God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 655: Let’s All Get Naked

Kafka guided Abigaille and Olivia toward the kitchen, his hands resting possessively on their exposed hips, his fingers brushing the bare skin where their skirts had ridden up. The warmth of his touch kept their pulses racing, their bodies still humming from the intensity of their earlier submission.

But just as they neared the dining area, Kafka stopped abruptly, his grip tightening for a moment as he turned to them with a casual, almost absent-minded expression.

"Oh, damn." He said, his voice light but laced with a hint of mischief. "I forgot to turn off the TV. You two go ahead and set the table, alright? I'll be right back."

Abigaille nodded with a playful smile, as she swayed her hips, her exposed ass jiggling slightly.

"Of course, Kafi." She purred, her voice dripping with devotion. "We'll have everything ready for you."

Olivia, still flushed from their earlier closeness, managed a shy nod, her heart fluttering as she followed Abigaille into the dining room, their footsteps soft against the floor.

As the women busied themselves with plates and cutlery, Kafka walked back to the living room. He flicked off the TV with a quick press of the remote, but instead of returning immediately, he moved to the central cooling unit mounted on the wall.

His lips curled into a devious smirk as he twisted the dial all the way to the right, cranking the heat to an almost oppressive level. The system hummed to life, pumping warm air into the house, and Kafka's eyes glinted with a wicked satisfaction, as if he were orchestrating a game only he knew the rules to. With a final glance at the now-silent TV, he headed back to the dining room, his steps leisurely, his mind clearly plotting something more.

In the dining room, Abigaille and Olivia had set the table with meticulous care, the plates arranged neatly, the aroma of warm food filling the air. Kafka's eyes swept over the setup, pausing on the three plates laid out, his brow arching in confusion.

"Three plates?" He asked, his gaze flicking between them. "Why three?"

Olivia blinked, caught off guard by the question, her hands fidgeting with the edge of a napkin.

"Well...there are three of us eating, Kafi." She said, her tone uncertain, a faint crease forming on her brow. "Is...Is something wrong with that?"

Kafka's lips twitched, his expression shifting to one of exaggerated exasperation.

"Of course there's something wrong, Mom." He said, stepping closer, his presence commanding the room. "You two are sitting on my lap, remember? We don't need three plates. We'll share one."

With a decisive motion, he scooped up two of the plates and set them aside, leaving a single plate in the center of the table, his eyes glinting with authority.

Olivia's mouth fell open, her cheeks flushing as she processed his words.

"One plate?" She stammered, her voice tinged with disbelief. "But...that means all three of us would have to eat from the same plate, and that's....it's not practical, Kafi. With all the forks and spoons, it'll be a mess, hands everywhere, and—"

Abigaille, who had just returned with a steaming pan of food, set it on the table with a soft clink, her lips curving into a knowing smile as she interrupted.

"Oh, Olivia, you're overthinking it." She said, her voice a sultry tease as she leaned against the table, her exposed ass catching the light. "We're not all eating from the plate like that. Kafi's going to feed us."

She turned to Kafka, her eyes sparkling with affection.

"That's what he does, you know. Breakfast, lunch, dinner—he feeds me, treats me like his little princess. I'll be watching TV or reading a book and he'll be right by my side with a spoon on hand. It's his way of showing love."

Olivia's eyes widened, her breath catching as she absorbed the revelation.

"Feed us?" She echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, her mind reeling.

The image of Kafka spoon-feeding her, his hands guiding each bite, sent a shiver of nostalgia and forbidden thrill through her.

"The last time someone fed me was...God, when I was a little girl, years and years ago."

Her cheeks burned, the memory of her own childhood clashing with the adult context of this moment.

Kafka stepped closer, his hand finding her shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring, grounding her in the present.

"Then it's time to relive that, Mom." He said, his voice low and intimate, his eyes locking onto hers with a tenderness that made her heart flutter. "Let your son take care of you, feed you, make you feel special again...You deserve it."

His thumb brushed her skin, and she nodded shyly, her reluctance melting under the weight of his gaze, her body tingling with anticipation.

But as the moment settled, Olivia became acutely aware of a growing warmth in the room, a heaviness that clung to her skin. At first, she thought it was her own body, her arousal betraying her with a flush of heat, and her cheeks reddened at the thought.

But then she noticed Abigaille, fanning herself with her hand, her brown skin glistening with a faint sheen of sweat.

"Is it just me..." Olivia said, her voice hesitant. "...or is it getting really hot in here?"

Abigaille nodded, her lips pursing as she blew a strand of hair from her face.

"It's not just you." She said, her tone tinged with confusion. "It was fine earlier, but now it's like a desert...I don't know what's going on."

Kafka's head snapped up, his expression one of feigned concern.

"Must be the heating system." He said, his voice smooth, betraying nothing. "I'll go check it out." He slipped out of the room, leaving the women to exchange puzzled glances, the heat intensifying with each passing moment.

Olivia tugged at her top, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, revealing more of her cleavage as she tried to cool herself. Abigaille, too, adjusted her skirt, the air heavy against their exposed curves.

When Kafka returned, his face was a mask of frustration.

"Bad news." He said, shaking his head. "The cooling system's busted. It's stuck on high heat, and I can't get it to come down. I think it's probably gonna be like this for a while."

Abigaille's eyes widened, her hand pausing mid-fan.

"You're kidding." She said, half-laughing, half-exasperated. "It's already unbearable! I could've left cake batter out and it'd be rising on its own in this heat."

She moved to the kitchen window, pushing it open to let in a faint breeze, the cooler air a fleeting relief against the oppressive warmth.

Olivia, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, glanced at the open window, an idea sparking.

"What if we eat outside?" She suggested, her voice tentative. "If I remember right, there's a table in the garden. It'd be cooler out there, and we could still..." She trailed off, realizing the implications of her suggestion, her cheeks flushing as she caught Kafka's raised brow.

"Eat outside?" He repeated, his tone teasing, his eyes glinting with amusement. "We could, but then you two wouldn't be on my lap, would you? The neighbors might see, and while I don't mind, I'm not sure you're ready for that, Mom...We could also just sit normally outside and it won't be much of a problem."

His words were a gentle challenge, and Olivia's heart sank as she realized her misstep. The thought of losing the intimacy of sitting on his lap, of missing out on the experience Abigaille had described, sent a pang of regret through her.

"No, no." She said quickly, shaking her head, her voice flustered. "I didn't mean that. I want to sit on your lap, Kafi. I've been waiting so long to be close to you, and I don't want to miss it just because of the heat."

"But...I don't know, going outside feels...too exposed. I'm not ready for people to see us like this."

Her words tumbled out, her dilemma clear—she craved the closeness but wasn't prepared for the town's prying eyes, not when her feelings were still so raw, so uncharted.

Kafka's lips curved into a sly smile, as if he'd been waiting for this moment.

"I've got an idea." He said, his voice brimming with confidence. He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over their flushed, sweat-dampened bodies. "Why don't we just strip down to our underwear? Like we're at the beach on a hot day."

"It'll keep us cool, and we can still eat together, nice and close, just like we planned."

"...Perfect solution, right?"

Abigaille clapped her hands, her face lighting up with delight.

"That's perfect, Kafi!" She exclaimed, already tugging at her top to free herself from the sticky fabric. "This heat's making my clothes feel so gross, clinging to my skin like this and stripping down will be like eating in a sauna—cozy, warm, and so much better." She pressed herself against him with a sultry grace, as she draped an arm around his shoulders. "You're so smart, my sweet boy. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Kafka's hand slid to her ass, groping her firmly as he grinned, his tone flirtatious.

"And I don't know what I'd do without you, Mom, and this sexy little body of yours...Who else would I grope if you weren't here?"

His fingers squeezed, drawing a giggle from Abigaille as she pressed her breasts against him, her hand brushing his waist in return, their playful banter charged with an undeniable heat.

Olivia, meanwhile, stood frozen, her heart pounding as Kafka's suggestion sank in.

Strip down? To her underwear?

The idea sent a wave of panic through her, her cheeks blazing as she grappled with the implications.

It was a normal thing, she told herself-mothers and sons at the beach, in swimsuits, nothing unusual.

But after everything they'd done, the grinding, the groping, the way her body had responded to his touch, stripping felt like crossing another line, one that carried a weight she couldn't ignore. She berated herself for the naughty thoughts swirling in her mind, the way her arousal had twisted her perception of his innocent intentions...