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

Kafka's gaze swept slowly over each woman in the little semicircle outside the curtain. None of them dared to meet it for more than a second before their heads dipped, shame softening their shoulders.

The silence was so thick that the faint sound of Olivia shifting inside the trial room seemed deafening in contrast.

He then exhaled through his nose and then spoke in that calm, low register that somehow cut sharper than a shout.

"Honestly...at first." He began. "I wasn't going to drag this out. I was going to let you all go."

That made more than a few heads snap up in surprise. June's brows flicked up briefly, and one of the younger clerks blinked like she wasn't sure she'd heard correctly.

"Yes." Kafka continued, nodding slowly as if to confirm it. "I'm not blind to the fact that I'm...also at fault here. Engaging in something like this, in a place like this...not exactly exemplary behavior, is it?"

His smirk softened for just a breath, almost self-deprecating.

"I shouldn't have done that. And I thought, well, what's the point in making a scene about it?"

They glanced at one another, caught off guard by the unusual show of 'understanding.'

"And that..." He said, tilting his head. "...was the plan. At first."

The smirk came back, sharper now, tinged with something more dangerous.

"But then...I saw how honest you all decided to be. How you finally said exactly what was on your minds. How you stopped pretending and admitted you were here for one reason only."

His eyes swept over them again, lingering just long enough on each face to make them squirm.

"Of course...you lied first. But eventually, you gave in. You told me everything. That..." He leaned in slightly. "...takes a bit of courage or atleast from June that spoke up."

The room shifted uneasily, though there was a ripple of something else beneath the embarrassment, an unspoken, collective thrill.

"And...." He went on, voice dipping lower. "Because of that...I think you deserve a little reward."

That word, reward, landed like a spark in dry tinder. Eyes widened. June's lips parted before she could stop them.

"…Reward?" She asked carefully, almost testing the word. "What do you mean, reward, Kafka?"

He didn't answer immediately. He let the pause stretch, feeding the tension, before finally saying.

"It's obvious, isn't it? All of you wanted to see what was going on in here. You wanted to know what I was doing to her. You wanted to know why Olivia—" His lips curved. "...was making those sounds."

The flush that spread through the group was nearly uniform...No one dared deny it.

"I think you all know I'm right." Kafka continued. "You'd keep wondering forever otherwise. You'd dream about it, think about it at the most inconvenient times, never be satisfied until you saw it for yourselves."

Still, no one spoke against him. The shared silence was damning enough.

"So..." He said, the smirk now a full grin. "...to appease that...curiosity...and make sure you're not left with unanswered questions, I'm going to give you exactly what you want...A show."

"You'll see everything that was going on in here. And then I'll take it further. Deeper. Until you thoroughly understand why she was moaning like that."

It was almost comical, the way throats bobbed as they swallowed, the way shoulders stiffened against the shiver that wanted to run down their spines.

At first, some looked like they wanted to laugh it off. Surely he was joking. Surely this was just some outrageous bluff.

But the longer they held his gaze and saw the unwavering intent there, the absolute certainty, the less it seemed like a joke.

And then...the real tell.

No one moved. No one said no.

Eyes darted between coworkers, silently urging someone else to be the voice of reason. But no such voice came. The air grew warmer, heavier, as if their unspoken agreement was already taking shape.

Kafka chuckled low in his throat, reading the anticipation in their stillness. His gaze shifted to June, who looked half-frustrated, half-wary.

"Since no one else seems to have a problem." He said softly. "And everyone's got that look like they do want to see a good show...why don't we make use of this lunch break?"

"...Give your employees something they can watch, and remember, for the rest of their lives."

June's fingers tightened subtly on her crutch. She swallowed hard. He'd read her perfectly, her curiosity was as sharp as anyone's, and she couldn't hide it, so she stayed silent and Kafka's grin widened.

"Good." He said simply. Then he glanced toward the front of the shop. "But before we begin...someone should close the door. This is a special show. No one else walks in uninvited."

Before anyone could move, one of the clerks blurted. "It's already done. The doors are closed."

Kafka's brows lifted in genuine surprise. "…Already?"

The girl nodded quickly. "We...um...put the 'Employees on Lunch' sign up. Just in case."

For a heartbeat, he simply looked at her. And then the laugh broke free, low, deep, and utterly amused.

"Didn't expect you to be so eager." He said, shaking his head. "Makes my job easier."

The group's collective blush deepened.

Kafka let his gaze drift from the group back to the closed curtain, and when he spoke again, there was an unmistakable coaxing lilt to his voice, gentle, but threaded with that dangerous certainty that made it impossible to ignore.

"Olive..." He called, just loud enough for everyone to hear, the syllables curling slow from his tongue. "I know you've been listening to every word out here. I know you heard everything I said."

The curtain twitched, just once, a tiny shiver of movement that betrayed the jolt his words had sent through whoever stood behind it. His smile deepened.

"So, it's about time you came out, don't you think?" His tone softened almost to a purr. "Everyone here is...very curious about you right now. About how you look. About how flustered you are."

His eyes flicked to the group, noting the way their breathing subtly hitched.

"They want to see your current state, Olive. And I..." He let the word stretch. "...want them to see how beautiful you look at this moment."

Every head turned toward the curtain. The stillness of the room became its own kind of tension, June's fingers tightened on her crutch; the clerks leaned forward without realizing they were doing it. They'd all heard the sounds, but now their imaginations were clawing to match them with an image.

But nothing happened...The curtain stayed drawn. Silence.

Kafka tilted his head slightly, still smiling.

"Don't be shy, Olive." He said warmly. "You've got a very open-minded audience here. No one's going to judge you. You're standing in a lingerie shop, half-naked women are practically part of the décor." A few clerks flushed harder, glancing down, but he didn't miss the way they still leaned in.

He let the pause hang, then added casually.

"If you won't come out yourself...I don't mind coming in there and dragging you out so they can see."

The reaction was instant. The curtain gave a slow, reluctant schhhh as it slid open.

And there she was.

Olivia stepped out like every inch of her body was screaming to retreat again, her hands twitching as if they couldn't decide whether to cover her chest or her hips first. Her head dipped slightly, and that flush on her face was so deep it looked hot to the touch.

But it didn't matter how much she tried to hide, there was no hiding the way Kafka had dressed her.

It hit the women watching like a gut punch. A soft, collective inhale, eyes going wide in unison, the color in their cheeks deepening until it looked feverish.

She wasn't just wearing lingerie, she was wearing something so indecent it almost mocked the idea of clothing.

The black fabric was so thin it seemed more suggestion than garment, and cut so small that only the barest strip covered anything at all.

Her side-breasts and the swell of the tops were exposed, spilling into view with every tiny shift.

The back offered even less mercy, her ass framed but mostly bared, round and smooth, with only a whisper of material disappearing between the cheeks.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Three perfectly placed slits made the whole thing an exercise in shamelessness.

One on the left cup, one on the right, and one vertical cut along the front of the panties, each gap strategically revealing exactly what modesty should have hidden.

Her nipples, those sunken, shy little things, were completely visible through the openings, the delicate dips ringed by puffy, flushed areolas.

Below, the slit in the panties framed her cleft so explicitly that it was as though the lingerie existed purely to present it. Her lips, slick and flushed pink, glistened under the soft store lighting, delicate and vulnerable in a way that drew the eye like a magnet.

Gasps went unvoiced but were etched into the tension of every woman's face.

And then the details hit.

The faint sheen coating her areolas, beads of wetness catching the light, was unmistakably saliva. So were the glistening patches on the curve of her breasts, dotted with dark hickeys and faint bite marks, each one a story in itself.

It told them exactly how savagely Kafka had been working at her inside that trial room.

And despite every attempt she'd made to wipe herself down before emerging, the evidence of her arousal was impossible to erase, her pussy still leaked in a slow, lazy glisten down the seam of her slit, catching the light as if she'd been oiled.

The sight was...overwhelming.

More than one of the employees shifted in place, thighs pressing together reflexively. It was the paradox of her posture, the bashful, flustered way she tried to hide behind her hair and half-turn her body, set against the absolute obscenity of the outfit, that left them unable to look away.

They'd thought they were prepared for this.

But nothing in their imaginings compared to having her here, standing just feet away, in an outfit that made nudity look modest...