NOVPUBKafka's eyes flicked between them, noting Olivia's hesitance, her reluctance to fully embrace the town's uninhibited norms and to not make her feel left out, he then turned to Abigaille, his expression shifting to one of playful determination.
"Look at her, Mom." He said, his voice low and teasing, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Mom's still so shy, standing there all nervous in her underwear. She's not gonna get used to this if she's the only one exposed."
"...She needs you to join her, to show her it's normal, that there's nothing wrong with it."
His gaze locked onto Abigaille's, a silent command threaded through his words.
"Strip down, Mom...Let's see you in your underwear, just like Olivia to help her feel comfortable."
Abigaille's eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she glanced at Olivia.
Their gazes met, and Olivia's anticipation was palpable, her eyes searching Abigaille's for confirmation of the truth she'd just pieced together—that Abigaille, too, was consumed by forbidden desires for Kafka.
A small, knowing smile curved Abigaille's lips, a silent acknowledgment of their shared secret.
"Alright, Kafi." She purred, her voice smooth and sultry, her succubus nature flaring as she embraced the moment. "I was already dying to strip down because of how hot it is, now I only more of a reason to do so for Olivia's sake."
With a graceful motion, Abigaille tugged her top over her head, revealing her massive, plump breasts barely contained by a deep purple bra, the fabric straining against their weight.
Her bronzed skin glistened with sweat, her cleavage a tantalizing valley that drew Kafka's eyes.
She then didn't hesitate, her fingers hooking into her skirt and pulling it down in one fluid motion, letting it pool at her feet. Her underwear, a matching purple set, hugged her curves tightly, but it wasn't enough to contain the full, meaty expanse of her ass and thighs, which looked like roasted cuts of flesh, ripe and inviting.
The fabric between her legs was soaked, just like Olivia's, the dark, wet patch clinging to her pussy, outlining every detail with shameless clarity. Her thighs shimmered with a faint trail of her own love juices, the sight raw and erotic, a mirror to Olivia's own state.
Olivia's breath caught, her cheeks flushing as she stared at Abigaille's exposed form.
The confirmation was undeniable—Abigaille was just as aroused, her body betraying the same taboo hunger that tormented Olivia. The realization sent a rush of relief through her, a sense of sisterhood in their shared taboo.
Abigaille's eyes then met hers, a playful glint dancing in them, and she gave a soft laugh, her voice teasing.
"See, Olivia? Nothing to be shy about. We're both...sweaty, aren't we?" Her words carried a double meaning, a nod to their secret that made Olivia's heart race.
Kafka, however, wasn't content to simply observe from a distance.
With a low chuckle, he crouched down, his head level with their hips, his eyes fixed on the drenched fabric of their underwear. His hands moved swiftly, grabbing their asses from behind, his fingers sinking into the soft, pliant flesh as he pulled them closer, positioning them side by side.
Their breasts pressed together, the contact sending a jolt through both women, their cleavage squishing against each other as they stood under his intense scrutiny.
Kafka's gaze was unwavering, drinking in the sight of their pussies, so clearly outlined by the wet fabric, with a fascination that made their cheeks burn.
"Look at this." He said, his voice a mix of awe and amusement, his fingers kneading their asses gently. "Both of you, wet as can be. I can barely tell you apart with how soaked you are."
His chuckle was low, as he studied them, his eyes flicking between their drenched underwear.
"If there's any difference, it's that Mom's is a bit...wetter. Fresher, too, like she just let it all out. It's clinging to her skin, dripping down her thighs."
His gaze lingered on Olivia's pussy, the soaked fabric outlining her clitoris and labia with vivid detail.
"You're also close, Mom, but not quite as...drenched. Guess you sweat more easily, huh?"
Olivia's face flamed, a mortified gasp escaping her as she reached down, her fingers brushing his hair in a desperate, gentle grip.
"Kafi, please." She stammered, her voice trembling with embarrassment. "Don't...Don't talk about my sweat like that. There's no need to go into so much detail."
"Can't we just...move on to dinner? Forget how...sweaty I am down there?"
Her words were a plea, her body trembling under the weight of his scrutiny, her arousal warring with her shame.
But Kafka shook his head, his expression one of playful defiance, his hands still kneading their asses with a possessive tenderness.
"No way I'm ignoring this." He said, his voice low and insistent. "The first time I saw Mom like this, I couldn't stop staring. Probably spent an hour just looking, because it was so...pretty. And now, seeing you like this, Mom? It's enchanting. I can't look away." His tone turned reverent, as he gazed at her soaked underwear, the fabric clinging to her pussy like a second skin. "Your pussy, all wet and glistening through your panties...it's like a work of art."
"...The way it clings, the way it shines, it's just...beautiful."
Olivia's breath hitched, her cheeks burning as his words washed over her. His dirty description sent a shiver of excitement through her, despite the embarrassment flooding her senses.
His appreciation, his unabashed admiration, made her feel seen in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. She wanted to shrink away, to hide the evidence of her desire, but the way he looked at her like she was a treasure, stoked a fire within her, her body responding with a fresh wave of heat.
Kafka's eyes flicked between their drenched underwear, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his lips as he studied them with fascination.
"At first glance..." He murmured, his voice low and tasteful. "...you might think your pussies look the same, all wet and clinging like this.But up close?...Oh, there's a difference, alright."
His fingers tightened on their asses, pulling them even closer, their breasts brushing together as they stood side by side, their cleavage squishing in a way that made their pulses race.
"Mom, yours...it's got this slender, perfectly shaped labia, so neat and delicate, like it's sculpted." His gaze lingered on Olivia, his words painting an intimate portrait that made her cheeks bum.
"Mom, though? Her's is puffier, with these fat, luscious lips that just...demand attention."
Olivia's face flamed, her breath catching as his passionate yet erotic description washed over her. She couldn't believe her son was speaking so openly, so brazenly, about such private parts.
Her lips parted, a protest forming "Kafi, please, you can't—" but he ignored her, his voice rolling on, undeterred, as if lost in his own fascination.
"Even through the underwear..." He continued, his tone almost academic but laced with a hungry edge. "I can tell Mom's labia are more...closed, tight, like they've never been touched, never opened to anyone."
His eyes then flicked to Abigaille, a knowing glint in them.
"Mom's, though? They're more inviting, spread open, like they've been...explored plenty."
His words hung heavy, charged. with implication, and Olivia's gaze snapped to Abigaille, a silent question burning in her eyes.
Explored?...The last time she'd seen Abigaille's body, years ago, it had seemed tight, untouched, like a virgin's.
What had changed? What experiences had shaped her into this open, sensual creature?
Abigaille met her gaze, her lips twitching into a subtle, almost defiant smile, but she said nothing, her body pulsing with a quiet confidence that only deepened Olivia's curiosity.
Kafka leaned closer, his face so near their pussies that they could feel the heat of his breath, a teasing caress that made their bodies tremble.
"And your clits..." He said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "...they're so pronounced right now. Mom, yours is standing out, so needy, like it's begging for attention, while your's is just as hard, but...calmer, like it's used to this."
His eyes flicked between them, a poet savoring his muse, and Olivia's embarrassment surged, her mind reeling at the audacity of his words.
She couldn't take it anymore. Her hands clutched at his hair, her voice trembling as she looked down at him.
"K-Kafi, how do you know all this?" She demanded, her tone sharp with disbelief. "These...These names, these details about our...parts? Who taught you to talk like this?"
Her heart pounded, her shame warring with a desperate need to understand the source of his knowledge.
Kafka straightened slightly, his hands still gripping their asses, his expression one of innocent pride.
"Mom taught me." He said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "A while back, she said she wanted me to understand a woman's body properly, so l wouldn't be clueless."
"So, she showed me her own pussy—naked, up close and pointed out all the parts, named them, explained what they do."
His voice was matter-of-fact, but the memory sparked a gleam in his eyes.
"She even took my hand, guided it to her labia, her clit, let me feel everything so I'd know exactly what she was talking about...Said it was the best way to learn."
Olivia's jaw dropped, a gasp escaping her as she stared at Abigaille, her mind spinning.
"Abi? Just what are you teaching our son?!" She echoed, her voice thick with shock.
The image of Abigaille, baring herself to Kafka, guiding his hands to her most intimate places, was staggering, a revelation that pushed their dynamic into even deeper taboo territory that she couldn't even fathom...
