SWNOVELXO Chapter 638: If I Had An Ass Like Yours...
Olivia's bare legs trembled slightly as she stood over Kafka, the cool air brushing her skin where the stockings once clung. Her mind drifted to the comfort of his lap, a seat she'd grown to crave in mere moments, and she moved to sit back down, longing for the familiar warmth of his embrace.
But before she could lower herself, Kafka's hands gripped her calves, his touch firm yet gentle, halting her.
"Hold on, Mom." He said, his voice low and laced with admiration. "Now that I can see your bare legs, let me look a bit longer. They're...stunning."
"...Long, sexy, real treasures you were hiding under those stockings. And with that miniskirt and office outfit? You look damn gorgeous."
Her cheeks burned, a flush spreading across her face as his intense gaze roamed her legs. His words, so bold and unfiltered, sent a shiver of pride through her, but the openness of his stare—fixed on her bare skin was overwhelming.
Embarrassment surged, and without thinking, she dropped back onto his lap, her plump ass landing with a soft thud that made her cheeks bulge against his thighs. The sudden movement squished her miniskirt against his chest, pressing their bodies closer than ever, her breasts grazing his torso, her face mere inches from his.
The proximity stole her breath, and as she met his gaze, she was struck by how handsome he'd become—his sharp jawline, his dark eyes, the confident curve of his lips. Her heart raced, a flutter of something dangerous stirring in her chest, and she quickly averted her eyes, desperate to anchor herself in the maternal role she clung to.
Kafka's hands then slid to her waist, pulling her closer, his voice warm but teasing.
"I absolutely love the position we are in, Mom." He said, his eyes locking onto hers, sparkling with mischief. "I can hold you like this, see those pretty eyes up close." His fingers tightened slightly, a possessive edge to his grip that made her pulse quicken. "But I still wanna show you how I like to cuddle...You up for it?"
Snapping out of her daze, Olivia nodded, her voice soft but curious. "Go on, Kafi. Show me." Her heart pounded, the memory of his earlier words—his way being 'more intimate' echoing in her mind, stirring both anticipation and unease.
Kafka's grin widened like he was really expecting what was coming next. "It's like this, just...more relaxed. A reclining position, that's all."
Without explaining further, he shifted, turning to lie back on the sofa, his head resting on the armrest as if settling in for a nap. His hands never left her, pulling her down with him, guiding her until she was stretched out atop him, her legs entwined with his, her body pressed fully against his.
The shift was seamless, but the result was staggering her entire form molded to his, every hard, rigid plane of his muscled body a stark contrast to her soft curves. Her massive breasts, barely contained by the open shirt, squished against his chest, the pale expanse of her cleavage spilling out, a lewd yet breathtaking sight that drew Kafka's gaze.
"This..." He said, his voice a low rumble. "...is how I like to cuddle. I get cold easy when I'm watching TV, but with a plump, warm woman like you lying on me?...It's better than any blanket. Feels like nirvana."
His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, her body flush against his, so close she could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, his warm breath grazing the sensitive skin of her cleavage.
The intimacy was dizzying, her senses overwhelmed by his scent, his strength, the way he held her like she was his to protect.
Olivia's face burned, her body tensing as she wriggled slightly, the position igniting a shy unease.
"T-This...This really is intimate, Kafi." She murmured, her voice trembling with awe and nervousness. "You weren't kidding earlier."
Kafka's eyes softened, his hands loosening slightly as he met her gaze. "Too much, Mom? We can stop if it's not okay." His voice was gentle, but there was a challenge in his eyes, a subtle test of her resolve.
She shook her head quickly in response, her voice firm despite the flutter in her chest.
"No, it's...It's fine. I'm just getting used to it." She paused, then added, her tone softening. "Honestly, I...I feel comfortable like this. I always thought beds were supposed to be soft, cozy, but you—you're not soft, but somehow this feels...safe."
"...Especially when you hold me like this."
His arms, wrapped around her, pulled her closer, and for a moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of belonging, as if she were his in a way that transcended their roles. The thought was racy, dangerous, and she pushed it away, clinging to the comfort of his embrace, telling herself it was maternal, nothing more.
Kafka's voice broke through her thoughts, his tone light but tinged with mischief.
"This position's not just comfy, Mom." He said, his dark eyes glinting. "It's fun, too. I can play around a bit, like I do with Mom...Keeps things lively."
Olivia's brow furrowed, confusion mingling with curiosity.
"Play around?" She asked, her voice soft but wary. "What do you mean, Kafi? How do you...play in a position like this?"
He hesitated, his gaze turning cautious, as if weighing her reaction. "I...don't know if I should say." He said, his voice low, almost testing. "You won't get mad, right? If I show you what I mean?"
Her heart softened at his concern, a smile tugging at her lips. Nothing her son did could truly anger her—not when he was trying so hard to connect.
"Not at all, Kafi." She said, her voice warm with encouragement. "Go on, show me. What do you play with?"
To her shock, Kafka's hands slid from her waist, descending until they reached her plump, bouncy ass. His fingers sank into the soft flesh, like butter molded Into perfect curves, and he began to pat it lightly, each tap sending her cheeks jiggling like jelly.
The sensation was ticklish, startling, and Olivia's eyes widened as she twisted to look back, her ass bouncing under his hands like a drum.
"Kafi!" She gasped, her voice a blend of panic and disbelief. "What are you doing? Why are you...beating your mother's b-butt?"
Kafka's chuckle was warm, his hands continuing their playful rhythm.
"I'm not beating them, Mom." He said, his tone teasing but earnest. "I'm just playing around."
"...You see, I'm kinda restless, always need to fidget with something. When I'm like this with Mom, she lets me do this—play with her ass. It's like a stress ball, you know? Something to knead, keeps me calm."
One hand kept patting, the other began to gently grope, squeezing her cheek like it was a toy, his touch both casual and deliberate.
Olivia's ears burned, her face flushing as she glanced back, watching her ass ripple under his hands.
"A...stress ball?" She stammered, her voice trembling with confusion. "I've never heard of anyone using an...ass like that!"
Her mind reeled, the ticklish sensation warring with the heat spreading through her body, a warmth that felt dangerously unlike the maternal comfort she clung to.
Kafka's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Of course you haven't, Mom. Not everyone's got an ass like yours—thick, plump, perfect for it. You and Mom are special, you know? Not many could pull this off."
"...I'm lucky, having mothers with such bold, beautiful butts to help with my restlessness."
Olivia's heart raced, a tumult of emotions crashing within her. The casualness of his touch, the way he framed it as playful, innocent, clashed with the fire igniting in her lower body. His hands on her ass, kneading and patting, felt too intimate, too charged, and she was on the verge of telling him to stop, to draw a line she could no longer ignore.
But before she could speak, Kafka's smirk deepened, his voice dropping to a playful lilt.
"You know, Mom, I was just thinking that if I had an ass as big as yours, I'd be groping it all the time, using it as my own stress ball."
The absurdity of this casual thought—Kafka, with his lean, muscular frame, sporting a curvaceous, basketball-sized ass that jutted out like a caricature hit Olivia like a lightning bolt.
"Hahahahaha!"
Laughter erupted from her, a bright, unrestrained giggle that shook her body, her earlier tension dissolving in the hilarity.
"Oh, Kafi!" She gasped between giggles, picturing him waddling with an exaggerated, comically plump backside. "That's...That's ridiculous! You, with an ass like mine? It'd look like two beach balls glued to you!"
Her laughter grew, tears pricking her eyes as she imagined him strutting with such an outlandish feature, his slender hips swaying under the weight of an impossible posterior.
Kafka paused, his hands stilling on her ass, his eyes widening in surprise at the intensity of her reaction.
"Was it that funny?" He asked, his voice tinged with mock offense, though his smirk betrayed his delight.
Olivia wiped a tear from her eye, her laughter subsiding into a warm, radiant smile, the first unguarded expression she'd shown since arriving.
"It really was." She said, her voice soft but brimming with joy. "I haven't laughed like that in...months. Just the thought of you like that—it's too much!"
She chuckled again, the image still tickling her, and for a moment, she felt like any other woman, light and free, unburdened by the weight of her earlier thoughts.
Kafka's smirk returned, his hands resting lightly on her hips now, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"If my ass makes you laugh that hard, maybe I'll stuff some pillows in my pants one day, surprise you with the full effect...See how you handle it then."
Olivia shook her head, still giggling, her voice firm but playful.
"Don't you dare, Kafi! I'd laugh so hard I'd pass out. I couldn't handle that sight!" The absurdity, the shared humor, wrapped her in a warmth she hadn't felt in ages, a connection with her son that felt pure, untainted by the village's dizzying openness.
As her laughter faded, she realized the dark thoughts that had plagued her the forbidden heat, the shameful stirrings had vanished, swept away by the joy of the moment.
Kafka's humor, his playful innocence, was a beacon, guiding her back to clarity. Each time her mind strayed, his words, his gaze, his laughter pulled her back, reminding her of his purity, his intent to be nothing but a loving son.
With a sigh, she relaxed, her body sinking against his chest, her cheek resting against his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and trust. The racy thoughts were gone, replaced by a quiet gratitude for the son who could make her laugh, who could make her feel so cherished...