God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 647: No Need To Keep Secrets

Kafka's gaze remained fixed on Abigaille, his voice low and commanding as he spoke, ignoring Olivia's stunned silence.

"You want to know the first reason I spanked you, don't you?" He asked, his eyes boring into hers. Abigaille, still kneeling beside him, her face close to his, nodded obediently, her lips trembling as she resisted the urge to suck on his fingers, which still teased the edge of her mouth.

She didn't flinch, didn't pull away, her submission so complete that she seemed oblivious to Olivia's wide-eyed stare, her focus entirely on Kafka, as if he were the center of her world.

With a slow motion, Kafka pulled his fingers from her lips, his hand sliding to her neck, caressing the soft skin with a tenderness that contrasted the earlier harshness of his spanks.

"Well, the reason I was so angry..." He said, his voice steady but laced with an intense tone. "...is because you said something wrong, Mom. Something you shouldn't have said."

His eyes narrowed, a gloomy intensity returning that made Abigaille tremble, her body tensing under his touch.

"When I saw you were jealous, I thought it was just because me and Mom were close, a little place-based jealousy, nothing serious. But then you said that that you felt inadequate, that you weren't a good enough mother...That pissed me off."

His words were sharp, his gaze unrelenting, and Abigaille's eyes widened, a shiver running through her as she absorbed his anger. Kafka's hand tightened slightly on her neck, not painfully but possessively, as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper.

"You're the best mother out there, Mom. You've done everything for me your whole life and there's not a single moment you've let me down...I know how hard you've worked, how much you've given."

"...So, for you to say you're a bad mother, to put yourself down like that? That's foolish, and I won't stand for it."

His eyes burned with conviction, his words a bit of reprimand and fierce love that made Abigaille's breath catch, her heart swelling with a quiet joy despite the intensity of the moment.

He continued, his voice softening but no less resolute,

"It wasn't your fault we weren't close before, that was on me, not you. For that, you should never say you're a bad mother, never bow your head in shame for who you are."

"...I want you to stand tall, proud of the amazing mother you are."

His hand moved to her chin, gently tilting her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze, her posture shifting to one of quiet pride, her eyes glistening with emotion.

"Can you do that for me, Mom? Never speak lowly of yourself again? I hate seeing you like that."

Abigaille's face lit up, a radiant smile breaking through her earlier submission as she nodded, her voice cheerful and bright.

"Yes, Kafi." She said, her tone brimming with conviction. "I'll never do it again. Even if the whole world says I'm a bad mother, I won't believe it—not when my son says I'm the best. That's all I need to live proud."

Her words were heartfelt, her eyes shining with gratitude and love, the weight of her earlier doubts lifted by his fierce affirmation.

Kafka's smile returned, warm and approving, as he pinched her cheek like she was a child, pulling gently as he chuckled.

"That's my good girl." He said, his voice rich with affection. "Such a good girl for listening to me."

Abigaille blushed, her smile widening as she leaned into his touch, her expression one of pure happiness, as if being treated like a child, praised and coddled, was the greatest gift.

The shift was jarring. Moments ago, she'd been spanked, labeled a 'bad girl' and now she glowed under his approval, her submission and joy intertwined in a way that left Olivia breathless.

Olivia watched in disbelief, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions.

The complex dynamics—Kafka's authority, Abigaille's submission, the way they oscillated between punishment and praise, were unlike anything she'd ever seen. Abigaille's smile, her willingness to accept both the spanks and the praise, hinted at a history of such moments, a household where discipline and love were inexplicably entwined.

Kafka's attention then shifted, his gaze softening with concern as he looked at Abigallle, still kneeling beside him, her face glowing with the afterglow of his approval. His fingers moved from her lips to her collarbone, tracing the delicate line with a gentle touch as he spoke, his voice laced with care.

"How's your ass feeling, Mom?" He asked, his tone earnest. "Does it sting too much? Did I hit you too hard?" His eyes searched hers, a flicker of worry breaking through his earlier intensity.

Abigaille shook her head, a kind smile spreading across her face as she met his gaze.

"Not at all, Kafi." She said, her voice soft but firm. "I deserved that spanking for what I said. You were right to do it, so it's fine."

Her words were laced with acceptance, a willingness to embrace the punishment as just, but Kafka's brow furrowed, his hand pausing on her collarbone.

"That's not what I'm asking." He said, his voice gentle but insistent. "I'm asking if you're really alright, Mom. Tell me the truth...how does it feel?"

His concern was obvious, his eyes urging her to be honest, and the shift in his tone made Abigaille's expression soften, her defenses crumbling as she slipped into a pitiful, almost childlike mode.

Her lips pouted, her voice taking on an adorable, whiny cadence as she looked at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Okay, fine." She said, her tone cute and needy, like a girlfriend complaining to her boyfriend. "I-It hurts, Kafi! My butt's on fire! That first spank was bad enough, like someone lit a match on my ass, but then you went and smacked me two more times, and now it's just...numb!"

"...I can barely feel it! It's like two lumps of meat just hanging there, totally disconnected!"

She pouted harder, her hands rubbing her stinging backside, her childlike-demeanor a stark contrast to the graceful woman Olivia knew.

She'd seen Abigaille's cheerful side before, her playful energy, but this—acting so cute, so pouty and needy in front of her own son was a new sight, one that left her both charmed and unsettled.

Kafka's smile returned, warm and indulgent, as he cupped Abigaille's cheek, his thumb brushing her skin.

"Poor thing." He said, his voice coddling, like he was soothing a child. "Want me to check it for you? See if it's swollen, make sure you're okay?"

His offer was gentle, but there was a teasing edge to it, a spark in his eyes that made Abigaille's face light up with excitement, her earlier pain forgotten at the prospect of his care.

She was about to nod eagerly, her eyes bright, but then her gaze flicked to Olivia, who was staring, wide-eyed and flushed, and a flicker of hesitation crossed her face.

The intimacy of the moment, the idea of baring her ass in front of her best friend, gave her pause. Kafka noticed, his hand still on her cheek as he chuckled softly.

"It's fine, Mom." He said, his voice reassuring. "It's just just Mom, she's family. There's no need for secrecy with family, so just get up and show me, let me check."

Abigaille hesitated for a moment, her eyes meeting Olivia's, but Kafka's words, his calm authority, steadied her.

With a shy glance at Olivia, she rose to her feet, her movements slow and hesitant. Turning around, she reached for the hem of her skirt, lifting it inch by inch until her fat, plump ass was fully exposed, the black underwear barely containing her cheeks, most of the flesh spilling out in a lewd, tantalizing display.

The sight was breathtaking—her brown skin glistening, the curves of her ass so round and full they seemed to defy gravity.

But what caught Olivia's eye, and made her gasp, were the three vivid handprints on one cheek, the skin turned a deep purple from Kafka's harsh spanks, the marks stark and almost erotic against her smooth complexion.

Olivia's breath caught, her body petrifying as a strange blend of shock and arousal surged through her. The sight was overwhelming, the purple handprints a testament to Kafka's force, and yet there was something undeniably captivating about it, a forbidden allure that made her heart race.

Her mind wandered, unbidden, to her own pale skin, wondering what it would look like marked by Kafka's hand, what color her ass would turn under such a spanking. The thought sent a flush of heat through her, her thighs clenching as she tried to push it away, mortified by her own reaction.

Kafka's hands then moved to Abigaille's ass, his touch gentle and careful, an obvious contrast to the earlier smacks. His fingers traced the purple handprints, feeling the warmth of her skin, his movements slow and slightly erotic, as if savoring the texture of her flesh.

"Does it hurt here, Mom?" He asked, his voice coddling, like he was calming a child. "What about here? Is it swollen? Tell me, I need to know."

His questions were full of concern, his tone soothing, but the way his hands roamed, kneading every inch of her ass in the name of 'checking' was undeniably intimate, a display that made Olivia's cheeks burn hotter.

Abigaille whimpered, her voice full of pain and pouty complaint.

"It hurts, Kafi, it hurts so much!" She said, her tone needy as she looked back at him. "You can see the handprints, look at them! It's like my ass is screaming!"

She shook her hips slightly, making her cheeks jiggle, the movement accentuating the purple marks and drawing Olivia's gaze.

"I don't even know if I can sit down anymore! It's too sore!"

Her words were almost a plea, as if begging him to fix it, to make it better, her childlike demeanor clashing with the sensuality of the sight.

Kafka's expression softened, his hands still caressing her ass as he murmured.

"I'm sorry, Mom. It was necessary, you know that. You were a bad girl, and you needed to learn."

His apology was gentle, but there was a firmness to it, a reminder of his authority, and Abigaille nodded, her eyes meeting his over her shoulder.

"I know..." She said, her voice soft but sincere. "I was a bad girl, and I deserved it." She shook her ass again, the jiggle a playful accent to her words, and added. "But it still hurts, Kafi! What am I supposed to do now?"

Her tone was half-complaint, half-plea, her pout returning as she leaned into his care, her submission complete.

Olivia watched, her body alight with fluster and fascination, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene.

Kafka's hands on Abigaille's ass, the way he coddled her while asserting his control, the purple handprints that marked her submission—it was all too much, too complex, too charged with a certain taboo she couldn't deny.

Her own ass, still under Kafka's caressing hand, tingled with a strange anticipation, and the thought of being in Abigaille's place, spanked and coddled, sent a forbidden thrill through her that she tried to bury...