To Kafka's surprise, Olivia became engrossed, her voice taking on a almost scientific tone as she began to describe what she felt, as if she were a physician analyzing a specimen rather than a mother touching her son.
"Your pectoralis major is...remarkably developed." She said, her voice steady but tinged with fascination, her fingers pressing lightly against his chest. "The muscle fibers feel dense, well-defined, perfect for explosive strength."
Her hands slid lower, tracing the six distinct segments of his abdominals.
"And these rectus abdominis muscles...They're so symmetrical, with such clear separation. You've built an athletic core, Kafi, ideal for stability and power."
She moved to his shoulders, her touch careful, her words precise.
"The external obliques here, they're tight, sculpted—excellent for rotational movements, like in martial arts or sports."
Her tone was detached, almost academic, as if she were studying a masterpiece, not caressing her son's body.
Kafka's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his face as he listened to her detailed analysis. Her shift from hesitant mother to analytical observer was unexpected, a sign of how deeply she'd immersed herself in the moment.
Olivia's hands lingered on Kafka's chiseled abs, her fingers tracing the hard ridges with precision that had overtaken her maternal hesitation. But as she caught his gaze—confusion flickering in his dark eyes, she froze, a flush of embarrassment flooding her cheeks.
She yanked her hands back, pressing them to her chest as if to hide her boldness.
"Oh, Kafi, I'm so sorry." She stammered, her voice trembling with mortification. "I didn't mean to...to go on like that, saying all those things about your body."
"It's...It's weird, I know. It's just—I've read so much about human anatomy, the perfect physique, and your body...it's like it came straight out of those books."
"...I got carried away, fascinated, and...I shouldn't have said so much."
But to her surprise, Kafka's smile was warm, disarming, his hand resting lightly on her waist as he shook his head.
"No problem at all, Mom." He said, his voice rich with reassurance. "I'm just happy someone out there appreciates the work I put into this." He chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Just surprised you know so many fancy terms—sounded like a doctor or something."
Olivia's blush softened, relief easing the knot in her chest.
"Abi could've told you." She said, her voice steadier now, a small laugh escaping. "I'm a bit of a bookworm, always diving into niche topics. And one of those anatomy books...It stuck with me. That's why I got so detailed."
She glanced away, still flustered but warmed by his acceptance.
Kafka's grin widened, his hand giving her waist a gentle squeeze. "That's cool, Mom. But text time you wanna nerd out about anatomy, skip the books—come to me. Feel me up all you want."
His tone was teasing, but his eyes held a sincerity that made her heart skip, a quiet invitation that stirred a hidden curiosity she quickly buried. The idea of exploring his muscles again, of indulging her fascination, lingered in her mind, tucked away like a forbidden thought.
His smile then shifted, a mischievous edge creeping in, and Olivia's stomach tightened, a premonition that he was about to say something bold, something that would push the fragile boundaries they'd already stretched.
"It's a funny thing actually." He said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What I wanted to ask you first?..It's kinda similar to your question."
Her eyes widened, a nervous tremor running through her.
"W-What?"
She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, dread and curiosity warring within her. She braced herself, sensing something daring was coming.
Kafka's gaze dropped to her chest, where her massive breasts pressed against his torso, the pale expanse of her cleavage spilling from the open shirt.
"Just like you're curious about my body, Mom..." He said, his voice low and deliberate. "...I'm curious about yours, as well. Your breasts, specifically."
A shiver ran through Olivia, her body tensing as he continued, his eyes locked on her cleavage.
"Ever since they pushed me back when I went for that hug, I've been fascinated. They're so...bouncy, so soft, so big. I wanna feel them, see what they're made of, how they can be that powerful."
Olivia's breath caught, a loud "No!" immediately escaping her before she could stop it, the exclamation sharp enough to echo through the room.
Hearing this exlamation from the kitchen, Abigaille's head snapped up, her voice tinged with concern.
"Everything alright over there?" She called, unable to see them clearly from her angle.
Hearing Abi call out to her, Olivia's heart raced, panic flaring at the thought of exposing the moment's intimacy. She forced a smile, her voice strained but steady.
"Nothing's wrong!" She called back. "Just...a glass fell, that's all. We're fine!"
Abigaille nodded even though she was still a little doubtful of what made Olivia of all people to react in such a manner, returning to her cooking, and Olivia exhaled, relief mingling with her lingering shock.
She then turned back to Kafka, her eyes wide, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.
"Kafi, you can't do that!" She hissed, her cheeks flaming. "That's too much. My breasts...They're just like anyone else's, made of muscle and fat, nothing special."
Kafka's smile didn't falter, his gaze unwavering as he leaned closer, his voice a playful challenge.
"Nah, Mom, they're different. No other breasts could shove me back like that with just a bump. I'm serious—I'm fascinated, just like you were about my muscles. I wanna understand them, feel what makes them so...powerful."
Olivia's stomach churned as Kafka's gaze lingered on her cleavage, his eyes alight with curiosity and admiration that, despite his pure intentions, felt like a step too far. Her resolve hardened, her lips parting to reject his request, to draw a firm line against the intimacy that threatened to unravel her.
But before she could speak, Kafka's expression shifted, his lips curling into a playful pout, his eyes wide and pleading.
"And it's not fair, Mom." He said, his voice tinged with indignation. "You got to touch me, feel my muscles, and I get nothing in return? That's no fun at all."
He paused, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes.
"...Maybe I'll just tell Mom about this—see what she thinks about the unfairness going on around here."
Panic surged through Olivia, her heart lurching at the thought of Abigaille learning about their intimate moment. The idea of her best friend knowing she'd explored Kafka's body, analyzed his muscles with such fascination, was mortifying.
She wasn't sure if this fell under the village's supposed openness, if her actions were acceptable or scandalous, and the risk of Abigaille's judgment was too much to bear.
"No, Kafi, please!" She blurted, her voice a desperate whisper. "Don't tell her! She'll think I'm crazy...I'm begging you, don't say anything!"
Kafka's pout melted into a teasing smile, his eyes glinting with triumph as he leaned closer.
"Alright, Mom, I won't tell." He said, his tone light but laced with a playful challenge. "But if you don't want that, you gotta let me touch your breasts."
"...It's only fair—I deserve a little something, don't I?"
His pleading gaze, so pitiful, tugged at her heart, making it hard to resist.
Olivia's resolve wavered, her mind a tumult of reluctance and resignation. She knew she was cornered, his teasing blackmail a gentle but effective push and with a heavy sigh, she gave in, her voice hesitant and coy.
"Fine..." She murmured, her cheeks burning as she avoided his gaze. "You can...t-touch my breasts for a little while. But only over my clothes, Kafi, and don't get too...deep." She then pouted, a cute, almost childish expression that felt foreign on her usually composed face as she said, "And you shouldn't blackmail your mother like this, you know."
Kafka's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with delight as he chuckled. "Can't help it, Mom...Bullying my cute little mother is just too irresistible."
His words were playful, but the sincerity in his tone struck her like a spark.
Olivia's blush deepened, her heart skipping at being called 'cute'. No one had ever described her that way—men usually labeled her beautiful, stunning, or breathtaking, their words steeped in admiration for her mature, commanding presence.
Her icy demeanor, honed by years in the cutthroat world of business, made 'cute' feel impossible, yet Kafka's casual compliment warmed her in a way she hadn't expected. The joy of it, the unexpected validation, softened her resistance, momentarily eclipsing her unease about what was to come.
But then his hand patted her plump ass, a light, playful tap that snapped her out of her daze, and his voice cut through, teasing but insistent.
"Hey, Mom, get up a little." He said, his tone coaxing. "Sit over me so I can have a better hold of you."
Olivia's eyes widened, her heart lurching as she jolted back to the present.
"N-No, Kafi." She said quickly in a fluster. "This position is fine, you can...do it from here."
Her body tensed, her cheek still warm from where it had rested against his chest, her resolve to keep some semblance of control fraying under his persistence.
But Kafka's grin was undeterred, his eyes glinting with mischief as he shook his head.
"Come on, Mom, I can't do much with you lying on me like this, squeezing me with those breasts squashed against my chest. They're like...flat pancakes right now." His voice dropped, a playful challenge in his tone. "I wanna see them stand proud, full and round, admire their beauty while I touch them."
The words hit her like a shockwave, her body jolting upright as a flush burned across her cheeks.
Flat pancakes? Stand proud?
It was not something a son should say to his mother, the boldness of it clashing with the purity she'd convinced herself defined his intentions. Her mind screamed to refuse, to draw a line, but his teasing smile, the way he'd maneuvered her with playful blackmail, left her with little room to escape. She knew he wouldn't let it go, his persistence a gentle but unrelenting force.
With a hesitant sigh, Olivia pushed herself off his chest, her hands trembling as she shifted to sit upright, straddling his abdomen. Her miniskirt rode up slightly, her bare thighs pressing against his sides, and her massive breasts, now free from the pressure of his chest, stood prominent, their full, round shape accentuated by the open shirt.
The pale expanse of her cleavage was stark, almost luminous, and she kept her eyes fixed on her hands, braced on either side of him, unable to meet his gaze. The vulnerability of the position, the way her breasts were so openly displayed, sent a nervous shiver through her, her heart pounding with embarrassment and reluctant anticipation.
Kafka's eyes roamed her chest, a flicker of awe in his expression as he murmured. "That's better." His voice softened, a reassuring note cutting through her tension. "You ready, Mom?"
His hands hovered near her breasts, waiting for her permission, his gaze steady but gentle.
Olivia swallowed hard, her throat tight, and gave a hesitant nod, her voice barely a whisper.
"Okay...just...be careful, Kafi."
Her hands gripped his sides, her knuckles whitening as she braced herself, her body taut with nerves.
Kafka's smile was warm, his hands moving slowly as he laid them on her breasts, his touch light but steady over the thin fabric of her shirt.
"It'll be alright, Mom." He said, his voice a soothing balm. "Just like you touched me, I'm touching you. Mutual admiration, right, between a mother and son?...Nothing weird."
His words echoed her earlier exploration of his muscles, framing the act as a shared curiosity, and the familiarity of the comparison eased her racing pulse, if only slightly.
His hands then began to move, groping gently, his fingers tracing the curves of her breasts, feeling their weight and softness through the cloth.
The sensation was overwhelming, a flush of heat spreading through Olivia as his palms pressed and kneaded, testing the bounce and give of her flesh. Her breath hitched, her body tensing as she fought to keep her composure, to focus on his words—mutual admiration and not the forbidden thrill that stirred in her core.
His touch was careful, his eyes fixed on her breasts with a fascination that mirrored her own when she'd explored his muscles, and the parallel kept her grounded, reminding her this was just the village's openness, not something improper...