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

Olivia's heart pounded in her chest, panic gripping her as the silence in the living room grew suffocating.

Abigaille stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide with a tumult of emotions—shock, confusion, and something else Olivia couldn't quite place.

Kafka's hand on the other hand continued its slow, possessive caress on her ass, his touch unyielding despite Abigaille's presence, his casual disregard amplifying Olivia's dread.

She was sprawled across him, her shirt open, her breasts pressed against his chest, and the intimacy of their position felt like a glaring accusation under Abigaille's gaze.

No one spoke, the air thick with unspoken tension, and Olivia's mind raced for a way to explain, to defuse the moment before it spiraled into judgment or misunderstanding.

Her lips parted, a desperate call to Abigaille forming, but before she could speak, Kafka's hand stilled, and he turned his head, a teasing smile spreading across his face as he looked at Abigaille.

"What's wrong, Mom?" He said, his voice light but laced with provocation, catching Olivia off guard. "Don't like this sight? You jealous or something, since you know, right now, Mom's stealing your spot, taking your place with me."

"...Bet that's got you all worked up, huh?"

Olivia's eyes widened, shock coursing through her at the audacity of his words.

Jealous?...The idea was absurd.

There was no way Abigaille could be jealous of this, of a mother and son in such an intimate embrace, so she bent down, her face close to Kafka's, her voice a frantic whisper.

"Kafi, stop! It's not like that at all. Abigaille's probably...weirded out, confused, seeing us like this. I just got here, and I'm already...like this with you. That's why she's startled!"

Her words tumbled out, laced with panic, her mind reeling at the thought of Abigaille judging her for crossing boundaries she wasn't even sure were acceptable in this village.

Kafka shook his head, his smile unwavering, his eyes glinting with a knowing confidence.

"Nah, Mom, you're wrong." He said, his voice low and insistent. "Look at her, really look at her face. You've lived with her for years, you know her better than anyone. She's not angry, not confused, not weirded out...She's jealous. Look closely."

He nodded toward Abigaille, urging Olivia to see for herself.

Olivia hesitated, her heart thudding as she forced herself to meet Abigaille's gaze. Her best friend's face was still etched with surprise, but as Olivia studied her eyes, she saw it—a trembling intensity, a flicker of longing and frustration, the same look someone might have when watching another claim something they coveted.

It was jealousy, subtle but unmistakable, laced with a tinge of bitterness that stunned Olivia. She couldn't fathom why Abigaille would feel this way, why the sight of her in Kafka's arms, in such an intimate position, would spark envy.

The idea that Abigaille was jealous of her of the closeness she shared with Kafka, felt impossible, yet the evidence was there, shimmering in Abigaille's eyes.

Unbeknownst to Olivia, Abigaille's heart was a tangle of emotions, the sight of Olivia sprawled across Kafka stirring a bitterness she hadn't anticipated.

Abigaille had never cared about Kafka's other partners, the women who flitted in and out of his life, because none could rival her place as his mother.

That role was sacred, irreplaceable, a bond no lover could touch.

But Olivia's return had shifted the dynamic, introducing a second mother, a rival for Kafka's love and attention. Seeing Olivia in the position Abigaille had so often occupied—pressed close, sharing intimate moments ignited a pang of possessiveness she hadn't expected.

It wasn't overwhelming jealousy, but a quiet, bitter ache, a fear that Olivia was claiming the special connection she'd cherished with Kafka. The fact that Olivia had achieved such closeness on her first day, mirroring the intimate rituals Abigaille shared with him, deepened the sting, making her question her place in his heart.

Olivia's mind reeled, her panic giving way to confusion as she processed Abigaille's jealousy. She wanted to speak, to reassure her friend, to explain that this was just...the village's way, or so Kafka had claimed.

But Kafka's hand resumed its gentle caress on her ass, his touch a steady reminder of his control over the moment, and she felt trapped, caught between her son's provocative confidence and Abigaille's silent turmoil.

Kafka's smile then widened, his eyes flicking between Olivia and Abigaille, savoring the tension he'd orchestrated.

"See, Mom?" He said to Olivia, his voice a playful whisper, his hand giving her ass a light pat. "Told you she's jealous...Ain't that right, Mom, you really don't appreciate the scene before you, don't you?"

His gaze returned to Abigaille, a teasing challenge in his eyes, as if daring her to admit her feelings.

Abigaille's lips parted, a flicker of indignation crossing her face, but she quickly masked it, forcing a tight smile.

"Jealous? Don't be ridiculous, Kafi." She said, her voice strained but attempting levity. "I'm just...surprised, that's all. I didn't expect you two to get so cozy so fast."

And then, folding her arms, she pouted, her voice tinged with irritation and jealousy as she turned to Olivia and continued.

"You know, Olivia, I knew Kafi was...like this." She said, her tone sharp but pouty. "All touchy-feely, always wanting to be close because of how possessive he is. That possesive of his turned him into someone who's constantly intimate with his mother—feeling me up, holding me close, barely holding back."

Her words spilled out, raw and unfiltered, revealing the full extent of Kafka's intimacy with her, and Olivia's eyes widened, a jolt of surprise coursing through her.

'Intimate all the time?'

She thought, her mind racing with questions about what exactly Abigaille meant, what they did together that went beyond the already shocking boundaries she'd experienced today.

Abigaille's gaze then sharpened, a hint of jealousy flashing as she glared at Olivia.

"But what really surprises me is you." She continued, her voice rising with irritation and disbelief. "I thought it'd take days, weeks even for you to get this close to him and I was ready to help, you know?"

"I planned activities, ways to bridge the gap, to make you a proper mother and son again. I thought you'd need me to guide you, to build that bond."

Her pout deepened, her eyes narrowing.

"But look at you now—so close, too close, way more than any mother and son should be. You clearly don't need my help. You're already...What, taking my place? You don't need me in your lives at all!"

Her words stung, laced with a jealousy that made. Olivia's cheeks flush, her heart pounding as she processed Abigaille's accusation.

Stealing her place?

The idea that Abigaille felt threatened by her closeness with Kafka was staggering, and the pout on her friend's face, so uncharacteristically cute and vulnerable, only deepened Olivia's confusion.

Abigaille's frustration was palpable, her voice trembling as she added,

"I especially thought you'd struggle, Olivia. You, with your icy walls, always so guarded, struggling to show your emotions...But here you are, with some hidden side when it comes to Kafi, effortlessly cozying up to him like it's nothing."

"...It's...It's not fair!"

Olivia's blush deepened, her mind reeling at the realization that Abigaille was genuinely jealous—not of some abstract bond, but of the intimate position she occupied with Kafka, a role Abigaille had apparently cherished.

Desperate to clarify, to ensure she wasn't misreading the situation, Olivia shifted slightly, still astride Kafka, and met Abigaille's gaze.

"Abigaille, wait." She said, her voice hesitant but probing. "What you're saying is that...the sight of us, so close, so...intimate, doesn't bother you at all? I mean, we're in a position no mother and son should be in."

She glanced down at their entwined bodies, her shirt open, her breasts pressed against Kafka's chest, and added, her voice trembling,

"He's...He's even touching my ass right now, Abigaille. No son does that to his own mother."

To her shock, Abigaille, caught in the heat of her jealousy and forgetting the need to conceal their secret, responded in a matter-of-fact tone, her words blunt and unfiltered.

"Of course it doesn't bother me." She said, her voice firm despite the pout still lingering. "There's nothing wrong with a mother and son being intimate like that. It's just our way of showing love, Olivia."

"...He's even groped my ass plenty of times, too—probably loves mine more than yours."

Her tone was almost competitive, as if staking a claim, and Olivia's jaw dropped, stunned by the casual admission of such intimacy, the implication that Abigaille and Kafka shared moments just as or more intimate than this.

Kafka, sensing the dangerous territory Abigaille was veering into, quickly intervened, his voice smooth but urgent.

"Yeah, Mom, that's just the town's openness, right?" He said, his eyes flicking to Abigaille with a subtle warning. "Not anything else, just how everyone here is, mothers and sons being super close, open-minded, you know?"

His tone was light, but the intensity in his gaze urged Abigaille to follow his lead.

Abigaille blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing her face as she registered his words, but his confidence steadied her. She nodded, her pout softening slightly.

"Right, yeah." She said, her voice less certain but compliant. "It's...just the town's customs, nothing else."

The shift in her tone was subtle, but it was enough to make Olivia exhale, a sigh of relief escaping her.

For a moment, Abigaille's words had sounded like those of a jealous lover, claiming Kafka as a partner rather than a son, and the dissonance had jarred Olivia, making her question the nature of their relationship.

The reassurance that it was 'just the town' calmed her, aligning with Kafka's earlier explanations, though a seed of doubt lingered...