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

"It's nothing that hard, Olive." Kafka replied, brushing his lips close to her ear again. "Everyone here's already far more open-minded than you give them credit for. They've accepted what's happening. They're not about to clutch their pearls now."

"I—"

"And..." He went on, ignoring her protest. "You've seen it done before. You watched Abi, remember? Watched her closely. Thoroughly. You know exactly how she did it."

Olivia stiffened, the memory flashing unwanted through her mind, Abigaille's ease, her confidence, the obscene detail of it.

Kafi's voice lowered to an intimate murmur only she could hear. "So...just follow her example, Olive. You'll be perfect."

A shiver chased down her spine, her thighs squeezing together. She didn't answer, but the tremble in her lips betrayed her.

Kafka didn't push her for a reply. Instead, he straightened, looking over the heads of the circle.

"Come closer." He said, his tone turning casual but commanding. "Don't be shy. I want you all to see. No point standing back there."

They hesitated, only for a heartbeat, before the first step forward came, and then another, until the circle shrank and he and Olivia were surrounded in a tight, anticipatory ring of nearly bare bodies.

Kafka stepped away briefly, retrieving a chair from against the wall. He placed it deliberately so that it faced him dead-on. Then he gestured to June.

"Sit."

Her brows rose. "W-What—"

"Front row seat." He said with a faint smirk. "Wouldn't want you to miss anything."

She sat stiffly, mortified at the phrasing, but unable to deny the twist of something in her chest at being placed there.

Kafka then returned to Olivia, still holding her hand loosely but firmly. "Perfect." He murmured, almost to himself, scanning the setup.

Olivia also looked around at the circle of faces, flushed, breathing a little harder, eyes fixed on her like she was prey. She swallowed hard.

"It's time." Kafka said simply. "Do exactly as I told you."

Her throat bobbed as she gulped. "I…"

But she knew she had no way out. So her knees wavered as she lowered herself slowly, the sound of her stockings brushing together loud in her own ears. She sank down further until both knees rested on the polished floor, her head level with his hips.

And then she saw it.

Even behind the fabric, his arousal was an undeniable, heavy shape, obscene in its clarity, the thick outline pressing against the material like it was moments from breaking free. The head of it jutted forward enough to stretch the front, making the whole thing tilt just slightly under its own weight.

A collective gasp rippled around the circle.

One woman muttered without thinking. "Oh my, Oh my…" and another covered her mouth but didn't look away.

They didn't have to see it bare to know. The sheer size was written in the way the fabric bowed forward, in the straining seam, in the shadowed shape beneath.

Olivia's breath hitched audibly. "Kafi…" She whispered, her gaze glued helplessly to the massive outline, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

Kafka simply glanced down at her, really looked, and saw it all in her expression.

The way her pupils trembled, the way her lips parted but no sound came. She had the look of someone pleading for mercy without the courage to speak it aloud.

Those big, pleading, puppy-dog eyes were begging him to stop, to spare her.

But he only smiled, not kindly, but with that slow, unhurried confidence that said he'd already made his decision. His hand came down to her hair, smoothing over it, patting her head like she was a nervous pet.

"There's no use in calling my name like that, Olive." He said, his voice low but carrying. "I'm not changing my mind. You're not getting out of this."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Kafi...please—"

"No." The answer was immediate, final. He tilted his head toward the circle of women watching, his palm still resting lightly on her crown. "You're going to stop stalling and give them what they came for. Give the people what they want."

The firmness in his tone crushed any hope of reprieve. He wasn't bluffing. He wasn't testing her. This was happening.

Her heart thumped hard enough to make her ribs ache. She realized, with a little shiver of disbelief, that he really was merciless, brutal in that way that didn't even involve raising his voice. This was the "chance" He'd given her, and she'd wasted it.

There was no other choice now.

Her fingers moved reluctantly to his shirt, lifting the hem, her breaths shallow and uneven. The buckle on his belt gleamed in the studio light, and she undid it with slow, trembling motions. The leather slid loose, the zipper following with a long, drawn-out zrrrp.

His pants slackened and fell open until only his underwear stood between him and full exposure. But even so, the women could now see far more than before, thick ridges of shape, the way the fabric curved and strained, the heavy weight of it.

June, despite herself, leaned forward in her seat, eyes narrowing like she needed to see the exact size when it came free, while Olivia darted a desperate glance around the circle, silently begging for someone, anyone, to intervene.

No one did.

In fact, one of the younger employees caught her eye and made a little impatient gesture, mouthing 'hurry'. Another gave a faint, encouraging nod, her gaze glued to the bulge.

Her stomach sank. 'They...they actually want me to do this.'

With a soft, miserable whimper, she hooked her fingers under the waistband and pulled.

The elastic slid down...and then his cock came free.

Whoosh!

It was instant chaos in the air.

The thick shaft sprang upward like a released weapon, the sudden movement enough that the tip actually passed the level of Olivia's head before settling forward, looming over her like a hanging behemoth.

The sheer size of it dominated the space between them, casting its own shadow across her flushed face.

Gasps, curses, and incredulous laughter burst out from the women around them.

"Holy—" One woman couldn't even finish.

"Why is it so big?!" Another blurted in open disbelief. "Is it supposed to be that big?"

"My husband's not even a quarter that." One said faintly, then snorted bitterly. "His is like a pencil compared to...that."

"There's no way." Another muttered, shaking her head. "That's not even a dick, that's a damn rod. How does that even go inside?"

A curvier woman smirked slyly at Olivia. "Poor thing." She drawled. "having to take that monster."

The tall brunette beside her shook her head. "Lucky thing, you mean."

Even June's composure cracked; her hand twitched forward almost without her realizing, fingertips brushing the side of the shaft before she caught herself.

The heat, the weight, it was mesmerizing. She sat back, biting her lip, waiting to see what Olivia would do.

Olivia herself was caught between awe and dread. She'd seen it before, touched it, stroked it, even played with it. But here, kneeling, the sheer scale looming over her face, it still made her eyes go wide.

Something primal inside her stirred, as if her body recognized it as something it craved before her mind could even catch up.

She looked up at him once more, one last silent plea for mercy. His answering nod told her all she needed to know: there would be none.

So she obeyed.

Her small hands slid up the shaft, closing as far as they could around it. A low murmur of awe went through the crowd at the sight of her stroking him, their eyes following the slow movement of her fingers. She bent forward, her tongue slipping out, tracing the broad ridge of the head in a wet, lingering lick.

"Lick!♡~"

The moment the first taste hit her tongue, she knew she'd remember it, salty, earthy, male in a way that made something low in her tighten. She didn't recoil. She leaned into it. It was addictive.

"Lick!♡~ Mmph!♡~ Ahh!♡~ Suck!♡~"

She opened her mouth wider, lips stretching to cover the thick crown, cheeks hollowing slightly as she sucked just the tip. Even that small part filled her mouth enough that her jaw ached.

"Mmm!♡~ Ahhh!♡~ Slurp!♡~ Nnn!♡~"

Kafka's hand slipped to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair.

"Just like that, Olive." He said with low approval. "Just like that. Fuck my cock, girl. This is the same one you couldn't keep your hands off yesterday, remember?"

He pushed her down a little further, and her throat worked to accommodate it. And then his gaze lifted lazily to the watching women.

"She's inexperienced, you know. First time doing this." He said almost conversationally, as if explaining away a new performer's nerves. "Don't mind if she's a little clumsy."

One of the employees gave a short laugh.

"Clumsy? Please. Even the most experienced woman would have trouble with that. That thing's huge."

Another, openly rubbing herself through her panties now, added breathlessly, "Just look at it. If I had to take that in my mouth, I'd be gagging in seconds."

A third, kneading one breast while her other hand toyed at her panties, shook her head in disbelief.

"She's taking it like a pro. Barely making a sound."

"Maybe it's just a god-given talent." Another murmured, her eyes half-lidded as she stared. "A body like hers...maybe God decided to give her a mouth made for it too."

Olivia's ears burned hot.

God-given talent? Mouth made for it?

She wanted to scream at them, to tell them this wasn't some casual performance for her amusement, it was humiliating.

And yet...her tongue kept moving, her hands kept stroking, her lips kept sliding further down the shaft under his steady hand.

Her humiliation was part of the heat now...