God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem

Olivia sat astride Kafka's abdomen, her bare thighs gripping his sides, her massive breasts thrust forward, their full, round shapes starkly outlined by the open shirt. His hands, warm and strong, rested on her breasts, groping gently over the thin fabric, his fingers tracing their curves with a careful, almost reverent touch.

The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt—a heady mix of warmth, pressure, and an electric thrill that coursed through her, igniting her body in ways that both exhilarated and horrified her.

"Stroke!♡~ Rub!♡~ Slide!♡~ Glide!♡~ Press!♡

As Kafka's fingers pressed into her flesh, kneading softly, Olivia's breath hitched, a shiver rippling down her spine. Each touch was tender, his palms cupping the weight of her breasts, lifting them slightly before letting them settle, the gentle bounce sending a pulse of sensation through her chest.

Her nipples, already sensitive from the earlier jolt of his praise, hardened further against the fabric, a shameful response she couldn't suppress. The pressure of his fingers, pushing into the soft, pliant flesh, was both soothing and incendiary, a warmth spreading from her breasts to her core, her lower belly tightening with a forbidden heat.

She wanted to believe it was just the village's customs, a mutual admiration as he'd claimed, but the pleasure blooming in her body felt wrong, taboo, a betrayal of the maternal role she clung to.

"Swipe!♡~ Brush!♡~ Hmm!♡~ Slick!♡ Swirl!♡~"

When Kafka's thumbs grazed the undersides of her breasts, lifting them higher, the sensation was sharper, a tingling jolt that made her gasp softly, her hands tightening on his sides.

Her breasts, so heavy and full, seemed to swell under his touch, the fabric of her shirt a flimsy barrier that did little to dull the intensity.

He then pulled gently, his fingers splaying to encompass their breadth, and the stretch of her skin, the slight tug, sent a wave of pleasure through her chest, her breath catching in her throat.

"Flick!♡~ Roll!♡~ Tap!♡ Push!♡~ Stretch!♡~"

Her body reacted instinctively, her back arching slightly, pushing her breasts further into his hands, a movement she immediately regretted as it deepened the contact, amplifying the sensations that threatened to unravel her.

'This is my son.' She thought, her mind a tumult of guilt and confusion. 'No mother should feel this way.'

The memory of breastfeeding, a distant concept she'd never experienced with Kafka, flickered in her mind as it was the only time when a mother's breasts were used for nurturing their son, not this...this sensual exploration by her son who was already a full grown man.

"Pat!♡~ Smooth!♡ Tug!♡~ Pull!♡~ Shift!♡~"

The contrast was stark, jarring, yet the pleasure was undeniable, each movement of his hands stoking a fire she couldn't extinguish.

When he squeezed lightly, his fingers sinking deeper into her flesh, a soft moan escaped her lips before she could stop it, the sound mortifying her as it hung in the air.

"Hmm!♡~ Hnnnn"!♡~ Ahnn!♡~"

Her cheeks burned, her eyes darting to his face, searching for any sign that he'd noticed, but his expression remained focused, his eyes fixed on her breasts with a curiosity that seemed almost clinical, devoid of the lust she feared.

"Skim!♡ Swish!♡~ Scrub!♡~ Knead!♡~ Flex!♡"

Kafka's hands shifted, one palm pressing firmly to test the resilience of her breast, the other tracing the curve where it met her chest, his fingers brushing the edge of her cleavage.

The dual sensations—pressure and featherlight touch sent conflicting signals through her body, her chest tightening with pleasure while her core pulsed with a heat that made her thighs clench against his sides.

"Ahnnn!♡~ Mmm!♡~ Hnnn!♡~"

Her skin flushed, a sheen of warmth spreading from her breasts to her neck, and she felt a treacherous dampness gathering between her legs, a response so visceral it filled her with shame.

'I shouldn't feel this.' She thought, her inner turmoil a desperate plea to reclaim control. 'He's my son, my baby boy. This is wrong.'

Yet the pleasure was relentless, each grope, each lift and pull, coaxing her body to betray her, to revel in the sensations she knew were forbidden.

"Rub!♡~ Tap!♡~ Slide!♡~ Press!♡ Twist!♡~"

When he lifted both breasts, holding their weight as if marveling at their mass, the stretch of her skin was exquisite, a deep, throbbing pleasure that made her bite her lip to stifle another moan.

Her nipples, pressed tight against the shirt, ached for more direct contact, a craving she fought with every ounce of her will.

The guilt was crushing—how could she feel this way, her body responding so eagerly to her son's touch?

She tried to focus on his words, his claim of mutual admiration, but the sensations overwhelmed her reason, her body a traitor to her maternal instincts.

"Swipe!♡~ Brush!♡~ Slip!♡~ Slick!♡ Swirl!♡~"

His fingers circled, teasing the outer edges of her breasts, and the light, ticklish touch sent shivers through her, her lower belly quivering with a need she refused to name.

Kafka, oblivious to her inner storm, reveled in the sensation, his hands squeezing her breasts with a playful enthusiasm that went beyond simple admiration.

"God, Mom, these are huge." He said, his voice a mix of awe and delight as his fingers struggled to encompass their size. "I can't even wrap my hands around them—they're just...massive."

His palms pressed deeper, lifting and kneading, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through Olivia's chest that made her breath hitch, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

"Your breasts just keep on surprising me." He continued, his eyes fixed on them with unabashed fascination. "Like every time we take it a step further, they're even more amazing then I already think they were and just keep on pleasently suprising me."

Olivia's cheeks burned, her body trembling under his touch as she tried to deflect his praise, her voice shaky and pleading.

"Kafi, please, don't...don't talk like that." She whimpered, her hands gripping his sides to steady herself. "They're nothing special. You're exaggerating—they're just...breasts, like any other woman's. Stop joking around with what you're saying to your mother."

Her words were a desperate attempt to downplay the moment, to convince herself that this was ordinary, not the taboo sensation that was setting her body alight.

But Kafka's response was a firmer squeeze, his fingers sinking into her flesh as if to challenge her denial, his grin unwavering.

"Joking? No way, Mom." He said, his voice laced with conviction. "These are one of a kind. You won't find breasts like these on any other woman—not with how fat and big they are...That alone's worth singing praises about."

His hands lifted her breasts, testing their weight, and the sensation was exquisite, a deep throb of pleasure that made her bite her lip to stifle a moan.

"Hnnn!♡~ Ahhh!♡~ Haugh!♡~"

Her nipples, painfully sensitive, pressed harder against the fabric, and a flush spread from her chest to her neck, her body reacting with a warmth that filled her with shame.

"Mmm!♡~ Nnnn!♡~ Mmm!♡~"

Olivia's whimpers grew softer, her body trembling as she tried to protest, her voice barely audible.

"Kafi...stop, they're not..."

But his hands continued, undeterred, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a teasing, almost analytical tone.

"And it's not just the size." He said, his fingers pushing into her flesh, testing their resilience. "If that wasn't enough—how heavy they are, how my hands are struggling to lift them their firmness is unreal."

"Normally, breasts this big would sag, flop down, lose their shape under all that weight. Like Mom's—hers are huge, probably close to your size, but they're soft, floppy, perfect for...well, sleeping on."

The image Kafka resting on Abigaille's naked breasts, her best friend's body bared to him sent a jolt of illicit excitement through Olivia, her lower body tightening as her mind conjured the scene.

'When did they do that?' She wondered, her breath catching, the thought both shocking and strangely thrilling.

But Kafka's voice pulled her back, his hands still groping, his fingers now circling the firm curves of her breasts.

"Yours, though? They're different." He said, his tone almost reverent. "So firm, holding their shape like they're defying gravity. And elastic as well—look at this." He pushed his fingers deeper, the flesh yielding before springing back, and the sensation was a sharp, tingling pleasure that made her gasp, her back arching involuntarily. "No matter how much I push, they just...bounce back. What are these even made of, Mom?"

Olivia's face was a furnace, her voice trembling as she tried to deflect, her guilt warring with the sensations flooding her body.

"They're...the same as anyone's. Mmm!♡~" She stammered, her words weak. "Flesh, muscle...nothing special."

But her body disagreed, each squeeze sending waves of pleasure through her chest, her nipples throbbing, her lower belly quivering with a need she refused to acknowledge. The dampness between her thighs grew, a shameful secret she prayed he couldn't sense, her thighs clenching against his sides in a futile attempt to quell it.

Kafka's grin was teasing, his fingers circling her breasts again, brushing the sensitive edges where they met her chest.

"Not a chance." He said, his voice playful but insistent. "These are special. Gotta be some...magic breast muscle or something, because there's no way they're this big and this perfect otherwise."

His hands lifted and dropped her breasts, the bounce sending a fresh wave of pleasure through her, her breath catching as her body betrayed her with another soft moan.

"Ahhh!♡~ Ahhh!♡~ Hnnn!♡~"

The sound mortified her, her eyes darting to his face, but his expression remained one of fascination, his gaze fixed on her breasts as if they were a marvel to be studied, not a woman's body to be desired...