God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 637: Buttons Working Overtime

Kafka's voice broke through her thoughts, his tone warm and concerned as he looked up at her, his eyes searching hers.

"You alright, Mom? Are you comfortable now that you're...a bit more open?" His gaze flicked briefly to her chest, where the parted shirt revealed the wide, pale expanse of her cleavage, her massive breasts rising and falling with each breath.

Olivia shook her head to clear the haze, forcing a smile as she focused on the physical relief.

"I-I'm...fine, Kafi." She said, her voice soft but steady. "Much breezier now. It feels like I can finally breathe."

Her breasts moved with each inhale, the milky expanse shifting like a restless sea, the motion drawing Kafka's eyes despite her efforts to ignore it.

Kafka's gaze lingered, a playful glint in his eyes as he studied the single button still holding her shirt together at the base of her cleavage.

"You know, I was thinking of undoing one more." He said, his voice teasing. "But I'm kinda scared if I do, they'll just...plop out, and you'll be sitting here in your bra."

Olivia's nervous chuckle escaped before she could stop it, her cheeks flushing as she nodded.

"That's...true." She admitted, her voice tinged with shy amusement. "You stopped at the perfect spot, Kafi. That's the last button I usually undo when I want to relax."

She glanced down, the precarious button straining against the pressure of her breasts, and felt relief and a bit of self-consciousness at how exposed she already was.

Kafka's grin then widened, his eyes flicking to the button with reverence.

"That button's actually working overtime, you know." He said, his tone light but laced with mischief. "It's under some serious pressure right now, holding back all that...force."

He gestured vaguely at her chest, his words playful but meaningful.

"You gotta give props to whoever made this shirt, Mom. Any flimsier fabric, and those buttons would've popped off, flying across the room like bullets."

Olivia's blush deepened, her hand pausing in his hair as she swatted his arm lightly.

"Kafi, don't tease me like that." She said, her voice a blend of embarrassment and laughter. "There's nothing special about my buttons."

But in truth, he wasn't entirely wrong. She'd invested in well-tailored shirts precisely because cheaper ones couldn't handle her proportions, their buttons snapping under the strain of her massive breasts. Still, hearing him say it so brazenly made her heart race.

Kafka shook his head, his grin unrepentant.

"I'm not exaggerating, Mom. That shirt's holding on for dear life, and the only reason it's managing is because you've got that bra keeping things...contained." He paused, his eyes glinting with a sudden, daring thought, and leaned closer. "Speaking of your bra...should I take that off, too? Might make you even more comfortable."

Olivia's eyes widened, her blush flaring to a crimson that burned her cheeks.

"No!" She blurted, her voice high with panic as her hands instinctively crossed over her chest.

The thought of him removing her bra—leaving her massive breasts to press against the thin shirt, her nipples likely visible through the fabric was unthinkable, a line she couldn't cross.

The shirt was already too revealing, and the idea of baring more sent a dizzying wave through her, her mind reeling at the intimacy it would entail.

"This...this is fine, Kafi." She stammered, her voice trembling but firm. "I'm comfortable enough, really."

Kafka's chuckle was warm, his hands raising in a placating gesture as he leaned back.

"Alright, alright, I hear you." He said, his tone reassuring to her immense relief. "Won't push it."

But his eyes swept over her again, assessing her with a playful scrutiny, as if searching for the next way to make her 'comfortable' his gaze landed on her legs, the black stockings clinging to her plump thighs, and he tilted his head with a teasing smile.

"But you're still not totally relaxed, Mom. Those stockings—they're not exactly lounge-around-the-house gear, are they?"

"...How about I take those off, too? You'll feel way freer."

Olivia's throat tightened as Kafka suggested removing her stockings, the intimacy of the act looming large in her mind. She gulped, her voice hesitant as she protested.

"Kafi, I...I don't think you can do that. I'm sitting down, so it'd be better if I just got up and did it myself." Her words were a feeble attempt to draw a line, to keep the moment from spiraling further into the dizzying closeness she was already struggling to navigate.

But Kafka's grin was undeterred, his tone light but firm.

"No problem at all, Mom. I can handle it."

Before she could question how, his hands slid under her armpits, and with a gentle but effortless strength, he lifted her off his lap as if she were a child. Olivia's breath caught, her eyes widening in shock as he raised her until she stood on the couch, her legs straddling him, her crotch perilously close to his face.

The position was startling, but what stunned her more was the ease with which he'd lifted her, his muscles flexing with a power that belied the skinny boy she remembered.

"Wow, Kafi." She blurted, her voice full of awe and praise. "You're so strong! How did you lift me so easily?"

Her hands instinctively gripped his shoulders for balance, her heart racing as she marveled at his strength.

Kafka chuckled, his hands steadying her hips as he looked up, his eyes glinting with amusement at her reaction.

"It's nothing, Mom. Since I moved to this town, I've been working out, building some muscle, so picking you up like this is a little too easy."

His tone was casual, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable, a quiet boast that made her smile.

Olivia nodded, her earlier impressions confirmed.

From the moment she'd sat on his lap, she'd felt the rigidness of his body, the hard planes of muscle beneath his clothes, like a rock or a boulder, unyielding and strong.

The thought sparked a flicker of curiosity—purely maternal, she told herself to see how much her son had grown, to witness the physical transformation from the frail boy she'd known.

Every mother wanted to track her child's progress, to marvel at their growth, but the idea of asking him to show his muscles felt too bold, too risky.

She silenced the thought, her cheeks warming as she wondered, just for a moment, what he looked like beneath his shirt, his body sculpted by years she'd missed.

Kafka's gaze shifted upward, and his eyes landed on her towering breasts, now directly above him, their massive size accentuated by the open shirt and her elevated position.

He tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You're not heavy at all, Mom. Pretty light, actually." He paused, his smirk widening as he added. "Well...except for those breasts of yours. Gotta be half your body weight, right?"

"...They're like mountains blocking the view—I can barely see your face!"

Olivia's blush flared, her body squirming as embarrassment surged.

"Kafi!" She squeaked, her hands flying to cover his eyes in a flustered panic. "Don't say things like that! It's embarrassing!" Her voice was full of indignation, her heart racing at his brazen comparison. She then leaned forward, using his head for support, her legs trembling slightly as she stood over him. "Just...hurry up and take off the stockings, please. I can't stand like this forever!"

Kafka's chuckle was warm, his hands resting on her thighs as he gave her a teasing look.

"Pity, though." He said, his voice playful. "Kinda liked the view."

Before she could protest further, his fingers began their work, grazing her legs as they slid upward, tracing the curves of her thighs, brushing her hips, and even grazing the edge of her plump ass.

The touch was sensual, almost too intimate, and Olivia's breath hastened, her body tensing as his hands found the waistband of her stockings.

The sensation of his fingers on her skin, the slow, careful way he moved, sent a confusing thrill through her. She tried to focus on the task, to keep her thoughts maternal, but the intimacy was undeniable.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to speak, her voice trembling. "Kafi...do you...do you do this with Abi, too? Are you used to...this?"

Kafka's hands began to pull the stockings down, his fingers now grazing her bare skin, the warmth of his touch electric against her thighs and the curve of her ass.

"Mom doesn't usually wear stockings." He said, his tone casual as he worked the fabric down her legs. "She'd look good in them, but this? First time I'm pulling a pair off. Gotta say, it's kinda fun."

He chuckled, his fingers brushing her bare feet as he slid the stockings off completely, leaving her legs exposed, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of his touch on her skin.

Olivia's heart skipped, a surprising giddiness bubbling up at the thought that this was a 'first' for him.

Abigaille had been there for so many of his milestones, his firsts, while Olivia had been absent, toiling in the city.

So, to share this moment, however small—his first time removing stockings felt like a victory, a reclaiming of a piece of his life she'd missed.

It was a bizarre thing to celebrate, she knew, but the joy of it, the connection, made her chest swell with happiness, even as she stood in such an intimate position, her legs bare, her crotch still close to his face...