God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem

June blinked hard, as if her vision itself had warped, her hand tightening around the crutch beneath her arm until her knuckles ached.

For a few moments she had been lost in the haze like everyone else, trembling as she watched the torrent of lust consume her shop. But as the spray of fluids settled, the moans slowly dimming into heavy panting and twitching, reality came crashing back into her skull like a hammer.

This was her store. Her store. A lingerie boutique she had nurtured carefully, with effort, grace, and the trust of her staff. And now, now it looked less like a place of satin and lace and more like some writhing den, a sex dungeon improvised out of racks, counters, and the very floorboards themselves.

The walls smelled of sweat and musk, bodies collapsed in heaps, every last surface glistening with sheen. She could hardly breathe at the weight of it.

Her lips trembled, her face burning from the heat of shame and disbelief.

'How did I let it go this far?'

She thought and she knew full well the answer, her eyes cutting to the still-standing figure at the center of the storm, Kafka, the very one who had ignited this chain of madness.

But at the same time, she could have stopped him. She could have stood her ground. But instead she had bent with the tide, allowed it, even fed into it, and the result was this ruin of dignity at her feet.

She snapped her head down suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut, and in that instant she made her decision.

Enough was enough. Her staff couldn't take any more, she could see it plainly, their chests heaving, their trembling limbs spread out limply across the floor, not even the strength left in them to rise.

If she didn't put an end to it here and now, Kafka, that monster, would take them further, deeper into some abyss none of them could climb back from.

"That's it."

Her voice cut across the broken chorus of panting, like a whip crack. All eyes that could still move turned to her, even Kafka's, his brow arching faintly in curiosity.

"That's it." She repeated, more forceful, her voice carrying the kind of finality one didn't dare to test. "This stops here. Right now. Everything, everyone, stops here!"

Her chest heaved, the words spilling faster now, her frustration brimming with her breath.

"This has gone far enough. Too far. And it won't, it can't, go further. For the sake of every woman here, for their sanity, for their dignity...this ends. Now."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft groans of exhausted women sprawled across the floor.

And then June's eyes fixed on Kafka. She locked herself into that stare as though it was the only way to anchor herself to reality.

Her heart hammered like she was facing a powerful enemy, but her voice grew firm, stern. She lifted her crutch like it was a sword and pointed it straight at him.

"And you..." Her voice trembled with authority she barely believed she had. "You...Get out of the shop. Right now!"

"Huh?"

Kafka tilted his head in confusion, as he knew that June would be worked up over what happened, but not to the extent that she didn't even want to see him anymore.

"You want me to go out? As in go out and never come back?"

"...You hate me that much, that you want to kick me out of your store?"

But seeing that he had completely misunderstood what she said which was also her fault, she shook her head quickly, almost violently.

"No, No! No not like that, Kafka. I don't mean get out as in don't come back. I would never do something like kick your out."

"...What I'm saying is that I want you to go and buy some wet napkins for everyone."

Kafka blinked again. "…Wet napkins?"

"Yes!" She snapped, louder than she meant. "And water. Bottles of water. And refreshments. And some throw-away underwear. And towels."

She glanced at the shivering employees on the floor, her voice straining with embarrassment.

"Basically, anything a woman needs after a night in bed. You should know what I mean." Her eyes narrowed into a glare that could cut glass. "So go. Fetch it."

"Do I really have to?" He asked, as he thought of going to the next level as if wasn't often that he had a audience. But June wasn't having it.

"Yes. You absolutely have to. This is your responsibility. You're the one who caused this entire mess, at the very least, have the courtesy to help everyone out after."

Her tone left no room for argument, and for the first time, Kafka realized she wasn't going to budge.

"Fine. Fine, I'll do it." He tugged his still-hard cock back into his pants, zipping himself up with casual slowness, then looked down at the room once more.

"What about them? Should I help them up? They look completely exhausted."

"No!" June's answer came immediately, her voice cracking as she shook her head frantically. "No. The best thing you can do is go. Your presence alone is making several of them tremble." Her hand tightened on the crutch until her knuckles went white. "Go quickly. Bring the things."

He glanced at them one more time, their flushed faces, their trembling thighs, their glistening skin, and then at her. His lips curved, before he turned and walked out of the store.

As soon as the door shut behind him, June's shoulders dropped. She let out a sigh of relief so deep it almost buckled her knees.

Then she looked back at the girls sprawled across the floor. Her heart pinched at the sight of them, her employees, her companions, reduced to trembling messes.

"Girls..." She said softly, then louder. "I know you're all exhausted right now, probably struggling to even move."

They groaned weakly in response, trying to shift their weight.

"But still…" June's cheeks flared red as her eyes skimmed across the scene. "It's not exactly a nice sight to see you all, covered in your own fluids, sitting on the ground in front of the store. It's degrading...Embarrassing." She swallowed, her throat dry. "So, it would be better if you go to the break room and have a rest instead of sitting on the floor like this."

Her words stirred them, the women slowly lifting their heads, cheeks blazing with humiliation. They could barely stand, their limbs quivering, but the sight of themselves smeared across the boutique floor was degrading enough that they forced themselves to stir.

June, even leaning on her crutch, went to them one by one. She helped them with quiet patience, pulling arms over her shoulders, guiding their shaky steps.

Each touch, each movement, was heavy with embarrassment, their faces glowing red as they realized just how slick and sticky they were, covered not only in their own fluids but each other's as well.

They leaned on one another, hand clasped to trembling hand, like soldiers staggering home after battle, their silence thick and broken only by the shuffle of feet.

One by one, she guided them upstairs to the break room, where couches and spare blankets awaited. They collapsed there gratefully, faces buried, still too flustered to speak.

Olivia, on the other hand, avoided the others entirely. Stronger than most, her pride stung sharper than her exhaustion. She fled quietly into the trial room where her discarded clothes waited, her head hung low, burning with shame at what had just happened.

Finally, June returned. Alone in the main hall with cleaning supplies and a mop.

She leaned on her crutch, staring at the devastation left behind. The glossy floor was coated in streaks and puddles of cum and squirt, a sticky, glistening mess that stank of raw sex. Panties, bras, tissues, and scraps of lingerie lay crumpled everywhere, ruined beyond saving.

Her lips curled into a wry, bitter smile.

"I've cleaned spilled juice, spilled milk, even vomit in this store…" She shook her head slowly, sighing as she retrieved a mop and a bucket. "…but not something like this."

She then sighed and dipped the mop, pressed it to the floor, and began to scrub, trying to push the mess away. But as she dragged it across, her brows furrowed.

"…What…?" She muttered under her breath.

The streak she'd wiped didn't fade like spilled juice or milk usually did.

Instead, the floor seemed to shine even more, a glossy, sticky sheen clinging to the tiles as if the mess wasn't a stain at all but some sort of strange polish. Each push of the mop only spread it further, making the shop floor glimmer unnaturally under the lights.

June's lips tightened. "This isn't...coming off." She whispered in frustration. She tried pressing harder, but the substance clung stubbornly to the floor fibers, almost laughing at her efforts.

For a moment, she actually considered crouching low and attacking the floor with her bare hands, but the moment the thought crossed her mind, reality set in...She couldn't. Not with her condition.

Bending down, scrubbing on her knees...it was impossible for her body. A rare wave of helplessness flickered across her face.

"…What am I supposed to do?" Her arms sagged against the mop.

And then, almost as if some divine ear had caught her frustration, Olivia reappeared.

The bell on the trial-room door gave the faintest ting as she stepped out, now fully dressed again, her vitality restoring her far faster than the other girls.

Her gaze also landed immediately on June, frail, one hand tight around her mop, sweat beading at her temple as she tried to manage the floor alone.

And seeing this, Olivia's eyes widened, then a blush bloomed hot across her cheeks. It hit her all at once, the humiliation, the guilt.

She had been at the center of this chaos. She had made the mess.

And now June, someone who should never have been involved, was mopping up her filth.

"Miss June!" Olivia rushed forward, her voice cracking as she spoke too quickly. "Please, please, let me do it!" She reached for the mop with frantic hands. "You shouldn't...You don't need to clean this up, it's all my fault, I'll do it instead!"

June, flustered by Olivia's sudden closeness, held firm to the mop and gave a small, polite tug back.

"N-no, no...Miss Olivia, I, uh, I'm also at fault here." Her voice trembled, embarrassed but determined. "I...I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it. But I didn't. So I'll clean it instead."

But Olivia's grip only tightened, her head shaking wildly, sweaty hair brushing against her reddening face.

"No, you don't understand, it was my fight with Kafi that caused all this! If I hadn't, if I didn't...provoke things, none of it would have happened! It's mine to fix, not yours!"

"But it's my store!" June flushed, stubbornly pulling the mop back toward herself. Her tone rose, though it was still laced with timid guilt. "My responsibility! I let it all happen here. I even did something as humiliating as...as…" She faltered, face burning scarlet. "…as taking a measurement of your butthole."

Both women froze, the memory crashing back between them. The air thickened with heat, too intimate, too raw. Their eyes darted away from each other instantly, both cheeks aflame.

"…I-I…" Olivia's throat bobbed as she swallowed, struggling to form words.

"…Forget I said that." June whispered quickly, trying to shatter the tension.

She then cleared her throat and forced herself to straighten, adjusting her hold on the mop with shaky dignity.

"Listen. How about this? I'll keep mopping the surface. And...you crouch and scrub the floor itself. It'll be easier if we both...work at it together."

Olivia's lips parted. For a moment she hesitated, then, with a tiny, frantic nod, she agreed. "O-Okay. Together then."

And so, in the still, heavy silence of the shop, the two women bent to their work.

June pushed the mop across the shining floor, her hands trembling faintly with every stroke. Olivia knelt down, crouching low, her hands scrubbing firmly at the stubborn sheen with a rag.

Neither spoke...Neither dared.

Only the sound of the mop dragging, the rag rubbing, and the quiet, uneven breaths of two women who had shared too much lingered in the air.

Their faces, though lowered, burned hot with color, caught between shame, guilt, and something neither dared name aloud...