Kafka obviously noticed his mother's flustered reaction.
"Oh? Nothing to say?" He teased, his lips now ghosting over her jaw. "Not even a little protest? Huh...So quiet now, Mom."
She let out a soft, involuntary whimper and he chuckled.
"I thought you'd be the type to snap back at me." He continued, slipping an arm behind her, pulling her in closer. "All that ice-queen composure, that cold face you wear outside like armor...And now? You're melting in my hands. Blushing like I just told you I loved you instead of calling you a bad girl."
"Kafi..." She whispered, her voice small, trembling, the sound lost in his chest.
He tilted his head. "What's wrong, Mom?" He cooed, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "You look like your entire body's on fire. Is it...the words? Or is it because you like hearing them from me?"
She bit her lip. Her lashes fluttered. Her hands clenched his shirt, while Kafka smiled, tender and evil at once.
"Tell me..." He whispered against her ear. "What kind of mother turns bright pink just from being called that? Hmm? Are you really that sweet little honor student, I thought of you as...or is there a part of you that likes this? Likes me talking to you like that?"
"N-No, I-I don't—" She tried, but her voice cracked halfway, so thin, so breakable, she couldn't even convince herself.
He didn't even have to say anything. Her body told him everything.
She was burning up in his arms, warm and shivering all at once, like every word he whispered melted straight into her bloodstream. The way she trembled, it wasn't fear.
It was need...Conflicted, desperate, overwhelming need.
Kafka's lips brushed her ear one last time.
"You're not fooling anyone, Mom." He whispered, his voice a delicious slow drawl. "You say no...but your body? It's begging me to say it again."
And when she didn't push him away, when she instead leaned into his chest, eyes tightly shut, her breathing quick and uneven, Kafka knew.
She wanted him to keep going.
"Since you clearly want it more, Mom...I'll be generous. I'll talk to you like this today."
Then, without warning, his tongue brushed over her lips, slow and purposeful. He trailed it up to the corner of her mouth, then shifted, his mouth grazing the shell of her ear.
He licked there too, warm and teasing, before whispering huskily, "But you know the rule, don't you, Mom? You have to ask for it."
She sucked in a breath.
"If you don't ask...nothing will happen." His hand was on her thigh now, his thumb tracing lazy, burning heat through the fabric. "Only if you want it. Only if you ache for it. Only if you desire it, Mom...will I give you exactly what you're dying for."
He pulled back just slightly, studying her face, already knowing, already sure of the storm building behind her wide, trembling eyes.
Olivia's heart pounded wildly. Her chest rose and fell with the weight of the moment. She knew, she knew, she should shake her head.
Say no. Walk away. This wasn't like her. This wasn't something someone like her was supposed to enjoy.
But the way he looked at her...the way he said those words...the way he called her a bad girl and made her feel wanted in the dirtiest, most delicious ways, it was maddening. And she loved it. God, she loved it too much.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands trembling slightly at her sides, but she didn't waver.
She lifted her gaze and met his, gaze soft but brimming with something fierce beneath the shyness.
"Please, Kafi..." She whispered. "Call me a bad girl. More. Please say those things to me. Talk to me like I'm...like I'm your bad girl. Even if it's for no reason. Just do it."
The words came out haltingly, but her gaze didn't falter.
Kafka's grin split wide and dangerous, all teeth and triumph. "Oh, Mom." He purred, hand tightening on her thigh. "You really don't know what you just unlocked."
He leaned in close again, lips barely brushing hers.
"Look at you." He murmured. "So sweet. So pure. Supposed to be my proper little mother. Supposed to care for me, guide me, keep me on the right path..." His mouth brushed down to her neck, hot and slow. "And yet here you are...begging to be called a bad girl."
He shook his head slowly, disappointment in his eyes, though his hands were anything but. One had slid up to her breast, kneading it slowly through her top.
"Tsk. Tsk. Shameful. Just shameful."
Olivia gasped, squirming slightly, but didn't stop him. Her eyes fluttered closed.
"I trusted you to take care of me." He whispered. "To guide me. You were supposed to be the one who kept control."
He pressed her down, his hand fitting snug between her legs, making her tremble.
"But here you are. Melting. Blushing. Acting like my personal plaything." He paused, voice darkening. "You're not teaching me anything, Mom. You're seducing me."
She tried to pull back, but he grabbed her thighs, holding her still.
"I mean, just look at you." He breathed, his hands roaming, slow and possessive. "This body...this fucking body..."
His hand slid up to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt.
"These tits...Do you have any idea what you do to me when you walk into the room in those tight little blouses?...The way your chest moves when you breathe, the way your nipples show through even when you're wearing a bra?"
"You think I haven't noticed?" His thumb brushed over her now-hard peak, and her back arched instinctively. "You've been teasing me with these from the very beginning."
She let out a soft, breathy sound, caught between embarrassment and arousal.
"And this ass..." He growled, dragging his hand down until he gripped her backside hard. "God, Mom. The way your hips sway when you walk. The way your dress hugs every curve. You've been torturing me, the whole day. You act like you don't know, but you do. You know exactly how irresistible you are."
Her breath shuddered, lips parted.
"And now look at you..." He murmured, dragging his lips across her cheek, down her jaw. "I call you a bad girl, and you're blushing like I just told you I love you. You like it, don't you?"
She bit her lip, trembling. "Kafi..."
"You like it when I talk to you like this." He whispered, voice thick with heat. "You like being told what you are. You like me tearing down that mentor mask. You like being degraded, don't you?"
"I-I don't..." Her protest was weak. Shaky. Embarrassed.
He leaned in, tongue flicking her earlobe.
"Don't lie to me. Look how hot your cheeks are. Look how you're squeezing your thighs together. Look how you're clinging to me like you're starving for this."
She whimpered, a sound that made his grip tighten on her hips.
"Say it..." He ordered. "Say it turns you on. Say you like it when I call you a bad girl. Say you like being treated like this."
Her lips trembled. Her eyes shimmered. And after a pause, long, breathless, agonizing, she whispered:
"...I like it."
He didn't move.
"...I like it when you call me that. When you talk to me like this. When you make me feel like...like I'm yours."
Kafka let out a low, hungry groan. "That's right." He whispered, dragging her closer until their foreheads touched. "You are mine. My bad girl. My filthy, perfect, irresistible bad girl."
"Fuck..." He groaned, eyes blazing as he pressed her down harder onto his lap. "You really are my filthy little girl. My sweet, twisted little thing. Look at you, so well-behaved for everyone else, but with me? You beg. You melt. You want me to break you."
He kissed her on her cheek, before pulling back just enough to say.
"And I will break you. Not because I hate you...but because you're mine...Because I love ruining you."
His voice dropped, almost tender through the filth.
"You belong here. With me. Beneath me. Whimpering my name, Mom."
Hearing all this, her eyes filled with tears, not of fear, but from the intensity of it all. The love behind every degrading word. The raw want behind every groan of his name.
"Kafi..." She whispered
Olivia didn't know when exactly she'd started grinding her thigh together, somewhere between his dirty words and that dangerous, possessive look in his eyes, she'd lost herself...Completely.
She was breathless, panting like she'd been running, and her fingers had curled tightly into his shirt, bunching the fabric near his collar. Her skin was on fire. Her body was begging.
And worst of all...she didn't care where they were anymore.
She should've cared. They weren't at home. This wasn't some dim, safe little apartment where she could melt into him without consequences.
But Kafi's voice, cold and commanding, had her starving. That look on his face, the one that could make anyone in the room stop breathing, was now solely trained on her.
That terrifying shift, the sudden dominance, it thrilled her.
And she wanted him to be grateful that she didn't fall apart right there. She was clinging to her composure with trembling fingers.
...That is until, just as suddenly as he'd turned it on, he turned it off.
Kafka suddenly blinked. That razor-sharp edge in his gaze softened, his smirk melted into his usual calm, collected expression...and he tilted his head, almost innocent.
"And so as a demonstration..." He said smoothly, his tone now maddeningly neutral, like he'd just given her a business presentation instead of whispering filth into her ear. "Was that clear enough, Mom? Did you understand what I'm trying to teach you to do?"
Olivia's lips parted, her brain catching up a second too late. She blinked at him, stunned, flushed, disoriented, like she'd been yanked out of a fever dream.
He was back to normal.
Like nothing had just happened.
Like he hadn't just made her say she was a bad girl. Like he hadn't called her out, squeezed her, humiliated her with that twisted praise.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She was too shocked. Too flustered. And then...it hit her.
That entire thing was him showing her. Giving her a taste of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of what she'd jokingly teased him for earlier.
He had simply been, demonstrating.
"Oh my god..." She whispered under her breath.
And with that realization came the embarrassment.
Not because he'd done it.
But because she'd loved it.
She looked down in a rush, cheeks burning, staring hard at her lap like it could somehow hide the wildfire inside her.
"Y-Yeah." She mumbled quickly, voice tight and thin, trying to salvage some dignity. "Yeah, I understood. I get it. Completely, Kafi."
But her hands were clenching against her knees now, and she couldn't stop the flood of thoughts rushing through her head.
'How the hell did I let myself go like that? How did I lose control like that?'
Her body was still tingling, her chest heaving as she tried to calm her racing heart. Her thighs pressed together subtly, too aware of the wetness that had soaked into her underwear.
It' also wasn't just a little damp. She was soaked. She could feel it, sticky, humiliating warmth pressed against her inner thighs. The fabric of her panties clung to her.
And the dress she was wearing?
It was light.
She was sure of it now, that wet spot had probably spread through the thin material.
And if it had leaked through to the seat,
Her face turned an even deeper red.
She didn't dare move.
She sat still, legs tightly crossed, praying that the fabric beneath her hadn't darkened.
'Please don't let there be a mark. Please. If she stood now and there was an imprint—'
She was going to die.
Kafka, meanwhile, was leaning back casually, like this was nothing. Like he hadn't just wrecked her dignity and composure in one go.
She wanted to glare at him.
But all she could do was hide behind her hand, cheeks hot, breath still catching every now and then.
'What is wrong with me?'
And worse, she still wanted more.