Kafka was still in a daze, his eyes locked on her glistening lips like they held every answer he'd ever wanted. He hadn't even touched her directly yet, but Olivia was already shaking.
He smirked, slow and crooked, and finally broke the silence.
"Damn, Mom…" He murmured. "You really are a squirter, huh?"
Her breath hitched violently.
"I-I am not—!" She started, cheeks burning, voice cracking from the sheer panic in her throat.
"Oh really?" Kafka's hands rose, warm palms sliding over her thighs, then inward, thumbs gently parting her slick folds. "You sure? Because I remember yesterday, you were soaked. Dripping. And all I did was talk to you. Barely touched you, and your panties were clinging like second skin."
His thumbs brushed her outer lips now, tracing the swollen outline of her entrance with a feather-light drag. She whimpered.
"And now?" He added, with just a hint of laughter under his breath. "We're out on a nice day, having breakfast, enjoying the sunshine…and what happens? I barely touch you again, and look at this."
He dipped one finger, lazily stroking through the slippery heat of her pussy lips. The glide was obscene, so wet that his finger didn't meet any resistance at all, just hot, syrupy slick that coated him instantly.
"This isn't just wetness." He whispered. "This is you being soaked. You're leaking, Mom."
Her hands clenched at her sides.
"I, You…!" She tried, voice barely above a whisper, trembling with shame and arousal. "I'm not like that!"
"Oh no?" Kafka teased, thumb now circling the swollen little nub of her clit, careful and patient, just enough pressure to make her thighs twitch. "Then explain this. Explain this mess dripping down your thighs."
She bit her lip, chest rising in tiny, shaky breaths. Her words came quieter now. "I-It' because you…you said those things earlier…About me. About being bad. Y-You said I was a bad girl, and said you wanted to taste me and—"
Her eyes flicked away.
"It's only natural I got like this…"
Kafka chuckled, leaning in close again. "So what I'm hearing is…you got wet from being talked down by your son."
He pinched her clit lightly and she gasped, then moaned through her teeth.
"Doesn't that mean you like being degraded, Mom?"
She froze. Mouth opening, closing. No words. Just the burning across her ears, neck, and chest.
She wanted to say no. Of course she wanted to say no. But the ache in her pussy throbbed at the question, slick gushing fresh across his fingers.
Her body had already answered.
Kafka pressed a kiss to neck as his fingers resumed their slow work, two now, sliding gently up and down her lips, circling her entrance, dipping just barely inside before slipping back out to smear her wetness across her clit again.
"You're so sensitive." He whispered, lips brushing her skin. "I bet you were getting turned on even earlier today. On the scooter, riding next to me. All that vibration. The warmth of my body beside you. Your legs spread just a little…"
He laughed under his breath.
"I'd bet anything you were wet the entire ride."
"I—!" Olivia's voice cracked again as she turned her head sharply away. "No!"
But her flustered silence lasted just a beat too long.
Kafka stilled. And then grinned.
"Oh shit." He breathed. "You were, weren't you?"
His voice dropped lower, coaxing and slow.
"You naughty, naughty girl…riding with me like that, pretending to be innocent, while your panties were getting all soaked just from sitting on a vibrating engine."
Her only response was a tiny, involuntary whimper as his fingers slid up and pressed in, one finger, then two, the heat of her body swallowing him eagerly. Her inner walls clenched around him immediately, slick and fluttering and tight, pulsing with want.
He groaned softly.
"Fuck…you're so warm. So wet. This pussy's desperate for attention, Mom."
Kafka's hand was steady as ever, and the look in his eyes didn't flinch, if anything, it darkened with purpose, and hunger.
"That's why…" He said again, quieter this time, as his fingers stroked her slickness, slow as molasses. "…it's about time. I give it the attention it deserves."
Olivia couldn't breathe. Her legs were parted, the air cool against her soaking heat, and his touch was maddeningly precise, each drag of his fingertips skating through her arousal with an intimacy that went beyond touch.
But it was what he did next that scattered her thoughts entirely.
He reached back to the small plate beside them. The bacon, a single thick-cut piece, warm and still faintly curled from the skillet, rested there.
He picked it up with his bare hand, rolled it slowly between his fingers, and Olivia watched in dazed confusion as he worked it into a small, dense sphere.
She thought, no, she assumed, that he was going to press it lightly against her pussy, maybe glide it across her folds to gather her slick like some perverted garnish ritual.
And that would've been enough to make her squirm in place, her heart racing at the idea of meat meeting her most intimate place, of being tasted like that.
But Kafka had something else in mind.
He brought the ball of bacon lower, lower still, until the glossy grease-shined roll hovered just above her glistening cunt.
Her breath caught. Her legs stiffened.
He's not really—
But he was.
She felt it first as a faint pressure, and her eyes widened.
"Wait, what are you—" She started, voice trembling, almost frantic.
Kafka didn't stop. He murmured, almost under his breath, like he was talking to himself and not her.
"All the way in. That's the only way it counts."
"W-Wait, Kafka, that's not, ahh—!"
She whimpered, thighs twitching as the slick meatroll pressed firmer into her entrance.
"Gloop!♡~ Drip!♡~ Splurt!♡~ Plop!♡~"
Her lips parted around it, her folds already dripping enough that the surface gave easily, her body yielding despite the panic tightening her throat.
Her hands grabbed at the seat beneath them, her whole body tense. "That's…That's food, that's meat, inside me, this is too weird, Kafi, I can't—!"
"You can." He whispered, fingers stroking her thigh as his other hand continued pushing. "You already are."
The bacon sank deeper, coaxed inside inch by inch with the slow, relentless press of his fingertips. It wasn't hard, exactly, it was warm, malleable, greasy enough to glide, and her slick pussy welcomed it in, her hole fluttering and trembling around the intrusion, slick stringing down her thighs from the sheer obscenity of it.
"Schlurp!♡~ Splish!♡~ Splat!♡~ Squish!♡~"
Her breath hitched as she felt it breach past her folds and nestle in her heat, snug and obscene. Her pussy gripped it.
"Oh my god!" She gasped, voice barely a whisper, her thighs squeezing. "It's…It's in me, Kafka, this is so wrong—"
"No, it's utterly perfect…." He said, brushing her clit now with the tips of his fingers, gently circling it as the meat roll finished slipping inside. "It's warm. It's soaked. And when I take it back out…I'm going to revel in the sight of you tasting it."
She cried out, high and helpless.
"T-That's so wrong…"
She breathed, but the wet pulse between her legs told a different story.
"Thwap!♡~ Schlurp!♡~ Squish!♡~ Sploosh!♡~"
Her inner muscles fluttered around the foreign object now lodged inside her, her pussy flexing with involuntary squeezes that made slick ooze from her entrance.
He leaned down, his mouth at her ear, and whispered. "So wet already. Your greedy little cunt swallowed it whole. Didn't even resist. You wanted it, didn't you?"
Her body arched without permission, another spasm rippling through her belly.
"Slosh!♡~ Splish!♡~ Glug!♡~ Squelch!♡~"
She could feel the bacon inside her now, soft and thick, cradled by her inner walls. It wasn't the same as his fingers, but it was something else. Something dirtier.
The heat of it had blended with hers, the grease mingling with her own slick, her body growing slicker by the second, and Kafka, Kafka was obsessed.
"Splat!♡~ Plop!♡~ Thwap!♡~ Gloop!♡~"
He pressed his fingers flat against her clit, not rubbing yet, just letting the weight of his touch rest there, heavy and promising.
"I wonder how it tastes now." He said, dragging a finger through the mess between her thighs and bringing it up to his lips. He licked slowly, letting his tongue curl around his finger.
"Fuck. It's sweet and salty, just like I thought."
Olivia whimpered.
"P-Pull it out." She said, barely breathing. "You said you'd taste it, pull it out."
Kafka smiled, dark and patient.
"I will." He murmured. "But not yet. First, I want to make sure it's fully coated. I want it dripping with you. Inside and out."
His hand slid back between her legs, and his fingers parted her again. One finger dipped inside beside the bacon, feeling the heat, the pressure, the obscene fullness already there.
"Schlurp!♡~ Splurt!♡~ Drip!♡~ Sploosh!♡~"
She cried out as he moved it just slightly, and the friction of the meat shifting inside her made her toes curl.
"Oh, oh my god—"
Kafka leaned in and kissed her neck.
"You're so damn tight, Mom. It's like your pussy doesn't want to let it go."
He rubbed again, pushing the bacon deeper with two fingers now, curling them slightly just to feel how it sat inside her. Her pussy clenched hard, and she sobbed out a moan.
"Look at you." He whispered. "Fucking soaking. Dripping. You're coating it, Mom. It's bathing in your sweetness."
"I can't…P-Please pull it out, Kafi." She gasped, thighs shaking. "I don't think I can have it in their any longer."
Hearing this and seeing how her face was melting, he knew that it was time and he pulled the meat ball back slightly, just enough to let his fingers coax the bacon toward the entrance again.
It dragged slow, clinging to her inner walls, and Olivia moaned through her teeth, her hips twitching at the sensation.
When it reached her entrance, he paused—
And then, with a wet squelch, he drew the bacon out with his fingers, slow and careful, dragging it past her swollen lips. Her pussy tried to grip it, tried to keep it in, but it slid free at last, dripping and steaming, glistening in his hand.
Kafka then held the bacon that had unravelled itself, up to the light. The grease had darkened, mingled with her slick, making it shine like honey.
Strings of arousal stretched from the bacon to her pussy, clinging strands snapping slowly as he pulled it away and that only made it even more exhilarating and terrifying at the same time for Olivia, who realised that her son was going to make her eat that same slice of meat covered in her love juice…