Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks - Chapter 28

28: Arrogant Milf Hina 28: Arrogant Milf Hina The sun was pretty much on its last legs, bleeding out all over the sky-orange, red, like it couldn’t decide whether to burn out or throw one last tantrum.

Shadows crawled across the dirt, stretching way too long, like they had somewhere better to go.

I could already hear the tribe’s fire popping and snapping off in the distance, flickering at the edge of the dark, daring it to come closer.

Night was basically right there, behind you, waiting.

Any minute now, everyone would be huddled around that fire, faces flickering in the light, voices low and weirdly hypnotic, the whole place smelling like sweat, roasting meat, and that weird animal smell nobody ever mentions but everyone knows.

Kerry, on my side, didn’t seem to care.

She didn’t flinch at the stickiness on her fingers, didn’t wipe them on the grass or rinse them in the nearest stream.

For her, this was just how things went.

Nothing weird about it, really.

Honestly, watching her swipe my cum off her cheeks and legs with a couple of leaves and not even flinch-then letting her own piss trickle down like it was totally routine?

That did something to me.

Hit me right in that twisted part of my brain, sparked something raw and dirty I didn’t even know I had.

Calling it savagery doesn’t even do it justice.

This was freedom.

And I wanted to corrupt every inch of it.

We wandered back into that swirling center of tribe-life, the fire popping and spitting like it had something to say, the air thick with the mouthwatering promise of roasting meat and smoky wood.

Yeah, you could taste it just breathing.

The women-Kerry, for example, with her no-nonsense curves, body written over by all the years and tough days she’d seen.

And then there was Kina, this almost-too-bright burst of youth, skin untouched and smooth as creek stones.

They were scattered everywhere, claiming patches of dirt or sprawling across those massive ancient rocks that the earth just shrugged up for seats.

Laughter cut through the fire’s song, dodging smoke, winding around lazy talk-honestly, it sort of stitched the whole weird tableau together.

And listen, their bodies told their stories without a word: sweat catching light along brown shoulders, dust gripping their shins, a map of half-faded scars here, a cluster of calluses there.

Arms with histories-work, hardship, survival.

These weren’t fragile women; these were women who’d stared down this wild place and grinned right back.

And the men-they were there too.

Clustered together, shoulders brushed against their women, fingers greasy from roasted meat, laughter rumbling deep in their chests.

They were rough, strong hunters, warriors, providers-their bodies marked with the same scars and dust as the women, their voices booming as they shared stories, jokes, the spoils of the day.

Some had their arms slung around their women, fingers tracing idle patterns on bare skin, possessive in a way that spoke of ownership-but not cruelty.

This was a tribe.

A family.

They lived, they fought, they fucked-and they did it together.

And then- I recognized them.

They were the men and women I’d met when I first entered this place with Mitt-the ones who had eyed me with curiosity, with suspicion, with the quiet assessment of outsiders.

Some nodded, barely noticeable, like a secret handshake.

Others just stared a bit too long, probably brewing up questions they weren’t ready to toss my way just yet.

And then- Her.

One woman stood out-immediately.

While the others wore leaves or loose hides, she was draped in animal skin-tanned, soft, fitted to her body in a way that hugged her curves.

Yeah, the hide hugged her hips, dipping just enough to give a teasing peek at the tops of her thighs.

Another scrap of leather clung to her chest-honestly, it barely qualified as coverage, cleavage practically begging for attention, the curve of her tits pushing up, nipples just showing through the stitchwork.

Her hair, stupidly long and dark, was yanked into braids off her face, and those eyes-razor sharp, taking everything in, zero hesitation.

Not shy, that’s for sure.

Shit.

The fire threw wild shadows over her face, flickers making her angles look even sharper, like she could cut steel with one look.

The way she stood, it was like authority oozed out of her pores, spine straight as a blade, those eyes piercing straight through the murky firelight, fixing on me like she already knew my secrets.

No doubt about it-this was Hina.

Ryan’s so-called woman.

The same Hina Kerry couldn’t stop warning me about.

And now, here she was, real as hell and ten times scarier up close.

Unlike the others, whose loose hide wraps teased glimpses of flesh beneath, Hina’s attire was deliberate-neatly tied, concealing everything.

No hint of her body’s curves, no accidental reveal of skin.

Just control.

Still, I couldn’t help staring a little-yeah, sue me.

That animal skin clung to her like it belonged there, showing off those beastly shoulders.

Her arms were all stories in themselves, marked up from rough years, probably enough scars to fill a folktale or two.

Kerry’s grip suddenly got really vice-like on my wrist-felt like she was keeping me from drifting off into la-la land-her voice all friendly, but you couldn’t move if you tried.

“Hina,” she called, and dang, you could hear the history between them, like some private joke I wasn’t in on.

Hina barely paused, this chunk of roasted meat mid-air-like, priorities, right?

She looked up at Kerry, her dark eyes going all gentle for half a second before flicking over to me.

“Kerry… so you finally made it,” her voice low and calm, not much fuss. She jerked her chin at me, straightforward as a hammer.

“And who’s the kid?” Kerry gave my wrist this quick, almost sneaky squeeze-like she was telling me, hang in there, I got you.

“Hina, this is Dexter.” Then she just-boom-launched into the made-up story about my parents biting the dust.

The whole thing: Mitt, the jungle, me being found like a stray cat and scooped up by the tribe.

Hina just stood there, eyes drilling into mine the whole time.

Stone face, but I could swear there was something going on behind her eyes.

Kerry wrapped up the story, and Hina leaned in like she was about to interrogate me.

Still making heavy eye contact, like she was trying to read the answers straight off my face.

“Dexter,” she said, her voice weirdly intense, like she was about to drop some ancient wisdom or curse me or-I don’t know.

“Don’t be sad.” Hina’s hand, rough and warm, tapped my shoulder.

It was the kind of gesture you get from someone who maybe doesn’t hug, but means it all the same.

“You aren’t alone anymore.

We’re all family now, got it?” For a second, I honestly almost believed it.

I nodded, my voice respectful.

“Thank you, Elder Hina.” She snorted.

Actually snorted.

“Elder?

Ew, drop the formal stuff.

I’m Aunt Hina, alright?” There was this cocky little grin fighting its way onto her face.

“Kerry and I are like sisters.

That basically makes you my nephew.

Sorry-not sorry, you’re stuck with us.” “Aunt Hina!” My chest is buzzing with nerves.

Honestly?

Felt weird, but kinda nice.

She dug that-like, seriously.

Her fingers latched onto mine, kind of fierce, honestly, and then she spun toward the others, firelight cutting sharp shadows across her jaw.

For a second, she looked like someone you just wouldn’t cross, not unless you’re missing a few screws.

She yanked me up next to her-no room for being shy here-and suddenly her voice was echoing through the whole camp, slice and sharp and totally in charge.

“Hey!

Listen up!” she hollered, and, poof, chatter vanished.

Every face locked onto us, like we’d suddenly sprouted wings or started glowing.

“This here’s Dexter!” She squeezed my hand-ow, okay, chill-and dragged me forward another step.

“He’s one of us now.

Kronos Tribe, people.

Get used to it!” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS PranjalSinghK If you’ve been enjoying the story so far, I would greatly appreciate it if you could take a moment to leave a review.

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