God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 575 : I Can’t Feed My Babies!?

"Come on, Kafka, you know you want to shove your cock between these fuck them until I'm begging, leave them slick and sloppy...Nina's little tits can't take that kind of pounding, and Abi's would just smother you to death. I'll let you use them however you damn well please say it, tell me you're dying to ruin them."

Nina huffed, her competitive streak flaring as she pressed herself harder against him, her breasts sliding up his arm in a slow, teasing motion.

"Oh, please, Camila." She shot back, her voice dripping with honeyed filth. "Yours are too flabby for that—mine are tight enough to grip him just right." She then looked back at him and said in a sultry tone, "You can ram them, bruise them, cum all over them, Kafka and I'll even lick it off after if you want. Hers are too soft to handle you—say you want to fuck mine instead, Kafka, you know you do."

Abigaille, her cheeks flushed a deep pink, tightened her grip around his waist, her massive breasts squishing against his back with a softness that was almost overwhelming. "No, no." She whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of shyness and depravity. "Mine are the ones you can destroy. Y-You can shove your face in them, fuck them and choke on them while you cum."

"...M-Mommy will let you do the nastiest things imaginable, Kafi!"

Their bodies jostled against him, their breasts rubbing and pressing in a chaotic, erotic tangle—Camila's sultry grinding, Nina's playful teasing, Abigaille's enveloping warmth.

Their voices wove together, each one vying for his favor, their words growing dirtier, more vulgar with every breath as they smushed themselves closer, leaving no inch of him untouched.

"I'll let you fuck them till they're a mess!♡~" Camila purred, her lips brushing his jaw.

"I'll take every drop you've got!♡~" Nina countered, her breath tickling his ear.

"You can ruin Mommy's breasts however you want, Kafi!♡~" Abigaille insisted, her chest a soft wall against his spine.

They smushed themselves tighter, leaving no inch of him untouched, their words growing more vulgar, more desperate with every breath, each one vying to outdo the others in their shameless seduction.

But to their surprise—shock, even—Kafka didn't respond.

No hungry smirk, no eager hands reaching out, no growled reply to match their heat.

Nothing.

His silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the fevered energy they were pouring into him.

Their movements slowed, their sultry whispers faltering as they pulled back just enough to glance up at his face, confusion flickering in their eyes.

And what they saw stopped them cold—Kafka's expression wasn't one of arousal or amusement, but worry. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line, a distant, troubled look clouding his gaze as if something heavy weighed on his mind.

This wasn't the reaction they'd expected—not even close.

Camila was the first to break the silence, her hands still resting on his chest as she tilted her head, her voice shifting from seductive to concerned. "Hey, Kafka, what's wrong? Why do you look like that? We're practically throwing ourselves at you here."

"...You're supposed to be excited, not...brooding again!"

Nina nodded, her playful demeanor fading as she squeezed his arm, her tone laced with unease. "Yeah, seriously—what's going on? You're freaking me out a little. Did we...did we do something wrong? Say something you didn't like?"

Abigaille, her massive breasts still pressed against his back, leaned around to peer at his face, her voice soft and trembling with worry. "Kafi, please, tell us what's bothering you. You look so...concerned. This isn't like you—we just want to make you happy, not upset you!"

Kafka then sighed, a reluctant, heavy sound as he ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flickering between them before dropping to the floor.

"I...I don't know if I should say this." He muttered, his voice low and hesitant. "It might just make you all worry too, and I don't want that. It's probably better to just...think about the future anyway, not dwell on it now." He waved a hand dismissively, trying to brush them off, but his evasion only deepened the furrows in their brows.

Camila's eyes narrowed, her concern sharpening into insistence as she stepped closer, her hands planting on her hips. "Oh, no you don't." She said firmly. "You're not getting off that easy. You can't just stand there looking like the world's about to end and then pretend it's nothing. Tell us what's wrong—right now."

Nina nodded vigorously, her voice rising with a mix of fear and frustration. "Yeah, Kafka, come on! You're scaring us—whatever it is, just spit it out. We're not gonna let you bottle it up like this—what if it's something serious? We'll deal with it together, I promise!"

Kafka hesitated, biting his lips as he glanced at their worried faces, their eyes wide and desperate for answers. And then finally, with a reluctant sigh, he caved, his voice dropping to a near—whisper as he admitted. "Alright, fine...The thing that's making me worry so much and be so concerned about our future. It's—"

"...It's your breasts..."

"...That's what's bothering me and why I was staring so much earlier."

"."

".."

"..."

"...????"

The confession hit them like a slap, their expressions shifting from concern to utter bewilderment. Camila blinked, her mouth falling open slightly.

"W-Wait—our breasts?!" She exclaimed, her tone a mix of shock and disbelief. "That's what's got you all worked up? We thought it was something important!"

Nina's eyes widened, her hands dropping from his arm as she stared at him. "You're serious? This whole time we're pouring our hearts out, and you're just...stressing over our tits? What the hell, Kafka?!"

Abigaille's flush deepened, her hands fluttering nervously as she stammered. "B-But why? What's wrong with them? I don't understand—I-I thought you liked Mommy's breasts."

But before they could bombard him further, Kafka held up a hand, his expression still tinged with worry as he elaborated.."It's not the breasts themselves, you guys. You see, it's—"

"...It's whether if they they can still...lactate."

"...That's what's been on my mind as I've been wondering if they'd be able to provide for our kids in the future."

The room fell silent, their jaws dropping in unison as the sudden topic of lactation sank in, shock rippling through them like a tidal wave.

Camila was the first to recover, her brow furrowing as she crossed her arms, her voice laced with confusion. "H-Hold on—lactate? As in a women producing milk from her breasts?"

"...Why is that even an issue? Isn't it totally natural for a woman to produce milk when she's pregnant—that's just how it works! What's got you so twisted up about something so basic?"

Kafka sighed again, leaning into the lie he'd carefully crafted, his tone measured and convincing as he spun his tale.

This content is taken from freёnovelkiss.com.

"I didn't want to bring it up because it's...kind of a weird thing to worry about, but I've been reading some stuff lately—articles, studies, you know?"

"They say that in modern times, because of all the pollutants in the air, the preservatives in our food, all that junk—a lot of women, especially in their middle years, struggle to lactate when they have a kid."

"...Sometimes they can't even do it at all."

He paused, letting the fabricated gravity of his words settle, watching as their eyes widened and faint gasps escaped their lips.

Nina's hand flew to her mouth, her voice trembling as she whispered. "Oh my God...really? That's a thing? I've never even heard of that!"

Camila's face paled slightly, her confident smirk replaced by a flicker of unease. "Wait, wait, wait—struggle to lactate? Like, not at all? That's...that's insane. You're telling me our bodies might just...fail us like that?"

Abigaille's hands clutched at her chest instinctively, her voice small and shaky. "I...I didn't know that could happen. Pollutants? Preservatives? That's so scary—l never thought something like that could affect us!"

Seeing their reactions—exactly the wide-eyed, pale-faced responses he'd been banking on—Kafka pressed forward, his tone growing more somber as he layered on the deception.

"Yeah, it's apparently becoming more common. I read that a lot of older mothers end up having to use formula because their bodies just won't cooperate anymore. And, uh..." He hesitated, feigning reluctance as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't really want to bring up your ages or anything—felt kind of rude—but I couldn't help thinking about it."

"...You're all...well, not exactly young moms-to-be, you know? So I've been worrying if that might be a problem down the line."

The color drained from their faces, their earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of his words. Camila's hands dropped to her sides, her voice quieter now, tinged with a rare vulnerability.

"Our...ages? You're saying because we're older, we might not...oh, God, that's a lot to unpack right now."

Nina bit her lip, her eyes darting between him and the others, her voice unsteady. "I mean...I guess we're not spring chickens anymore, but I didn't think it'd mess with something like that. That's...That's kind of terrifying, Kafka."

Abigaille's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her hands still pressed to her chest as she murmured. "Not being able to provide for my future kids...I hadn't even thought about that part. What if...What if we can't?"

"...T-That's so sad...I'd hate for that to happen since I want to be the one feeding my precious little babies."

Abigaille said as she imagined her baby sucking on her nipples only for dust to come out to her horror, while Kafka watched them, his heart pounding as he gauged their reactions, the perfect setup for the Gods request falling into place amidst their stunned silence.

He'd hooked them using their concern over their age and their trust in him—now it was just a matter of reeling them in.