Prayer Pillows

You licked your lips, enjoying the lingering taste of your mother’s pussy on them. You impressed yourself with the amount of restraint you had, but knowing how you were going to take her soon added much excitement to all of this extensive ‘foreplay’. And there were so many parts of this beautiful woman to play with.

“Show me your breasts, umi,” you commanded now, and the woman’s eyes went wide for just a moment before that submissive resignation kicked back in. She reached up under her scarf around the neck, the pop of a button heard, then she pulled the long abaya down from her shoulders. While at home your mother might not have usually worn a bra, but she must have been preparing to go to the market this morning. The underwear was plain and functional, and was doing a hell of a job holding up your mother’s heavy mammaries. It was quite a sight, your mom on her knees, still wearing her head covering but with her expansive chest exposed while that dress covered her lap.

The blushing woman tried not to look at you as she reached back to unclasp the bra. Once undone her breasts spilled forth, the silk cups dropping onto the bathroom floor. Your mother’s slightest natural tan still allowed a couple of faint blue veins to show through, but beautiful Allah her globes were magnificent. You reached down and grabbed them, one with each hand. Even your large mitts couldn’t ever hope to fully contain one in your needy grasp. Her nipples were large and brown and pert as you caressed them with a thumb.

You mother breathed, trying to calm herself, but as you mashed and massaged her warm, soft flesh with your greedy fingers she gasped and hissed. “Does that feel good, umi? The way I play with your tits?” you asked, almost sneering.

She bit her lip and glared up at you, still uncomfortable by the crude words, but nodded.

“Yes… it feels good,” she admitted, flushing with shame and pride and confusion. She was getting wetter again too. You stepped up to her, cock bobbing obscenely in front of her face. The woman flinched at the closeness, even though just seconds ago she had been slobbering all over her son’s dick. She was pliant though, moving her body guided by your hands as you raised her up, pushing her breasts together. Another gasp as she felt your hot meat against her. You exhaled too, sinking your hard wet cock into the warm valley between your mother’s divine boobs. No these were definitely not just boobs, these things needed to be called tits.

You held those pillowy mounds around your cock and started to move them up and down. Lifting their heft then letting them drop as you stroked yourself with her breasts. Her slutty tits. You could sense her thumping heart in her chest as your hips started moving too. It felt amazing to be enveloped by her warm heaps, the head of your cock hidden beneath a bit of scarf around her neck, soaking it with precum. You wanted more lubrication though.

“Hold them, umi,” you panted, letting her tits drop from your hands as you went to loosen her headscarf. She did as requested, lifting up her breasts again for you, dutifully hugging them around your hard cock. You didn’t want to completely remove your mother’s head covering. Something about the implied modesty of her still bearing it was sexier to you. But you pulled the ends away and now you could see her neck. “Spit on my cock, mom,” you demanded, the woman peering down at your thick head between her jiggling jugs. And she did as instructed, pursing her lips as she collected her saliva then dribbled it down into her invaded cleavage. You let your hands drop to your sides, most of the work now being handled by your diligent mother. You fucked her tits, sensually and slowly and letting her body familiarise with every iron inch of you.

You remembered humping a pillow a few years ago and how good that felt, but this was something else. Her soft smooth skin, her warm spit, her thumping heartbeat, her panting breath on the head of your cock. She was so committed to this act, your mother. So devout in her religion. Certainly she needed her reward.

“Does that feel good, abnay?” she asked, calling me her son in arabic. My eyes widened at the burning look she gave me. “The way I worship your cock?”

“Yes! Fuck! AHH!” you cried out, jets of cum spewing from you like a burst pipe. Even if you weren’t ready for that, your mother was. She did her best, still milking your spasming, spewing organ with her tits as she tried to catch the spills with her mouth. It was a mess, getting onto her chin and neck and scarf. Covering her tits and your cock. She pumped you, making you grunt and wheeze until finally what felt like a wonderful twenty seconds you were done. She kept you held there, your dick sticking up from a thick milky puddle of spunk in that crevice. As the moment passed your mother’s face fell, her hands dropping to her sides and her tits freeing your wilting cock.

The mess spilled down her chest, down her stomach and onto her dress. You took a step back to admire this obscene work of art. A mother resting her head against the bottom of the bathroom sink, her tits out, covered in her son’s sperm from nose to navel. You wanted to take a picture and hang it on a wall. Actually that was a great idea.

You took your phone out and immortalised the memory. The woman seemed dazed and just blinked at you, silent and thoughtful.

“Praise be to Allah,” you said.

“Allah is great,” she replied robotically. You stepped out of the bathroom and left the woman to clean up and collect herself.