God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 656: Soaking Wet

Kafka's gaze shifted to Olivia, catching the hesitation in her eyes. He paused, his hand still on Abigaille's ass, and tilted his head, his voice gentle but probing.

"What's wrong, Mom? You okay with stripping down?...It's no big deal, you know. Just like at the swimming pool we used to go years ago...Nothing unusual for a mother and son."

His tone was reassuring, but his eyes held a knowing glint, as if he could sense the storm of thoughts raging within her.

Olivia swallowed, her throat dry, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

"I...It's not that." She stammered, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "I know it's normal, but... I just..."

She trailed off, unable to articulate the shame burning through her and in response, Kafka stepped closer, his hand leaving Abigaille to rest on Olivia's shoulder, his touch grounding her even as it increased her panic.

"If you're not comfortable, we can eat outside, Mom." He said, his voice soft, almost too understanding. "No lap-sitting, just a regular dinner. It's not a big deal."

But his words carried a subtle reminder of what she'd be giving up, and Olivia's heart clenched at the thought of missing out on the closeness she'd craved.

"No!" She blurted, her voice sharper than intended, her eyes wide with determination. "I mean...I can strip down. It's fine."

"...There's nothing wrong with it, nothing at all."

She forced a smile, her mind racing as she tried to muster the courage, her fingers trembling as they reached for the first button of her top.

The act felt wrong, each movement heavy with the weight of her secret desires, but she pushed forward, desperate to prove she could handle it, to keep the intimacy he'd promised,

But as her fingers undid the first button, revealing a sliver of her blue bra, a new wave of panic hit her.

Her underwear—her light blue panties, soaked through with her arousal would be unmistakable.

The damp fabric clung to her, outlining every curve, every sensitive part, in a way that would leave no doubt about her state.

If Kafka saw it, he'd know she wasn't just feeling motherly love.

He'd see the truth that she was wet for him, that her body had betrayed her in the most shameful way.

So, she froze, her hand hovering over the second button, her breath stopping as she realized the risk she was taking.

Before she could back out, Kafka's voice cut through, firm and decisive.

"You're overthinking it, Mom." He said, his tone brooking no argument. "You're at home right now so there's no need to uncomfortable with being in your underwear. And it's not gonna feel good eating like that, all sticky and uncomfortable, so strip down, it's better that way."

He turned to Abigaille, his eyes glinting with intent.

"Help her out, Mom...If she's too shy, let's make it easier for her."

Abigaille hesitated for a fraction of a second, her eyes meeting Kafka's, and then a sly smile spread across her face, her vixen nature catching the playful undercurrent in his command.

"Oh, Olivia, it's for your own good." She said, her voice a teasing lilt as she stepped behind her, her hands gentle but firm as they grasped Olivia's arms, holding her in place. "Don't fight it. We're all family here."

Seeing Abigaille supporting their son, Olivia's heart raced, her voice rising in a frantic protest.

"No, wait, stop!" She cried, her body twisting as she tried to pull away, her panic surging. "Don't do this, I—I can't!"

But her struggles were futile against Abigaille's grip, and Kafka moved with calm precision, his fingers unbuttoning her top, his voice soothing despite the intensity of the moment.

"Relax, Mom." He murmured, his eyes locked on hers, his tone reassuring yet unyielding. "We've already been so close, done so much together."

"..This is just another step. Nothing to panic about."

With a final tug, he pulled her top open, revealing the blue bra straining to contain her ample breasts, the fabric barely holding back the swell of her cleavage. Her slender abdomen also glistened with sweat, her navel a delicate indentation that drew his gaze, her body a sight of sensual vulnerability that made her feel utterly exposed.

Kafka's eyes widened, a low whistle escaping his lips as he took her in, his expression one of unabashed awe.

"God, Mom" He said, his voice thick with admiration. "I thought that these were big, but they're huge now. This bra's barely holding on—it might just give up if you move too much."

He reached out, his fingers brushing the underside of her breasts, lifting them slightly as if testing their weight, his touch sending a jolt of heat through her.

"You might need a bigger size, you know." He teased, his grin playful but his eyes dark with hunger.

Olivia's face burned, her body trembling under his scrutiny, the shame of being so exposed warring with the taboo thrill of his attention.

"Kafi, please...Don't." She whispered, her voice quivering, but her words lacked conviction, her body leaning into his touch despite her protests.

Abigaille, still holding her from behind, gave a soft laugh, her voice a teasing reprimand.

"You're squirming too much, Liv." She said, her hands tightening briefly. "Kafi, get that skirt off. Let's finish this."

Her tone was light, but there was a knowing edge to it, as if she were in on Kafka's game, eager to see it play out.

Olivia's eyes widened, her panic spiking as she realized what was coming.

"No, Kafi, don't!" She cried, her voice desperate, her body straining against Abigaille's hold..

The skirt—her last barrier, the one hiding the damning evidence of her arousal was her only defense. But Kafka didn't hesitate, his fingers moving to the button of her miniskirt with a calm focus.

"It's okay, Mom...We're all family here, so there's no need to keep secrets from one another."

He said, his voice a low murmur, his eyes flicking to hers with a reassurance that did little to quell her dread and with one fluid motion, he unfastened the skirt and tugged it down, letting it pool at her feet.

The sight that greeted him made the air catch in his throat, his gaze locking onto the light blue panties clinging to her hips, the fabric so wet it had darkened, molding to her pussy in a way that left nothing to the imagination.

The outline of her clitoris, her labia, was starkly visible, the dampness accentuating every curve, every sensitive fold.

Thin trails of liquid glistened on her inner thighs, clear evidence to the intensity of her arousal, and the sight was so raw, so sensual, that it seemed to freeze the room.

Olivia quivered in Abigaille's grasp, her body rigid with mortification, her eyes locked on Kafka's face as she waited for the disgust, the judgment, that she was sure would follow.

He'd see it now—her shameful desire, the way her body had betrayed her, craving him in ways no mother should.

She was a failure, a disgrace, her taboo thoughts laid bare for him to judge.

Her breath hitched, her vision blurring with unshed tears as she braced for his reaction, convinced this was the end of everything...