God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 680

Chapter 680: Cat Fight

Olivia was utterly captivated by her son, her eyes. shimmering with lovey-dovey adoration as she gazed at him, the revelation of his arousal, his cock throbbing in his underwear, provoked by her jealous, possessive words, filling her with a radiant, guilty pride.

Knowing that her love, her raw devotion, had stirred such a visceral reaction, while Abigaille’s brazen acts had failed, made her feel victorious, as if she’d claimed a piece of Kafka’s heart that was hers alone.

Unconsciously, she pressed herself closer, her body molding to his, her fat, milky breasts squishing against his chest, rubbing against him with a subtle, needy rhythm, as if she could imprint his love onto her skin, claim him with every brush of her curves. Her movements were instinctive, driven by a possessive hunger, her lower half tingling with a shameful thrill at the thought of his hardness, a testament to her power over him.

Abigaille, her keen eyes catching the spark of Olivia’s brazen affection, glanced down at Kafka’s lap, her gaze landing on the massive bulge straining against his underwear.

A delighted, amused smile spread across her lips, her voice a sweet, enticing purr as she leaned closer, her hand trailing lazily over Kafka’s thigh.

“Oh, my goodness, Kafi, it’s true, isn’t it?” She cooed, her tone dripping with playful admiration, her eyes flicking to Olivia with a teasing glint. “Your…penis, it’s really hard right now, isn’t it, darling? Your mother’s words must’ve been so powerful, so heartfelt, to get such a reaction from you.”

“…My, my, Liv, you’ve worked some magic, haven’t you, making our boy feel like this?” Her words were a gentle provocation, laced with a sugary warmth, a reminder of her own seductive prowess.

Olivia, far from embarrassed, felt a surge of haughty pride, her lips curling into a cold, confident smile as she met Abigaille’s gaze, her eyes glinting with a newfound assertiveness that caught Abi off guard.

“Yes, Abi.” She said, her voice low, direct, and laced with a sexy tone, her arms tightening around Kafka’s neck, her breasts pressing harder against his chest. “I did get a reaction from him, didn’t I? My words, my love, made him feel this way, not…not all the naughty things you tried.”

“…Seems I’m the one who knows how to reach him, don’t you think?”

Her tone was sharp, almost gloating, her gaze piercing as she stared down Abigaille, her confidence a obvious duff6to her earlier shyness, a bold claim of victory in their unspoken rivalry.

Abigaille’s eyes widened, her smile faltering for a moment, her sweet demeanor momentarily rattled by Olivia’s sudden boldness. She hadn’t expected this, Olivia, always so reserved, so solemn, now radiating a cocky assurance, her possessiveness over Kafka a blazing fire that outshone Abi’s usual dominance.

Abigaille realized it was Kafka’s words, his throbbing reaction, that had ignited this change, transforming Olivia from a shy, hesitant mother into a fierce, assertive rival.

But Abigaille wasn’t one to back down, her competitive spirit flaring as she straightened, her voice a sugary, enticing murmur, her eyes narrowing with a playful defiance.

“Well, now, Liv.” Abigaille said, her tone sweet but edged with a subtle bite, her hand resting on Kafka’s thigh, her fingers inching closer to his bulge. “You’re right, darling, you got a little reaction, and that’s so precious…But let’s be real this?”

She gestured to Kafka’s crotch, her smile coy, her voice dripping with honey.

“It’s only semi-hard, sweetie, barely a spark. It’s not even in its prime form, not the full, glorious thing I know our boy can muster…You’ve got him a teensy bit excited, but it’s nothing compared to what he’s capable of.”

“…So, don’t get too proud just yet, my dear.” She said, a bid to reclaim her dominance, her gaze locking with Olivia’s, a silent dare to push further.

Olivia’s eyes flashed, her arms tightening around Kafka, her body pressing closer, her breasts squishing against his chest in a protective, possessive embrace.

Her gaze was cold, as if guarding her son from a rival, her voice low, direct, and laced with a chilling confidence that sent a shiver through Abigaille.

“At least I provoked a reaction, Abi.” She said, her tone cutting, her eyes narrowing. “You, with all your…antics, all your naughty little tricks, couldn’t do a thing.”

“No matter how much you tried, how many sausages you swallowed, how many times you kissed him, you got nothing.”

“But my words, did what you couldn’t. That’s what matters, isn’t it?…I’m the one who reached him, not you.” She jabbed, her pride a blazing fire, her gaze daring Abigaille to counter, her possessiveness a shield around Kafka’s heart.

Abigaille’s lips parted, her sweet facade cracking as she bit her lip, frustration flaring in her eyes, her fingers pausing on Kafka’s thigh.

Olivia’s haughty demeanor, her cold, gloating smile, stung, a sharp reminder that Kafka’s arousal was a choice, a controlled reaction provoked by Olivia’s love, not Abi’s seduction. She knew Kafka could restrain himself, that his boner was a deliberate response to Olivia’s words, not her own provocative acts, and the realization chafed, her pride wounded by Olivia’s assertion of superiority.

“Oh, Liv.” Abigaille said, her voice still sweet, but strained, her smile forced, her eyes glinting with irritation. “You’re getting awfully bold, aren’t you? Acting like you’ve won some grand prize because you got him a little stiff…And this?” She gestured to Kafka’s bulge again, her tone sharp beneath the sugar. “This is nothing, darling. If Kafi was truly hard, it’d be bursting out of his pants, so big it’d rip through his boxers, hanging down to his thighs, ready to claim us both.”

“…You’re proud of this little twitch? It’s cute, but I could do so much better, if I wanted to.”

Olivia’s eyes widened, a flush creeping up her neck as she imagined Kafka’s cock, impossibly larger, breaking free of his underwear, a throbbing, monstrous thing that could reach his thighs.

The thought sent a jolt through her, her pussy clenching with a shameful sensation, but her possessiveness flared, her gaze hardening as she hugged Kafka closer, her voice a cold, defiant whisper.

“You say that, Abi, but where’s your proof?” She said, her tone dripping with disdain, her eyes locked on Abi’s. “You’ve been trying all night, throwing yourself at him, and you got nothing. I’m the one who made him feel this way, the one who got him hard, not you.”

“…I’m his little fox, his only one, and you can’t change that, no matter how hard you try.” Her words were a bold declaration, her pride a radiant glow, her gaze daring Abigaille to challenge her claim.

Abigaille’s smile turned dangerous, her eyes narrowing, her hand inching toward Kafka’s bulge, her fingers hovering as if to seize it, to prove her point with a single, daring touch.

“Oh, Liv, you’re so sure, aren’t you?” She purred, her voice sweet but laced with a scary edge, her gaze flicking to Kafka’s crotch. “Well, let’s see if I can’t make that cock sing, show you what a real reaction looks like. Just one touch, darling, and I’ll have him harder than you ever could.” Her hand moved forward, a bid to reclaim her place.

But Olivia’s possessiveness surged, a fierce, protective instinct overwhelming her, her love for Kafka a fire that burned away her hesitation. She wouldn’t let Abigaille touch him, not now, not when his arousal was hers, a testament to her love, her power.

Her hand shot out, grabbing Abigaille’s wrist with a vice-like grip, stopping her just inches from Kafka’s bulge, her eyes blazing with a cold, cat-like intensity.

“Don’t you dare…” Olivia hissed, her voice low, commanding, her gaze locked on Abigaille’s, a predator guarding her prey. “Don’t touch what’s mine, Abi. Back off…now.” She sharply said, her grip unyielding.

Abigaille’s eyes widened, her sweet smile faltering, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as she met Olivia’s gaze, their stares locked in a tense, feline standoff, a silent battle for dominance, while Kafka on the the other hand watched, his lips curling into an amused smirk, his eyes glinting with delight at the spectacle, his cock still throbbing, a silent player in their rivalry.

“My, my, Liv.” Abigaille said, her voice a forced, sugary purr, her wrist still trapped in Olivia’s grip. “Claiming his…parts as yours? That’s bold, darling. It’s our son’s body, you know, belongs to both of us, as his mothers.”

“So, how can you say his…well, his cock is yours alone? We both love him, don’t we? We both have a right to him.” She said, her smile dangerous, her eyes daring Olivia to justify her claim.

Olivia’s gaze didn’t waver, her voice cold, direct, and laced with a business-like authority, her grip tightening on Abigaille’s wrist.

“I’m the one who made him react, Abi.” She said, her tone unyielding, her eyes glinting with possessive pride. “My love for him, got him hard, not your tricks, not your games. That makes it mine, right now, because I’m the one who stirred him.”

“…His cock’s responding to me, not you, and I’m not sharing.” She brazenly said, almost absurd in their proprietary claim, as if Kafka’s arousal were a piece of land she’d staked, and Abigaille’s eyes widened, a soft laugh escaping her, her tone teasing but tinged with disbelief.

“Oh, Liv, really?” Abigaille said, her voice a sweet, mocking lilt, her wrist still trapped, her smile widening. “So, what, you make him hard once, and you own his cock?”

“By that logic, how many times do I have to make him react to claim it, hm? Is it a competition now, darling? Whoever gets him hardest gets to keep him?” She asked in a playful manner, her eyes sparkling with mischief, but it hit Olivia like a slap, her cheeks flaming as she realized the absurdity of her claim, her possessiveness laid bare.

“Yes, something like that.” Olivia said, her voice a flustered rush, her blush deepening, her grip loosening slightly but her eyes still fierce. “Right now, I’m the one who got him like this, Abi. I’m the one he’s reacting to, and you…you don’t get to touch him, not when it’s my doing. Back off, or I’ll—”

She faltered, her threat unfinished, her heart racing with a embarrassment and defiance, her body pressed closer to Kafka’s, her possessiveness a fire she couldn’t quench…