God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 633: Thick Thighs Save Lives

Kafka looked at his mother, his voice steady despite the heat running down underneath. "Feel right? This is what Mom loves, being right here on my lap."

Olivia nodded, her smile shy but genuine as she adjusted to the sensation.

"It...it does feel nice." She admitted, her voice soft. "Really nice. I get why Abi does this. You're...the perfect seat, Kafi."

Her blush deepened, but her eyes sparkled with warmth, her body relaxing against his.

Kafka's grin widened, his arm resting lightly around her waist. "Good to hear...So, you prefer this over just sitting next to me?"

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting, then nodded.

"This is...so much better." She said, her voice firm despite her shyness. "It feels...closer.."

"Glad you're starting to get it." Kafka said, his tone warm but laced with a subtle satisfaction with how he was ludin. "But don't let your hands just sit there. Mom doesn't."

"...She wraps her arms around my neck, pulls herself close, like I'm her anchor. You should try it."

Olivia's eyes widened, but she nodded, her arms slowly rising to loop around his neck, her fingers brushing his skin as she pulled herself closer.

The movement pressed her breasts harder against his chest, her plump ass shifting on his lap, and Kafka fought to keep his breathing steady, while to Olivia, it felt like he was a pillar, a steady force she could rely on, grounding her in a way she hadn't felt in years.

Her heart swelled, the comfort of his presence washing away her earlier nerves.

She then suddenly realized she hadn't checked on him, her maternal instincts kicking in.

"Kafi..." She asked, her voice soft. "Are you okay? Is this...comfortable for you?"

Kafka's chuckle was low, as he pulled her in closer.

"Comfortable? Why wouldn't I be, with such a warm, soft body sitting on me?...It's absolutely divine, Mom." His words, laced with a playful edge, made her blush, her cheeks burning at the boldness of his compliment. But he continued, his tone shifting to a teasing hesitation. "Though...I don't feel complete yet. When Mom's here, my hands aren't just sitting idle. They're...somewhere else. But I'm not sure if that'd be too much for you."

Olivia's curiosity flared, her heart racing as she leaned in slightly.

"Where?" She asked, her voice full of excitement and apprehension. "Where do you put your hands when Abi's here?"

Kafka's gaze dropped to her plump, stocking-clad thighs, their fullness accentuated by the tight fabric.

"Right here." He said, his voice low and dreamy. "On her thighs. Stroking them, nice and tender. Mom loves it, says it's calming, like a massage."

"...She'll even grab my hand and put it there herself, asking me to keep going."

Olivia's eyes widened, her breath catching as she glanced at Abigaille in the kitchen, oblivious to their conversation.

"Abi...likes that?" She asked, her voice a whisper, disbelief mingling with a strange envy.

The idea of such intimacy, so casual yet so personal, was shocking, but she didn't want to be left behind, to miss out on the closeness Abigaille shared with Kafka.

"Yup." Kafka said, his grin unwavering. "You wanna try it? Or is that too much?"

Olivia hesitated, her competitive streak warring with her nerves. Part of her wanted to match Abigaille, to prove she could be just as close, but the intimacy of his hands on her thighs was daunting.

Still, she shook her head, her voice firm despite the tremor. "No, it's not too much." She said, her eyes meeting his. "I want to try it. I want...the same as Abi."

Kafka's brow arched, his tone teasing but probing. "You sure? Not just trying to one-up Mom, are you?"

She shook her head, her blush deepening but her resolve holding. "Not at all. I just...I want to feel that close to you, Kafi. Go ahead."

Under her watchful gaze, Kafka's hand moved, resting gently on her thigh, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of her stockings. He began to stroke, slow and tender, his touch strong but soft.

"This okay?" He asked, his voice low, his eyes locked on hers.

Olivia's breath hitched, the sensation of his rough fingers gliding over her sensitive thigh sending a shiver through her. It was ticklish, soothing, and...heavenly, a warmth spreading through her that was both calming and electrifying.

"It's...fine." She said, her voice trembling but honest. "It feels...nice. Really nice."

Kafka's smile was subtle, a flicker of triumph in his eyes.

"Good. Mom likes it like this, too. But she also loves when I do...this."

Before she could ask, his hand shifted, sliding from the top of her thigh to the softer, more sensitive skin between them, his fingers stroking the inner curve with a tender touch.

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

The shift was subtle but profound, the intimacy of it sending a jolt through Olivia a thrilling, unfamiliar heat that made her heart race and her core tighten.

She couldn't name the feeling, couldn't place why it felt so tantalizing, but it was unlike anything she'd experienced.

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

Her emotions churned, a turmoil of comfort and unease, desire and fear. The sensation of his hand, so close to her most sensitive places, was intoxicating, but the taboo nature of it, the strangeness of feeling this way with her son, made her tremble.

She wanted to ask him to stop, to retreat to safer ground, but the thought of pulling away, of losing this closeness, was unbearable. She'd waited so long for this connection, and the fear of scaring him off, of breaking this fragile bond, kept her silent.

So she let him caress her, her arms tightening around his neck, her body pressing closer as she surrendered to the moment, her heart a storm of conflicting desires.

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

Kafka's fingers continued their slow dance over Olivia's stocking-clad thighs, the sleek fabric amplifying the warmth of his touch as he held her close on his lap.

He then glanced down at her thighs, his fingers tracing the edge of the black stockings, and tilted his head with a curious, teasing smile.

"So, Mom." He said, his voice low and playful. "you always wear these stockings for work? They're quite...eye-catching."

Olivia's heart raced, the intimacy of his touch—his hand so casually stroking her thigh, dipping between them with a tender, almost possessive rhythm still sending shivers through her.

She looked down, watching his fingers move, and nodded, her voice soft but tinged with nervousness.

"Y-Yes." She said, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "My job...it demands professionalism. A suit, stockings—they make me look polished, trustworthy. Clients like that look and it makes them feel like they could rely on me."

She hesitated, her tone turning uncertain as she added, "Why? Do you...not like them? Are they too ugly? I know they're just work clothes, but I won't need them here. I won't wear them in public, Kafi, I promise."

"...I don't want to embarrass you as your mom."

Kafka's eyes widened, a hearty chuckle escaping him as he shook his head, his hand still caressing her thigh.

"Embarrass me? Mom, I'd have to be a complete moron to think these stockings are ugly. Ugly? Hell no, they're..." He paused, his grin turning sly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "...they're actually sexy as hell. The way they hug your pale skin, that smooth contrast with the black fabric?...It's it's a gorgeous look."

Olivia's jaw dropped, her cheeks flaming as his brazen words hit her like a shockwave.

"S-Sexy?"

She stammered, unable to comprehend what he son had just called her. Her son, her own son calling her stockings sexy? The audacity left her reeling, her mind scrambling to process his boldness.

"Kafi, you can't just...say things like that!"

But in response, he only laughed, his hand giving her thigh a gentle squeeze, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Don't get too startled, Mom. This is just how folks talk around here. I told you, this town is quite open-minded, way more than anywhere else. We say what's on our minds, no filter, especially about stuff like this."

"...It's normal, just part of the vibe. So, are you cool with that or should I hold off?"

Olivia's heart pounded, her emotions a tangled mess. Hearing her son call her legs sexy was jarring, a far cry from the rude, dismissive comments he'd thrown at her in the past.

Yet, beneath the shock, a spark of excitement flickered. It was the first time in years he'd praised her, said something genuinely kind, even if it was wrapped in an intimate, almost scandalous package.

The warmth of his approval, the sincerity in his eyes, made her chest swell with a joy she hadn't felt in ages and she shook her head, forcing a smile despite her fluster.

"It's...it's fine." She said, her voice trembling but resolute. "I'm not...upset. Just surprised." She hesitated, then added, her curiosity getting the better of her. "But....do you really think they're appealing? Don't they look too boring, too professional?"

Kafka's grin softened, his fingers still stroking her thigh, dipping between them to caress the sensitive inner skin. "Boring? Not a chance. With legs like yours, long and...slender, these stockings are like a damn masterpiece."

"...I mean, if you walked beside me in public wearing these, I'd be the proudest son alive, showing off my cool-as-hell mom."

His voice was warm, his words laced with a sincerity that made her heart skip.

Olivia's face lit up, a giddy smile breaking through her embarrassment. Every parent craved their child's approval, and hearing Kafka call her cool, say he'd be proud to walk with her, was a dream come true.

Her chest swelled with joy, her earlier nerves melting under the warmth of his praise.

But then his smile turned playful, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he added, "That said...I wouldn't mind if you ditched the stockings. either. When I'm with Mom, I usually caress her bare thighs."

"...It feels different, you know?"

Olivia's blush returned with a vengeance, her eyes widening as she waved her hands frantically.

"Oh, no, no, it's not what you think, Kafi! Not at all in fact!" She blurted, her voice high with embarrassment. "Bare thighs wouldn't be....appealing at all. My thighs, they're...they're actually too fat, too plump. The stockings hide that, make them look slimmer."

"...What I'm saying is that if you saw them bare, you'd think they're awful, Kafi. They make my whole body look...chubby."

Her words spilled out before she could stop them, and she froze, realizing she was sharing insecurities she'd only ever confessed to close friends or partners, not her son.

The openness of it, the vulnerability, made her pause. Was she really becoming as open-minded as he'd described, so comfortable with him that she'd bare her private thoughts?

The idea didn't unsettle her as much as it should have unlike confiding in another man, this was her son, her Kafi, who'd vowed to be the best son possible, to make up for his past mistakes. She trusted his intentions, believed he was just trying to make her feel loved.

But then she caught his chuckle which made her think that he was laughing at her and braced herself for him to tease her about her 'fat' thighs, a pang of hurt mixing with acceptance—it was her son, after all. freeweɓnøvel.com

But to her surprise, his tone was sincere, his expression earnest as he looked at her.

"You know, Mom, I told Mom over in the kitchen the same thing when she had that worry." He said, his voice warm. "She thought her thighs were too fat, too, since you both have...well, let's just say you've got those gorgeous, plump bodies."

His bluntness made her blush deepen, but he pressed on, undeterred. "I told her, and I'm telling you the same now—plump thighs like yours?"

"...They're nothing to hide. And me? I adore them. Love them in a woman, honestly."

Olivia's eyes widened, her breath catching.

"What?" She asked, her voice in disbelief and confusion. "How...How could you find that appealing?"

Kafka's grin turned exaggerated, his voice playful but fervent as he leaned in. "Oh, come on, the greatness of plump thighs? They're soft, like pillows you could sink into forever. Touching them, lying on them—it's heaven."

"...Hell, I'd love to be suffocated between a pair of plump thighs any day!"

He then suddenly caught himself, his eyes widening as he backpedaled, his tone quick and apologetic almost as if he said something that could lead to a misunderstanding.

"Not...Not that I mean you, Mom. Just, you know, my preference in women, generally speaking."

Olivia nodded absently, her mind reeling as she processed his words. His preference, he'd said, but her thoughts wandered, wondering if he truly liked this part of her body, a part she'd always been so insecure about.

She hesitated, then asked, her voice soft. "Do...do you really like that part of me? My thighs, I mean?"

Kafka's smile softened, his hand still stroking her thigh, his touch lingering between them, warm and intimate. "I like every part of you, Mom. You're my mom—there's nothing I couldn't like. But your thighs?"

"...Yeah, they're heaven to touch like this. Plump, soft, perfect."

His voice was sincere, but his eyes held a glint of something deeper, a calculated spark that went unnoticed in her flustered state.

Olivia's heart raced, a confusing rush of joy flooding her. He was just sharing his preferences, opening up as the village's customs encouraged, but for a fleeting moment, she imagined herself as the woman he described, her body aligning with his ideal.

The thought sent a thrill through her, one she immediately dismissed as ridiculous, shaking her head to clear it.

'What am I thinking?' She scolded herself, blaming the village's open-mindedness, its strange spell that seemed to twist her thoughts into something bizarre, something...inappropriate.

Over and over, she repeated to herself that Kafka was just talking about his interests, not her specifically, as she fought to calm her racing mind.

Kafka meanwhile, beneath his warm facade, watched her closely, savoring the turmoil in her eyes, the way her body leaned into his touch despite her inner conflict.

Each word, each caress, was a step in his plan, drawing her deeper into the same web of intimacy he'd woven with Abigaille. He kept his touch gentle, his words playful, but his mind was sharp, calculating the next move to bring her closer to the line he'd already crossed...