew she could have me whenever she wanted.

By the time I stepped out, toweling off, the room was empty. The only sign of Emily was the neatly folded clothes laid out on the bed—my shirt, pants, even my underwear, all smelling faintly of her perfume.

Of course, she’d done this. Of course, she’d taken care of me, even now.

I dressed slowly, savoring the scent of her on the fabric, imagining her hands folding each piece, knowing I’d wear them against my skin.

Jennifer would hate that.

The house was eerily quiet when I stepped out of the bedroom, the only sound the rhythmic clatter of dishes and the occasional hiss of oil hitting the pan. The air smelled of garlic and something sweet, warm, domestic—a sharp contrast to the filthy tension still lingering in my mind.

I followed the noise, my steps silent, predatory, as I leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes locking onto the scene unfolding in front of me.

Jennifer stood at the stove, her back ramrod straight, her movements sharp, controlled—like she was trying to prove something. Emily, on the other hand, was leaning over the counter, chopping vegetables with easy, fluid motions, the towel wrapped around her body clinging to her curves, barely holding on.

And fuck—

That towel.

It dipped low, dangerously low, the fabric straining against the weight of her breasts, her cleavage deep, impossible to ignore. My gaze locked onto the swell of her skin, the way the towel clung to the curve of her hips, the shadow between her thighs—

Jennifer’s voice sliced through the silence like a whip.

“Emily.”

Emily paused, glancing up with a lazy, unbothered smile. “Hmm?”

Jennifer’s eyes flicked between us, her jaw clenching as she followed my gaze—and realized exactly where I was looking. Her face flushed, not with embarrassment, but with rage.

“For God’s sake, Emily,” she snapped, her voice sharp, bratty, “go put some clothes on!”

Emily blinked, then glanced down at herself, feigning innocence. “Mom, it’s just you and Mike in here.” She shrugged, the movement making the towel shift just enough to tease even more skin. “What’s the big deal?”

Jennifer’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “How can you say that?!” Her voice rose, shrill, desperate. “Mike is a man!”

Emily laughed, a soft, musical sound that made Jennifer flinch. “Mom,” she said, drawing out the word like it was ridiculous, “Mike is my husband.”