Keep Mother Abreast of New Prayer Rituals

“Now mother, it is time to make wudu for me,” you ‘reminded’ her, and the woman lifted her head from the sink. She turned, her well warmed holes now out of sight but her rosy cheeks and smiling face were a nice consolation prize.

“Of course,” she said with a nod, eyes falling to your bulge. Without prompting she reached out to you, took your waist band, and began to draw your pants down and sank to her knees at the same time. This made you grin, seeing how twisted her logic was now thanks to you twisting the Quran. Your mother looked up at you, supplicant and anxious, your throbbing erection wobbling right in front of her face. “We… we didn’t do this yesterday…” she said, a little confused but then blinking away her doubts. “I must have forgotten.”

“That’s okay umi,” you said, surprised by your own patience. All you wanted to do was stuff your cock inside her mouth but you were enjoying this game too much. “Let’s go through the steps, like when you first taught me how to make wudu.” This jogged some pleasant memory for the woman.

“You were such a cute little boy,” she remembered fondly, the recollection of teaching her young son how to wash himself before prayers making her smile. Then her eyes refocused on your hard, veiny manhood. “Now you… are all grown. A man…”

She swallowed. “Let us make wudu.”

“Yes,” you agreed. You were both silent for a moment as your minds focused on intent. That requirement to center one’s thoughts to ensure that they knew this act was deliberate, for the sake of Allah, remained as part of the ritual.

“Bismillah,” whispered your mother to herself, her eyes fixed upon your cock.

“Now, take my cock in your hands Umi,” you said, barely containing yourself. The muslim woman grasped your shaft with her right hand at the base. Her soft, slightly sweaty palm, made your breath catch. “Wash my balls,” you said. Just like with the normal wudu, the order of things was important.

She blinked, recalling the steps she should have always known, then leaned forward. Her mouth pressed up against your sack so that her tongue, her cleaning tool as prescribed by the Quran, could do the work. She started with the right nut, bathing it in spit, taking care to ‘clean’ every wrinkled crevice with that slick little muscle in her mouth. She moved to the left testicle without breaking contact with your sagging skin, her nose brushing against the underside of your cock as she transitioned. She took most of your ball into her mouth and she washed you with care, making sure she was thorough, tasting you as she swallowed her spit.

Once she was done there she pulled back, using her other hand to inspect your nuts, her slender fingers fondling you this way and that and then she seemed satisfied that she had licked your balls clean.

“Now the shaft,” you instructed. Your mother wiped the drool from one corner of her mouth then went back in dutifully. She worked near the base first, almost as if she hadn’t had enough of the flavour of your balls. It didn’t take long for her tongue to start lashing up and down your inches, the woman’s saliva covering your thickness and making it shine. She took her time too. Her breath was hot, contrasting with the cooling sensation her spit would leave behind where her tongue currently wasn’t lapping. Her lips were so soft. As she mouthed and tongued your dick you had to just watch and admire the devotion of the woman. At how lovingly she worshipped at your cock, head scarfed and pretty. Speaking of heads… “Okay umi… now my crown. Wash me there…” you said, feeling a little breathless. Your cock was so hard now, so red and wet, you needed her to finish the wudu so she could finish you.

Her eyes flicked up to you, and with her mouth still on your cock she nodded, shifting upwards. Her tongue now swirled around the head of your dick and you sighed. Your precum oozed out and she lapped it up, swallowing it, all part of her ‘washing’ you. She tried not to suck too much, mainly using her tongue to ‘clean’ your crown and she orbited your sensitive head and made it properly wet. “Okay!’ you said urgently, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder to stop her from doing any more. She did, pulling her head back, a thin string of saliva stretching from her lower lip to the tip of your cock for a moment. Wudu was just about done, save for the recitation of the duas.

“I bear witness that no-one is worthy of worship but Allah,” you began, and your mother picked up her words in time and soon you were both reciting.

“The One alone, without partner, and I bear witness that Muhammad is His servant and Messenger,” you both said. Then you stopped, as your mother had some extra declarations to make.

“And I shall worship Him by worshipping at my son’s cock. My son’s manhood is to… is to be serviced by all of my… my body. My soul. My holes…” she recited, growing flustered as she remembered the words. You grinned as you joined in to finish the words.

“Oh Allah make me from those who repent and from those who are purified.”

And now you were both ready to pray. Your mother looked up at you, waiting to be of service.