“Use your hand.”

Because of what you had written in the Quran, your mother would do whatever you pleased here, but you wanted to draw things out. It was interesting to watch the mental state of the woman who birthed you shift with these new ideas that were meant to be old ideas. At your command she gave a single, slow nod, staring at your stiff thing, her hands wringing in her lap. She took a breath to steady herself, then reached out with her right hand. It almost seemed as though the world was going in slow motion as her fingers came towards you, but before you knew it they were wrapped around the middle of your shaft. The sensation washed over your entire body, the softness of her hand, another person’s hand, your mother’s warm hand, was better than you had imagined. Her grip on you wasn’t even all that firm, rather delicate in fact, like she was holding a raw egg in her palm. Yet you knew she felt you too, your radiating warmth and the increasing hardness. Her arm was frozen for a moment until she finally squeezed her hand together just a bit tighter, and even that sent a tender shudder through you. Just having your mom hold your stiff cock was amazing. The look on her face was priceless too. She was staring at your cock, or at her hand around it, so utterly perplexed. You knew her heart was thudding in her chest, her breathing quicker than usual.

“Go on,” you told the woman, somehow managing to find your voice. “You need to move your hand.” The temptation to thrust your hips and start fucking her hand was tamped down. Your mother flicked her gaze up to you, gave one nod again, still wearing a mask of confusion and slight disgust, then started to cautiously stroke your cock. She obviously wasn’t used to handling a man’s junk, and you felt a pang of pity for your father. You probably should have felt more than that but meh. You also felt your mother’s soft hand moving up and down your shaft and it was incredible. At least initially. Just the simple fact that your mother, fully clothed, hijab and all, perfect makeup, was on her knees in front of you and jerking you was turning you on so much the pleasure was almost a byproduct.

But she wasn’t good at it. Her technique was stilted and her grip timid. A minute in you had a thought. You’d have to train your mother to be better at giving handjobs, but it would always be a tough ask for someone else to be able to jerk you off as well as you could do it yourself. Despite her lack of experience in this however your mother was actually trying. There was a wrinkle of concentration above her eye as she worked on you. That focus made you harder and you couldn’t help flexing your cock. The movement made your mother squeak and she let go of you as if her hand had touched a hot stove.

“Is that… are you finished?” she asked, awkwardly holding her wrist with her other hand as if the one she had been jerking you with was hurt. It was your turn to frown and be confused. She let go of herself then pointed to the tip of your dick where a shiny bead of clear liquid had formed.

“What? That’s not… that’s just the pre-cum,” you explained, and then you realised how little your mother knew about the male genitalia. Your parents must not have engaged in too much foreplay when they had sex. You weren’t even sure how often they did it outside of procreation. Your father must have only ever cum inside her. Your mother was an intelligent woman however, and she knew words like ‘cum’ and could figure out what you were saying by context.

“Oh…” she said, which you were uncertain on whether it was in a tone of disappointment or relief. Then she leaned in a little closer, fixated on what looked like a drop of morning dew sitting atop your meat pole.

“Keep going,” you told her encouragingly, and after a moment's hesitation she grasped you again. Once more the rush you felt through your skin was exquisitely pleasant, and she went on stroking you, a little firmer this time, focusing on the up stroke. She was figuring things out in her own way, your clever mother. Her pace was a little faster and surer, and as your mother wanked your thickening shaft, more and more pre-cum started to seep out of you. She pulled a face when the first droplet finally became too heavy and it very slowly slid down the head of your cock, rolling onto her fingers. She didn’t flinch though, kept going, kept producing more of the slightly viscous fluid from you. She was, more or less, trying to milk your cock, and it was feeling pretty nice. It seemed like your mother was kind of a natural and could hone her technique.

That was good because you really wanted to cum from your mother stroking your cock for you. This was how you wanted the first time to go. There were various milestones in your head that, like a sort of game, you wanted to hit one by one. You looked at the woman’s face as she kept on doing her so called duty. Her motherly duty to relieve her son’s erection as commanded by the Quran. The initial disgust, while not gone, was sidelined by her devotion. She gathered the burgeoning precum in with her stroke now, and while it wasn’t enough to keep your cock wet, the way she occasionally swiped her thumb around the head to spread your fluid was very enjoyable.

“Ahyan,” said your mother, calling your name to get your attention. She was looking up at you with those smoky eyes, lips slightly parted because she had to breathe through her mouth from the effort and stress of stroking your cock. “Are you close?”

What a question. You couldn’t help grinning.

“I think I’m getting there,” you said, and even your breath was starting to grow a little ragged. You kept your gaze on hers. “That feels good, Mama. Don’t stop.”

After that she had to look away and she nodded in order to do that. Then you heard her exhale and she had to change hands. When she took you with her left hand the pleasant change in temperature made you close your eyes for a second. This hand was a little less ‘lubed’ as well but your mother continued to coax the pre-cum out of you. She shook out her right hand a bit at the wrist, not too subtly indicating the soreness she felt from that repetitive motion. The sometimes passive aggressiveness of your mother’s personality made her hotter somehow, when it came out like this, with her pretty face so close to your cock.

You realised you were gripping the side of your bed now and you couldn’t help very subtly moving you hips every now and then on your mother’s downstroke so that she pulled your skin more when her grip was down at the base of your cock. “Keep going Mama… keep going…” you told her. Your mother seemed to catch on to what you were doing too, and began to jerk your dick a little harder on the way down while still keeping her milking up motion, and this was definitely doing it for you now. She switched hands one more time and even shuffled forward on her knees to get a better angle and leverage. That look of apprehensive concentration was lovely on your mother’s face.

Your cock was so red and hot and hard, the building pleasure you felt gave you that urgent feeling in the pit of your stomach that was tingling your balls. “That’s it… that’s it… don’t stop… don’t stop until I’m finished okay Mama?” you groaned, still clear headed enough to give instructions in the final moments.

Looking up at you with curled eyebrows she kept her stroke, appeared to want to say something, and opened her mouth. Then you came, your load shooting out like a jet straight into your mother’s face. She cried out when it splattered against her forehead and her hand squeezed you, frozen mid-stroke near the tip of your pole. “Keep going! Keep going!” you told her through gritted teeth and you pulsed a second and third time, more of your hot cum hitting your mother’s nose and between her eyes. She had them squeezed shut and she obediently resumed her jerking. Subhan Allah It felt so good! You kept unleashing your pent up spunk onto your mother’s shuddering, scrunched up face. You were spraying her lips, which were closed too late for the first two splats so she was definitely tasting your jizz. Her dark green hijab was getting streaked in your cum, already starting to get soaked into the expensive fabric.

Rope after rope you festooned this chaste, devout muslim mother with your thick, heated, creamy jism and when you were finally done you had to grab her wrist to stop her. Out of breath and too fuzzy in your mind you couldn’t form words quite yet, but your mother knew to stop and finally unclenched her hand and let your cock flop back onto your belly. It oozed slightly but you didn’t mind the mess it might leave. It was nothing compared to the vision of a mess that was your mother’s beautiful face, now dripping with her son’s cum. With care she opened her eyes. One of them opened anyway, the other seemed glued shut, her eyelashes clogged with white gak. She tried to open her mouth to breathe, to avoid the powerful smell of it, but this just meant she was tasting the spunkified air. And it was impossible to not let any of the warm semen sliding down her face fall past her lips. She was grimacing and blushing so fiercely you could still see it underneath the thick cum on her cheeks.

The woman looked at her hands, her right dripping too. Her left was only slick with quickly drying pre-cum and she used it to grab hold of your knee to help herself to her feet. She seemed a little unsteady at first, but you heard her take a breath and swallow. She coughed, immediately regretting the decision and turned away from you.

“Okay… you get cleaned up… ya Allah...” she said, her voice rather quiet near the end as she made a quick exit from your room. You heard her voice trail down the stairs. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

For a full minute you just sat in the satisfying afterglow of having your mother manually giving you an orgasm. That image of her cum covered face was locked in your mind, your still half erect cock twitching with the fresh memory. You picked up the Quran and flipped through some of the pages, smiling at the other things you had written into religious practice.