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

Abigaille was about to burst out, eyes sparkling with the need to share, lips parting as she leaned forward on his lap, ready to gush about who this magnificent stranger was and how they had met.

But before she could speak a word, Kafka suddenly raised his hand, cupping her face and squeezing her cheeks together with a firm grip. Her lips puckered comically, her words muffled into a silly hum.

Her eyes went wide in surprise, but before she could say anything, he spoke for her.

"Let me guess..." Kafka murmured, voice low and teasing. "That lady, she was the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. The most radiant. Like some kind of goddess who just stepped into your world."

Abigaille froze, then her eyes went round as saucers. She nodded furiously, cheeks squished under his palm, mumbling incoherently in agreement.

Kafka's smirk widened.

"And let me guess again...you struggled to speak with her, didn't you? Because you were too shy. Because she had that certain aloofness about her. Like she didn't care for the rest of the world, only moved at her own pace."

Her muffled voice rose in shock, and she bobbed her head again, nodding frantically, staring at him as if he were unraveling her very thoughts.

"And..." Kafka added smoothly, narrowing his eyes just slightly. "I bet you two talked. I bet at some point...I was brought up. And the moment my name came up, she suddenly became very interested."

That did it. Abigaille tore his hand off her mouth, gasping, her chest heaving.

"How, Kafi? How?" She demanded breathlessly, leaning into him, her enormous breasts pressing against his chest, soft and heavy. Her eyes glittered with amazement. "How did you know that?"

"...Don't tell me, don't you dare tell me, you're a psychic!"

For a moment, Kafka blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.

"Yes, Mom. Yes. I am most definitely a psychic." He said in a mock-mystical tone. "Recently, I've learned to read minds. To read emotions. I can even feel what you're feeling right now, even before you speak it."

Her lips parted in awe, and she gasped. "Really? Oh my god! Then tell me, Kafi, tell me what I feel right now!" She leaned forward in anticipation, excitement burning in her eyes.

Kafka too pretended to think deeply, stroking his chin with exaggerated seriousness. Then, with a wolfish grin, he looked her straight in the eyes.

"What my psychic abilities are telling me is that...you're horny for me, Mom." He said flatly.

"You're horny for me all the time. You want me to take you to bed, throw you down, and slam my cock into your pussy over and over again."

Abigaille froze, blinking. Her lips twitched. Then the flush spread across her face like wildfire. She looked away, mortified, muttering under her breath.

"Kafi, you dummy...you don't have to be a psychic to know something so obvious…"

"What was that?" Kafka tilted his head, smirking.

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" She shot back, flustered, waving her hand, before glaring at him with severity. "But seriously, how did you really know all that, Kafi?"

"...I was so excited to tell you about that woman today, but you guessed everything perfectly. Did you meet her too?"

Kafka leaned back against the sofa, a smug smile on his face.

"No. Not at all." His gaze slid down deliberately to her chest, where her breasts were pressed high and proud against the neckline of her clothes.

Without hesitation, he slid his hands inside, gripping her soft flesh and kneading roughly.

She gasped but didn't resist, she never did when he handled her like this. His palms roamed freely, brazen, tugging at her bra until his fingers slid beneath to grasp bare flesh.

"It wasn't me who met her." Kafka went on casually, thumbs brushing over her sensitive peaks. "But Nina did. And Camila. And Bella, too. All three of them saw her today. And all three called me, telling me the same thing."

"They were left speechless. Gobsmacked. Like they had seen an otherworldly being. A goddess, they said. Exactly like what you just told me."

Abigaille whimpered, biting her lip, her face heating while his hands kneaded and pulled at her breasts with no shame. She tilted her head back slightly, letting him have his way.

"Oh, really? That's...surprising. And quite the coincidence, don't you think?" She managed between soft moans. "For one woman to meet all of us like this, one by one...seems a little too coincidental…"

Kafka chuckled darkly, sliding her bra down until her breasts spilled free, full and heavy, her dark nipples already stiff. He pinched one between his fingers, twisting until she let out a soft, breathless cry.

"Exactly what I was thinking." He said smoothly. "As if she's been circling around us on purpose. As if she's following the family."

Abigaille shivered at his words, both from the way his fingers toyed with her nipples and from the implication.

"Oh, that's scary, Kafi...but…" She bit her lip, her face twisted in conflicted pleasure. "…she didn't feel like someone who would do that. She was...wise. Like a sage."

"Talking to her was...peaceful. Soothing. She looked around our age, forty or so, but when she spoke, it was like she had lived a thousand years."

Kafka tugged her top fully off, tossing it aside. Her massive brown breasts bounced free, her nipples dark and swollen, exposed to his hungry eyes. He leaned in and took one in his mouth, sucking greedily.

"Suck!♡~ Lick!♡~ Gulp!♡~"

Abigaille let out a strangled whimper, arms instinctively wrapping around his head, pulling him closer.

"Tell me what she looked like, Mom." Kafka demanded around her nipple, voice muffled as he sucked hard. "Nina cut the call before I could ask. Camila too. Don't you dare run off like them." His teeth grazed her sensitive flesh, making her shudder.

"I-I won't run, Kafi." Abigaille gasped, trembling as he groped and pulled at her swollen breasts. "I won't...so just...loosen your hands a little, it hurts…"

He smirked up at her, giving a sharp squeeze that made her squeak. "But you like it rough, don't you, Mom?"

Her cheeks blazed, but her voice was small, breathless. "Y-Yes...I do. I really do...but...gentler right now, please…"

Kafka relented, his mouth gentling on her nipple, kissing and sucking softly while his hand rolled the other. "Like this?"

"Yes, Kafi." She whimpered, stroking his hair tenderly. "Just like that...oh god…"

He pulled back just slightly, lips wet, eyes locking with hers. "Then talk. Tell me what she looked like."

Abigaille hesitated, stroking his head as if she were comforting a child, though her body trembled from his touch.

"The truth is Kafi, there was...something particular about her appearance. Something eye-catching."

Kafka bit down lightly on her nipple, making her jolt. "I already know she was beautiful. Don't waste my time."

But Abigaille shook her head, gasping as he tugged her nipple deeper into his mouth.

"No, Kafi...it wasn't just beauty. It was…" She paused, her eyes softening, her voice dropping low. "It was you...It was related to you."

Kafka froze. His mouth slipped from her nipple, his lips glistening with her taste as he stared up at her, expression hardening.

"What?" His voice was sharp, disbelieving. "What do you mean?"

Abigaille looked down at him with wide eyes, cheeks flushed, still holding his head against her chest.

"When I met her, I thought she was magnificent, yes...but the thing that struck me most, the thing that shocked me, was that she...looked like you, Kafi."

Kafka went still. Dead still. His hands stopped moving, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.

"Say what now?"

He whispered, while Abigaille swallowed. Her heart beat quickly as she stared at him, unsure if she should continue. But the words pressed against her lips like water against a dam, and she let them out in a trembling rush.

"At first...I didn't believe it, Kafi." She said softly. "I thought I was seeing things. I thought maybe it was because I love you so much, that my eyes were betraying me, showing me your face in another woman. I told myself it was only my heart making tricks of my vision."

"...But the closer I looked at her...the more I spoke with her...the more I studied her features...it became undeniable."

Her hand rose, sliding into his dark hair. She twined her fingers through it, letting the silk of it spill over her palm as she whispered.

"The same hair. This dark, black hair that swallows light itself. Exactly the same. Her hair was no different, Kafka...no different at all."

Her fingertips drifted lower, grazing his temple and cheek.

"And your skin...this pale white skin of yours that makes you look almost sickly, as if you've never once left this house, never once felt the warmth of the sun. She had the same skin. Only hers was paler still, deathly pale. Like someone who has never lived under the day's light."

Her touch moved to his lips. She traced the curve of his mouth, the proud arch of his smile.

"Even the way she smiled...it was yours, Kafka. That quiet arrogance, that subtle pride. No malice in it, no cruelty, just absolute confidence, as if the world itself would bend for her if she asked it. It was your smile. Only hers…" She faltered, her voice low. "…hers were black lips, where yours are not."

Finally, her trembling fingers lifted to his eyes. She hovered there for a long, reverent moment, her thumb brushing beneath his brow.

"But most of all...it was her eyes. I always thought you had the most beautiful eyes in the world, Kafi. Eyes I could never look away from. And then I saw her...and I felt the same pull."

"Not just their shape or their color, it was the aura. That force that binds you, makes it impossible to look away. And the calmness...the aloofness. Like the world could burn to ash around her, and her eyes would remain still, unshaken...just like yours."

Her voice quavered as she drew her hand back to her chest.

"If it had been one or two things, I would have dismissed it. But this was too much, Kafi. Too many features, too perfectly aligned. She looked like you."

"...No, she was you with how similar you looked."