Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

I controlled the mouse, brought it back to me, and transformed the magical tool into night vision glasses so I could see clearly in the dark.

"How in the world were Mary and her sister able to climb this cliff?"

The idea kept troubling me. They had talked about a car before. It could only imply that the other side of this cliff was not the very steep. It had to be less steep, at best, and a slope. The kind that you can go up with a car if you are cautious, or if your car is made for that.

I checked out the treehouse next. It was really amazing. The construction was heavily fortified, and it was loaded with what looked like provisions and tools, which could be stuff that had been gathered for months.

There was no chance that they carried all that on their backs. They must have brought it here by car. My instincts did not fail me.

I searched around, pushed away branches and other plants until my fingers touched something cold and smooth—metal. Here it was, their car, hidden under a branch with a haphazard cover of leaves and broken twigs.

It was simple but nearly futuristic, its body covered with solar panels that were shining even a little in the dim light. So they don't need fuel after all. But what was more striking to me—or rather, what wasn't—was the lack of a steering wheel. A clean dashboard with only a few undisclosed buttons was visible.

The realization came to me then. 2050. That was their time. Naturally, their tech will be advanced. Perhaps it is remote-controlled or completely autonomous. The type of car that is driverless and only needs a location to go to.

Slowly, I put the branches back, covering the car. I was thinking about Mary's sister, sitting in the bushes not long ago, her nightie creeping up—so annoying. I got rock hard, and the pain was almost unbearable, and I didn't pay attention, and accidentally, my hand touched the car.

Then, a sound.

An electronic beep sliced through the silence like a knife. The car's lights bloomed on and spilled out jagged, long shadows across the ground. "Shit," I whispered, my heart racing.

Instantly, the entire treehouse was bathed with light if it were on the top of a hill, and I was blasted with light from the night vision at the same time. Frantically, I stuffed the night vision glasses back into the system storage.

A voice came from above, shaky but clear, "Who -- who's there?"

Mary.

I was temporarily dazzled by a torchlight that suddenly swept down from above. I used my hand to block the light and peered up at the two heads that I could vaguely make out in front of the glare. The brightness seemed to be reaching out to touch me with its harsh, flickering rays.

"Sister, look—it really is a savage!" Mary sounded very scared. The torchlight stopped for a moment, allowing a close look at me. "He's not with anyone... he must have come here by mistake. Seen our car."

I remained motionless. Savage. Exactly. My costume might have made things worse—I was wearing clothes as if I had come out of the Stone Age.

But if I started talking, if even one sentence in English escaped my lips, they would find out. They would figure that I was from the future, same as them. And where would be the fun in that?

I attempted to say something, a bunch of gibberish with a hoarse and needy voice: "Awa... Hulla... Jajka... Auujjaa... Olla... OLlla!"

"See that? Heh-heh... what's going on with him?" Mary's sister laughed and spoke in a tone filled with amusement. "Look at him! He could be scared to death. Maybe he is thinking of us as gods or something."

I smirked internally. Gods, huh? However, I didn't let that get to me; instead, I performed the act, got down on my knees, and with my hands flat on the floor, and my forehead touching it, I groaned "Olla... Ulla... Jakka... Jakka... Hulla... Ullulluu..." shaking my voice nervously.

"Looks like he is worshipping us!" Mary's sister said with a very pleased voice.

Mary and her sister climbed down from the tree house using the ladder.

The torchlight was not hitting my eyes directly, so I could see their faces quite well. It looked like Mary and her sister were still in the same beautiful satin nighty which the fabric seemed to embrace their perfect figure, and their nipples were barely visible.

She looked like a model from a fashion magazine —sharp cheekbones, full lips, the kind of beauty that makes you want to breathe deeply.

Mary was not too far away, her less decent top just as revealing, her brown nipples were clearly visible through the fabric. I assumed that neither of them had bothered with bras. They would not think of such things, would they? They lived in their house alone, no one to answer to.

Mary's voice was sharp. "Sister, he's a pervert. He's staring at our bodies!"

Her sister waved a hand dismissively. "You idiot. He's not looking at our bodies—he's looking at our clothes. He's probably never seen fabric like this before."

I bit back a laugh. If only she knew.

Mary wasn't convinced. "We can't let him leave. What if he brings his people here? What if they try to harm us?"

Her sister came over, carrying her weight on her bare foot and treading quietly on the moist ground.

She extended her hand with the fingers grazing my arm, then took hold of my hand. "Seriously, he doesn't seem as if he'd be a threat," she uttered with a gentle and sober tone. "Look at him. No chest hair, his beard is barely there. He's a boy—eighteen, maybe twenty."

Mary laughed. "But that doesn't change the fact. We are not allowed to take the risk."

I was completely disgusted with the torchlight that kept flashing in my eyes like hiccups when the sister, without my consent, seized my arm and pulled me up as if she was making me stand. I pretended to be weak, hanging my eyes in fake wonder.

The torch's flickering sucked sides of light and shade on her face. She was really stunning. And she gave me a weird look as if I were some kind of mystery.

"What if we kept him here?" she uttered while her thumb was making slow circles on the back of my hand. "Maybe we could learn from him the skill of hunting and surviving. I'm tired of eating fish every single day, and the stream is so far away... "

Mary responded with a sharp tone, "And in what way? We don't even speak the same language. What if he turns on us? "