Breakfast.

You were at the breakfast table sitting beside your father, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you'd came all over his wife's face this morning and that if you mentioned it to him, he'd probably just grunt and nod approvingly. You stole a sidelong glance at your father. He was a stoic, no nonsense, type of guy and the perfect image of a devout Muslim man. Tall and imposing with sharp brown eyes, his beard trimmed neatly and his dark brown hair speckled with grey.

He was eating his falafel pita slowly, his attention focused on his phone as he scrolled through his newsfeed. Your father was a hard worker, spending his days away at his job and his evenings were spent devoting himself to prayer, the Quran, and his family. A dutiful husband and father, he was not the sort of man you'd expect to be alright with his wife being fucked by his son. Yet that is exactly what the Quran dictated now.

You'd only just stared on your labneh when your mother came into the kitchen with a cream hijab and a maroon dress. Your gaze wandered to her big, rounded breasts and the way her plump behind swayed as she made her way over and dishes herself up. Both were accentuated by the way she'd tailored her dresses, this new one seemingly even tighter around her curves.

That sway was definitely there. Your mother didn't normally walk like that. You would know, you'd surreptitiously studied that plush rear as she bustled around the house your whole life. Had she shaken it like that for Baba when they'd courted, when they'd been trying to get pregnant?

It turned you on to think she was reacting to you like that and you shifted in your seat to allow your thickening shaft to rest more comfortably.

She took a seat across the table from you and it amused you to think that she'd now handled both of the penises underneath this side of the table, one of which was straining down your pantleg as if to reach for her. There was an open seat across from your father, and you idly wondered whether that was some subconscious impulse on your mother's part, as you imagined the V of her legs spread wide and beckoning to the son rather than the husband.

"You changed your hijab, Umi." Your father stated, breaking the silence that had fallen over the three of you.

Your mother blushed and cleared her throat, "Yes, abnay, I... stained the other one."

You fought back a grin as you scooped up some labneh on a slice of pita, "Sorry, Umi. It's my fault."

His gaze fell on you and your mother blushed, "Oh?"

You couldn't quite believe you were going to say this, but couldn't deny the thrill of freedom and power it gave you either, "I demanded to release all over her this morning."

The expression on your father's face was difficult to parse but it definitely wasn't one of thunderous condemnation or shock. You could definitely see some surprise but also perhaps... pride?

He took a bite of his falafel pita and asked calmly, "Why did you do that, ahyan (my son)?" even his tone didn't register as disapproving.

"I... I wanted to see her just covered in my cum." You answered, deciding to be bold.

Your father took another bite, chewing slowly, then asked, "Was it a potent emission?"

You almost exploded with laughter at the blunt and completely bizarre question.

Your mother calmly answered for you, "Very potent indeed, abnay," before you could do anything more than sputter and cough. You had a sip of water.

"Praise Allah." Your father grunted and your mother hummed her agreement. "A fine way to ejaculate, Umi." your father added in that same gruff tone.

She giggled and added, "It covered my entire face and hijab in mere moments, abnay."

It was a bit like your parents being replaced with pod people. It was still definitely them but their personalities had gone from staid to lewd without losing who they were at their core. After a few initial tests that it worked, you'd gone kind of crazy over the last couple of days, twisting the Quran to include all sorts of deviant fantasies and perversions, but you hadn't thought the change would be this rapid or this complete.

Now, you listened as your devout muslim mother and your stoic muslim father talked about you coating her in your cum like it was a perfectly normal breakfast topic.

Soon the conversation drifted to more mundane matters and you ate in silence. You were pulsingly hard under the table, aroused by the the complete and total power you had over your own parents.

"I better get going,” said your father as he pushed back from the table, leaving his plate for his wife to take care of, “I have late shifts all week, save me some dinner yes?”

Your mother hummed a positive response and your father smiled and made his way around the table, bending down and placing a kiss on your mother's cheek.

"Have a good day, Umi," he said warmly, and she leaned into his touch.

"And you as well, abnay," she replied softly.

The affection between your parents was obvious and it was interesting that your perverted actions this morning hadn't ruined that bond. In fact if anything it seemed to have deepened it in a way. That had been a bit more affectionate than you were used to seeing from them and you wondered if it had to do with the fact that pages and pages of the Quran were now filled with what was for all intents and purposes erotic literature. I mean, you'd basically copy and pasted whole chapters of your favorite Naruto smut onto the pages and replaced names and wording to make it flow with the Quran better.

After he was gone and you'd been sitting in silence for a few moments, you asked, “Can we talk about what happened this morning, Mama?”

Your mother looked at you curiously, "What is there to talk about, abnay?" she answered as if there was nothing untoward about your cum-soaked request this morning.

"What it means now... for our family?" You clarified, taking a bite.

That blush deepened. She seemed uncertain. The Quran now said you had every right to release all over her, but it didn’t mean your mother was entirely used to the concept. Every so often a bit of her old views and feelings seemed to resurface and she looked conflicted.

"I am fulfilling my duty as Allah dictates, ahyan. That's all there is to it," your mother answered after a pause. Her grew was resolute even if her voice was quiet. "Your father knows and approves."

"I know. I was wondering how you felt about it." You told her.

Her expression grew soft and she reached a hand across the table, settling it on yours. "I am your mother. It is my duty to relieve your arousal in whatever manner you see fit, abnay," she said softly, her voice earnest. "If that means I have to wear your seed like a hijab, so be it. It is Allah's will."

You wondered a little at the intensity of your mother's reaction but didn’t push her too hard, not yet. Instead you decided to test her with your bulge again, "Alright, what If I told you I was as hard as a rock right now?"

She blushed fiercely, gaze going to your crotch under the table. Her breathing quickened a little, "Well... I would say that Allah is calling you to prayer and that I too grow wet with the need to glorify him."

Wet!

You couldn't believe that word has just come out of your mother's mouth. It was a weird juxtaposition. On the one hand, she was casually referencing her aroused vagina. On the other, she apparently considered it a common religious phenomenon.

"Go prepare yourself in the Prayer Room. I will join you after I finish cleaning up here." She continued, voice husky with need.