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

Camila stood there, her usually cool, composed demeanor shattered. A vivid flush crept up her neck and bloomed across her cheeks, painting her face in a shade of red she couldn't hide.

Her lips parted, but no sharp comeback, no biting retort slipped out. Instead, she stammered—a rare, faltering sound from someone who always had the upper hand.

"W-What are you talking about, Kafka?" she managed, her voice cracking slightly as she tried to regain her footing. "What...What babies?"

Kafka, sensing her unraveling, didn't miss a beat. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear, that infuriating smirk still plastered across his face.

"Of course..." He murmured. "The babies we'll have in the future. Obviously."

Camila's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She tried to step back, to put some distance between them, but her legs felt oddly unsteady, as she could feel the heat rising in her body.

"And you know..." Kafka continued, his tone light but laced with that same taunting edge. "Once I knock you up, Camila, those already big plump and fat breasts of yours?...They're gonna get even bigger." He paused for effect, letting the words hang in the air as her flush deepened. "They'll swell up so much, Camila—practically bursting until your nipples leak milk and drench your entire bra. You won't even know what to do with yourself."

Camila's breath hitched, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and a strange, unwelcome flutter in her stomach. Kafka, sensing her disarray, pressed his advantage, his voice a low, seductive hum.

"But you don't have to feel ashamed about overlactating and making a mess of yourself." He murmured, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her collarbone, sending shivers down her spine. "It's only natural that your body would want to provide an abundance of food for our babies."

His hand moved lower, his fingers lightly brushing against the swell of her breast. Camila gasped, her body tensing, a wave of heat washing over her. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through her, making her breath catch in her throat.

"And those beautiful breasts..." He continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, his thumb tracing a slow, tantalizing circle against the place where her areola was. "...They'll be bursting with milk, so full and ripe..." Не cupped her breasts, gently testing the weight, his touch sending a tremor through her. "...Perfect for our little ones."

Kafka then leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear, his words a seductive caress.

"And you also don't have to worry about leaking all the time." He whispered, his voice laced with a playful, almost possessive tone. "I'll do my duties as a proper husband. I'll suckle you whenever you need it, decrease the volume, keep everything...manageable."

He paused, his lips brushing against her earlobe, sending another wave of shivers through her. "Just think of it as...a delicious chore." He murmured, his voice a low, suggestive rumble. "A way for me to connect with my children and share something special with them." His hand tightened slightly, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path across her nipple, sending a jolt of pure, unadulterated sensation through her.

Camila's heart raced, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief, disoriented moment. She felt a strange mix of emotions swirling within her—shock, embarrassment, a flicker of something dangerously close to desire.

She knew she should push him away, tell him to stop, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own, responding to his touch with an alarming eagerness. She was trapped, caught between her pride and the undeniable pull of his presence, his touch, his words.

Kafka's grin widened as he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes glinting with triumph and something darker. "And wherever you need help, Camila..." He said, his voice smooth and assured. "I'll be there to help you out. No matter the time, no matter the place." He tilted his head, his fingers still lingering near her chest, brushing lightly as if to remind her of their earlier contact. "You won't have to worry about a thing."

Camila swallowed hard, her throat dry, her mind scrambling for a retort but finding none. "W-What do you mean, 'wherever'?" She managed, her voice shaky and breathless, a weak attempt to claw back some control.

Kafka's smirk turned downright wicked, his eyes gleaming as he leaned in again, his voice dropping into a filthy, elaborate drawl that made her pulse race.

"Oh, I mean everywhere, Camila. Imagine it say you're in the kitchen, cooking something sweet, and you feel that ache, that heaviness building up." His hand ghosted over her breast again, a teasing mimicry of his words. "I'll just come up behind you, slip my hands under your apron, and take care of it right there—sucking slow and deep while you try to focus on stirring whatever's on the stove, your nipples dripping into my mouth until you're trembling."

Her breath stopped again, louder this time, her cheeks burning as the vivid image flooded her mind against her will. She opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed on, relentless.

"Or maybe..." He continued, his voice a low growl now. "We're out in public—some boring little outing—and you start leaking through that pretty blouse of yours. I'll pull you into the nearest alley, pin you against the wall, and bury my face in your chest, sucking hard until you're biting your lip to keep quiet, your thighs squeezing together because you can't help how good it feels." He chuckled, the sound dark and rich, as his fingers brushed her neck, trailing down just enough to make her shiver. "I'll lick every drop, Camila, make sure you're not wasting a single bit."

Her knees felt weak, her body traitorously warm as his words painted scene after filthy scene. She tried to glare at him, to muster some shred of defiance, but all that came out was a faint. "T-That's so naughty, Kafka..."

He ignored her feeble protest, his grin widening as he leaned closer still, his lips hovering near her neck.

"Oh, and don't get me started on the bedroom." He purred, his voice thick with promise. "Late at night, you're lying there, all swollen and needy, milk soaking the sheets because you can't hold it in anymore. I'll climb over you, take those gorgeous tits in my hands, and suck them dry—slow and thorough, my tongue swirling around your nipples until you're moaning my name, begging me not to stop." He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze smoldering. "And I won't stop, Camila. Not until you're empty and panting, completely satisfied."

Camila's breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, her body humming with a heat she couldn't deny. She was hornier than she'd ever admit, her thighs pressing together instinctively as her mind spun with the dirty, vivid pictures he'd painted.

"S-Stop it." She stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, lacking the conviction she so desperately wanted. "Just...stop talking." Explore more at My Virtual Library Empire

Kafka tilted his head, his grin softening into something almost tender, though the mischief never left his eyes. "Why?" He teased, his voice low and knowing. "You don't look like you want me to stop. You look like you're imagining it right now—all those places, all those ways I'd take care of you." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed face, his touch gentle but electrifying. "Tell me I'm wrong."

She couldn't. Her lips parted, but no words came, only a soft, involuntary whimper that made his smirk widen. She was a mess—hot, flustered, and teetering on the edge of something she couldn't name, all because of him and his filthy, relentless mouth.

Kafka, having successfully diverted Camila's potential volcanic eruption into a simmering, flustered heat, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

He'd managed to turn her from a woman on the verge of unleashing her full fury into a picture of blushing, bewildered acquiescence. He'd always enjoyed pushing her buttons, but this time, he'd walked a particularly fine line, and the thrill of it was undeniable.

His attention then shifted to Nina, who stood slightly apart, her cheeks ablaze. She was a study in stunned disbelief, her eyes wide as she tried to reconcile the image of the ever-composed Camila with the stammering, flustered woman before her.

It was a sight Nina had never witnessed, and it was playing havoc with her usual perception of her best friend. Usually, Camila was the one delivering the sharp retorts and teasing barbs, not the one on the receiving end. And the explicit, vivid scenarios Kafka had painted were playing on a loop in Nina's mind, sending a strange mix of heat and nervous excitement through her.

"Nina." Kafka called out, his voice laced with playful mischief. "Come here, you're missing all the fun."

Nina hesitated, her eyes darting between Kafka and Camila, a flicker of apprehension mixed with undeniable curiosity. She'd been a silent observer, but now she was being drawn into the spotlight.

With a hesitant step, she approached, her gaze fixed on Kafka, who immediately placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her into the fold. "Don't think you'll be left out." He murmured, his voice low and suggestive, his fingers tracing the line of her collarbone. "You'll be filled with milk soon, too."

Nina's blush deepened, her breath catching in her throat. "W-What?" She stammered, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and anticipation. "Kafka, what are you even saying? S-Something as shameful as that will never happen!"

Kafka looked momentarily surprised, a flicker of genuine bewilderment crossing his features.

"Oh." He said, his voice laced with a playful, almost teasing tone. "I thought...I thought you'd want a bunch of children with me in the future, Nina. You know, a family...That's why I mentioned you producing milk, too since that's what new mothers do." He paused, his gaze shifting to her, a hint of mock disappointment in his eyes. "But, if you don't really have any desire to have kids, then...well, you can simply tend to the babies Camila and I will have. Become their auntie or something. Spoil them rotten, you know, the fun aunt...I won't force you."

The casual dismissal hit Nina like a physical blow. It was as if a cold hand had gripped her heart. A chaotic whirlwind of thoughts erupted in her mind.

There were countless times, especially when she was alone, tending to the hot springs, when she'd daydreamed about the children she and Kafka would have. She'd pictured them running around, their laughter echoing through the air, their tiny hands tugging at her skirts, and she'd always found herself grinning like an idiot.

So, the idea of being relegated to the role of a distant aunt, watching Camila raise his children, was unbearable. It was a future she couldn't even contemplate.

Panic flared within her, a wildfire of emotion that consumed her usual composure. She couldn't let him think she didn't want his children. The very notion, the idea of him fathering children with another, especially Camila, ignited a primal, possessive fear within her.

She wanted his children, their children, a living prood to their bond, a future forged together. The thought of a life without that possibility was a barren wasteland.

So, ignoring the heat that flushed her cheeks, and the frantic drumbeat of her heart against her ribs, she blurted out, "You're wrong, Kafka! You're wrong! I—I want your children more than anything in the world!"

Her voice, a raw, unguarded plea, echoed through the room, a desperate confession hanging in the charged air.

"M-More than anything." She repeated, her voice softer, yet laced with an intensity that made her eyes gleam. "I dream about it—daydreams woven with the scent of hot springs and the sound of tiny laughter. I picture us, a chaotic, loving tangle of family, our children inheriting your smile and...and my stubbornness."

She stumbled over her words, her hands twisting nervously, as if trying to physically grasp the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her.

"I-I want to carry your children, Kafka. I want to build a world with you, brick by brick, filled with warmth and laughter and the messy, beautiful chaos of family. I want...I want a future where 'us' means more than just us." She paused, her breath catching in her throat as she looked up at him with wide eyes and continued saying, "I want...I want a legacy, a living, breathing testament to the love we share."

She could feel her cheeks burning, her heart pounding against her ribs. Then, with a nervous laugh, she added, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I've even...I've even thought of names. A few, at least." She tried to play it off as a joke, but the blush on her face betrayed her.

A rather intrigued smile spread across Kafka's face. "Oh?" He asked, his voice laced with amusement. "Names, you say? Do tell." He leaned in, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, a playful glint in their depths. "I'm all ears. Don't be shy, Nina. I'm genuinely interested."

Nina's long, pointy ears flushed a delicate shade of pink. She hesitated for a moment, then, with a shy glance at Kafka, she began.

"Well..." She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't laugh, okay? I put a lot of thought into them." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Lyra..." She began, the name rolling off her tongue with a soft, melodic lilt. "Elara, Seraphina, Aeliana, Isolde, and...Zephyra."

Each traditional name that came from her own tribe, a blend of ethereal beauty and feminine strength, was carefully chosen, a reflection of the dreams she held close to her heart. She then looked up at Kafka, her eyes wide and pleading as she asked,

"...Do you...Do you like them?"

Kafka's expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"They're beautiful names, Nina." He said sincerely, his voice laced with genuine admiration. "Truly beautiful. They sound like they belong in a fairy tale."

Nina's heart fluttered, a wave of warmth washing over her. She'd been so nervous, so afraid of his reaction, but his words were like a balm to her soul.

Camila, who had been observing the exchange with a mixture of amusement and a strange, unexpected pang of...something akin to wistfulness, found herself thinking, 'Perhaps I should start thinking of names, too. Though, I doubt I'll be picking tree fairy names like Nina and something more...normal.'

"But..." Kafka continued, his brow furrowed slightly, a hint of playful confusion in his voice. "Out of the all the names, which one will you choose? Or like which one is your favorite?"

Nina blinked, startled. She'd been so caught up in the moment, in the sheer act of revealing her secret dreams, that she hadn't considered the practicalities. A flicker of realization dawned on her.

Kafka had misinterpreted her words. He thought she was choosing one name.

That's why to clear the misunderstanding, she gathered her courage, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. "I...I won't have to choose." She said coyly, her voice laced with a newfound confidence. "I'll keep all of them."

Kafka's eyebrows shot up, a look of amused surprise on his face. "All of them?" He repeated.

"Yes." Nina said firmly, her eyes sparkling with determination. "I don't just want one or two children, Kafka. I want...at least six. And even more, if I can handle it." She paused, then added with a mischievous grin. "I've always wanted a big family. A beautiful, wonderful, noisy family." She gave him a pointed look. "And I'm hoping you'll be up to the challenge as well."