God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 635: Undressing One’s Mother

Olivia's body trembled, her breath catching as his words sank in.

Strip down? Here? In front of him?

The suggestion sent a dizzying wave through her, her mind reeling at the idea of baring herself, even partially, to her son. Her heart pounded, the openness of the village suddenly feeling like a chasm she wasn't ready to cross.

But before she could spiral, Kafka's eyes widened, catching the panic in her gaze, and he quickly backpedaled, his tone reassuring.

"Whoa, not like that, Mom! I'm not saying get naked or anything. Just...lose the vest, maybe unbutton your shirt a bit. You'll feel freer, breathe easier. That's all."

Olivia let out a shaky breath, relief flooding her as she realized he wasn't suggesting anything scandalous.

The thought of stripping naked in front of him had made her head spin, a line she couldn't imagine crossing, no matter how open this village was.

But his clarification—removing the vest, loosening her shirt felt manageable, practical even and ahe nodded, her voice soft but steady.

"You're right, Kafi." She said, her hands moving to the buttons of her vest. "This vest...It's like a corset, squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe. Taking it off would help."

She hesitated, then added with a small, nervous laugh,

"Back in my office, I'd sometimes unbutton my shirt a little when I was alone. Felt like my lungs could actually work again, like my capacity went up tenfold."

Kafka's grin returned, his eyes flicking to her chest, where her clothes strained against her breasts.

"Yeah, I can see that." He said, his tone light but observant. "That thing looks like it's trying to choke you...Let it go, Mom. You'll feel better."

Olivia's fingers hovered over the buttons of her vest, ready to follow Kafka's suggestion to loosen the constricting garment...that is until his hand gently caught hers, stopping her mid-motion.

Her eyes widened in response, surprise flickering across her face as he leaned closer, his grin warm but carrying a playful tone.

"Hold on, Mom." He said, his voice low and teasing. "You don't need to do that yourself today. You're in my care now, so let me help you take it off."

Hearing this, her heart raced, a swirl of confusion and doubt tightening her chest.

Help her take off her clothes?

The idea felt so foreign, so intimate, that it sent a jolt through her, so she hesitated, her voice trembling as she asked,

"Kafi...do you even know how to take off a woman's clothes? It's not as simple as it looks. This vest—it's got a complicated button design, hidden to look sleek. It's tricky, even for me."

But Kafka's grin only widened, his eyes glinting with confidence as he waved off her concern.

"Don't worry about that, Mom. I'm used to taking off women's clothes, so a vest like this is a piece of cake."

Olivia's body jerked, her eyes widening in shock as his words sank in.

"Used to...?" She stammered, her mind racing. "Kafi, do you...do you actually have a g-girlfriend? A partner!?"

The thought of her baby boy—still a scrawny kid in her memories being involved with someone was unimaginable, a leap that felt impossible. Her voice softened, a mix of curiosity and maternal concern.

"When did my little boy grow up like that?"

Kafka chuckled, sidestepping the question with a casual shrug.

"That's not important right now, Mom." He said, his tone light but evasive. Then, to her utter surprise, he added, "And no, I didn't learn from a girlfriend or anything. I learned from...taking off Mom's clothes all the time."

Olivia's jaw dropped, her breath catching as she processed his words.

"Taking off...Abi's clothes?" She asked, her voice a whisper, disbelief mingling with a growing unease. "Why...Why would you be doing that?"

Kafka's expression softened, his tone earnest as he leaned back, his hand resting between her thighs, a steady, grounding touch.

"It's not what you're thinking, Mom. When Mom comes home from a long day, she's usually exhausted—shopping, keeping this place running, all of it. I know how hard she pushes herself, so I do whatever I can to help. Make her coffee, give her a foot massage, cook dinner, handle chores—anything to take the load off."

"...You were probably worried about her straining herself, right? Well, I've got her covered."

Olivia's heart swelled, gratitude washing over her at the thought of Kafka caring so deeply for Abigaille. She'd always feared Abigaille was carrying the household alone, and knowing her son stepped up filled her with pride.

"That's...That's wonderful, Kafi." She said, her voice trembling with emotion. "I'm so glad you're taking care of her."

Kafka nodded, his smile warm but his eyes sharp, reading her reactions.

"Yeah, and part of that is helping her with her clothes. Mom's got a...plump body, like you, and sometimes her clothes just stick, you know? Tight suits, dresses—they're a hassle to peel off after a long day. So I help her out, make it easier."

Olivia nodded slowly, understanding dawning as she recalled her own struggles with tight clothing. She'd wrestled with stuck blouses and skirts, once nearly choking herself trying to tug off a tight t-shirt that caught around her neck.

His explanation made sense, but a flicker of unease lingered—helping with clothes was one thing, but the intimacy of it, the casualness, felt...different.

Kafka's voice lowered, his tone almost a whisper as he continued,

"And it's not just taking stuff off. Sometimes I help her put her bra on, too. With breasts as big as hers, getting a bra on can be a struggle those things are tight, and she needs an extra hand. Makes it quicker, less of a fight."

Olivia's throat went dry, her eyes widening as the image formed in her mind. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

Her son helping Abigaille with her bra? Seeing her bare, touching her so intimately?

He'd already admitted to seeing Abigaille naked at the hot springs, so it wasn't a stretch, but this...This felt closer, more personal.

A strange, uncomfortable feeling twisted in her gut, not quite jealousy but a sense of being left out, of not understanding the full scope of their bond, so she swallowed hard, her voice hesitant.

"How...How often do you help her like this? With her clothes, her...bra?"

Kafka's grin was easy, unperturbed by her unease.

"At first, we were both super hesitant." He said, his tone casual. "Only did it when she really needed help, like if a dress was stuck or something. But now? It's so routine I could probably dress her from her underwear to her bra with my eyes closed."

"...I probably know her body like the back of my hand—just by touch, I can get her clothes on or off, no problem."

Olivia's heart raced, the suggestiveness of his words sparking a flurry of immoral thoughts she couldn't quell.

Knowing Abigaille's body? Dressing her from underwear up?

It was too intimate, too close, and the casual way he said it made her mind spiral. She'd thought their closeness was limited to seeing each other naked, but this implied contact, a familiarity that felt...Wrong, even with the village's open—minded customs.

Her thoughts teetered on the edge of something darker, something she didn't want to name, when Kafka's voice cut through, snapping her back to the moment.

"Point is, Mom." He said, his tone light and reassuring. "I'm basically an expert at this. So, let me take care of that vest for you. No need to stress."

Before she could respond, his hands moved to her vest, his fingers deftly finding the hidden buttons, unfastening them one by one with a precision that made her breath hitch.

His nimble fingers danced over the complicated button design, proving he'd spoken the truth: he did know how to take off a woman's clothes.

A fleeting thought crossed her mind his future partner, or perhaps a current one he hadn't mentioned, was lucky to have someone so attentive, so skilled.

But the thought twisted, her mind conjuring an image that wasn't mother and son but lovers, poised on the edge of something forbidden, his careful hands preparing to peel away more than just fabric.

She tried to shake the thought, chastising herself for letting her imagination stray.

'He's just helping me.' She told herself. 'Like he helps Abi. It's the village's way, nothing more.'

But the way he treated her—so delicately, his gaze focused intently on the task made the image persist, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

'What kind of mother am I, thinking like this?'

She thought, her heart heavy with guilt and she prayed he wouldn't look up, wouldn't see the heat in her face, the shameful thoughts swirling in her mind...