Burnt Umber

“This way,” you directed the woman as she tried to pass by her bedroom door. “Your shower is bigger,” you reminded her. She glanced at the once safe domain of her and her husband’s bedroom. There was no alternative she could come up with. The large ensuite bathroom was the one luxury she had allowed her husband during renovations and now she was kind of regretting it.

Your father was still snoring, alone in his bed, the empty space next to him so conspicuous it made the woman stare at the carpet instead. You grinned the entire time but kept quiet, padding across the room with your mother. She shut the door to the ensuite carefully and now it was just the two of you again. The woman was confused by her behaviour; why she had been so secretive when everything they were doing, and were no doubt about to do, was all as guided by the holy word of the Quran? She convinced herself that she just didn’t want to wake her husband. That she just wanted the father of her son to sleep well. She had noticed him tossing and turning for the last few nights… she wondered if he had been doing the same in her absence yesterday. And with the thoughts of last night…

You walked up to the woman and gripped her hips.

“Ahyan!” she squeaked, taken aback by your aggressive pursuit. Her recovery was deft. “Shouldn’t we perform wudu first?” The woman’s penchant for following ritual was admirable and it made you smile.

“In the shower,” you said. The suggestion was your answer, and in reality a command. Obviously you could wash each other there. She nodded, but then stood there awkwardly with you still holding her on the spot with hands on her hips. You took the lead, stripping off your shorts and instantly you were naked. Ready to shower. Your mother on the other hand, frozen again in the presence of your erection, was still fully covered, head to do ankle. “Let me help you,” you offered kindly, and reached up to undo her headscarf. The head covering was loose and messy already, strands of her hair already framing her face. As you unravelled it she gently shook her hair out, and even after all that you had seen of your mother in the last few days, the revelation of your mother’s full beauty was a breathtaking sight.

Her dark hair was long, falling down past her shoulders. It was almost black, but in the light there was a burnt umber tinge to the lushness. “You are so beautiful, mother,” you complimented the blushing woman, which of course made her even more alluring and you slowly drew down the tunic from her shoulders. It was like pulling back a curtain on a delicately sculpted statue as you finally undressed her and all she could do was let the cloak crumple to her feet. There was no more snugly fitting ‘modest’ gown to hide her curves. You took a step back to appreciate the view, showing her your admiration with an even stiffer cock, precum trickling down your shaft.

What a perfect woman, your mother. Her olive skin seemed completely unblemished, every inch of her below the eyebrows completely hairless because her religion demanded it (you hadn't even needed to write that part in). Her full breasts were a dream to behold and begged to be held, her nipples deliciously at attention and needing to be licked. That stomach, with her standing so straight and proud, was taut and supple, waist smoothing out to the curve of her hips like they were made to be gripped. You couldn’t wait to claim her like this. She turned, demure and angelic, glancing shyly over her shoulder. You thought she was simply posing for you, letting you see that heart shaped ass of hers, but then she stepped towards the shower. Oh right.

You moved in behind her, the square of frosted glass walls in the corner of the room big enough to fit two people as if built for that purpose. Good job, Baba. You closed in like a ready predator. As she spun to face your presence she was taken aback by just how close you were and she almost jumped in retreat, hitting the tiled wall. She cried out, the cold hardness surprising the woman now cornered in the shower. Your naked bodies were so near you shared the radiating heat and felt her breath. “Sorry,” you said, the fright in her eyes giving you a twinge in your heart. As if to enact some small **** on you she leant forward and took your lips with hers. Her kiss was needy and surprised you, her hands taking your face as her soft breasts pushed against your chest. Your dick rubbed up against her pelvis. Everything seemed to fade, her passionate mouth taking all of your attention and making your head swim. When she finally let you breathe she kept your foreheads touching.

“Do you still think of me as your mother?” she asked. With her naked body pressed against you it was hard to think.

“Yes,” you panted. “My mother. My umi…” She kissed you again, tongue slipping past your teeth. This was not how a mother would kiss her son, even if you weren’t both flesh against flesh in a shower.

“And you are my son… my dear son…” she confirmed, drool running down her neck. It didn’t matter what the Quran said. This was wrong and she fucking knew it. In her mind this sin turned holy act still vexed her soul. Still sat in the darkened parts of a conflicted psyche. Perhaps it was just her instinctive biology screaming at her body. “Fuck your mother, Ahyan,” she said, and it wasn’t her forgetting to substitute it with the word ‘pray’. “I need you to fuck me... My dirty pussy… my filthy… cunt...” It was like an insatiable itch she knew only you could reach. She was grinding her mound against you, still soaking wet from her first orgasm of the morning.

You still knew the game.

“Yes… let us pray, motherwhore,” you breathed, and sunk into her. Her shock echoed off the tiled walls. She almost came right there, at the name you called her while you plunged your hard cock home.

“I am!” she whimpered, arms over your shoulders, a leg hooking over your hip. “I’m a whore for my son!” You lifted her, thrusting into that tight channel to do it and held both of her legs. You worked out enough normally to be able to carry the woman, but with the wall for added support this would be no problem. God she was wet, this awaken Muslim slut mother, her juices already dripping down your balls.

“You are most devout,” you commended the woman, pushing her against the warming tiles with vigor. She nodded fiercely, the bouncing affecting her head.

“Yes yes…” she moaned.

“ Allah provides such a righteous wife to my father,” you went on, her pussy clenching in rhythm with your grunting words.

“Wife… haa...aahh...”

“And as Allah commands, you have become a wonderful slut,” you continued, watching her heavy tits bounce in agreement.

“Yes… slut…”

“One so slutty she begs her own son to fuck her!” You had to grit your teeth, the echoing words turning you on as much as her sensual moaning did.

“Allah is great!” she told you, her cunt gushing obscenely. For a few wonderful, wordless seconds you fucked her with an easy rhythm.

“What is a mother’s true duty?” you tested her, the woman starting to wail. The hot weight of her on your cock had you at a bursting point.

“Fuck! Be slut… be a slut…” she tried, breathless and needy. She had no decorum now, singing her joy loudly. She would be heard through the walls. “Be my son’s! Slut! My abnay’s whore! Don’t stop abnay! Don’t stop!” Her ankles hooked together behind you and you hunched your shoulders, burying your face into her chest. “Don’t stop!” Your cock erupted inside her and she squealed, squeezing you with her limbs as if she wanted to wring the cum right out of your body. Her pussy clamped onto your throbbing member, soaking every heated pulse of sticky fluid you generously provided. She loved the feeling so much, the way it was wracking her body to her own orgasm, the thoughts of this dangerous holy act not losing any of its erotic potency for her even the second time. It was even better in fact. The more times you pumped into her the higher the risk and she wished your outpour would never end.

But it did, and you never felt more drained in your life. The energy seeped away from your arms and you had to drop her onto her feet again. She wobbled but held herself against the wall, hips still thrust forward to keep your slowly deflating cock wedged inside her. She was so full of your warm jizz it leaked out around her pussy lips within a few seconds. Fuck she was gorgeous, standing there pink in the face, hair over her eyes, ends of it matted with the sweat on her body.

You licked her mouth, waking her up from her post coital daze and she returned the favour with fervor. It was a few minutes of just making out with your naked mother still pressed against the shower, then you reached down to turn the water on. You both shuddered at the initial cold, her pussy clenching around your cock one more time before you finally slipped out. Then the steam rose and the water running down your back eased your tingling muscles. There wasn’t a lot of washing up really done. Your body mainly shielded her from a direct spray. Mostly you just tasted your mother’s skin, pressing your lips around her jaw line, her neck, her shoulders, her tits as she endured your possessive position. She really enjoyed your playing with her breasts, gasping each time you sucked on her sensitive nipples. Your tongue was giving her the shower. All the while her pussy dribbled with your cream, dollops hitting the floor and getting washed away down the swirling drain.

You did allow her to get rinsed off eventually, then she had enough wherewithal to shampoo and wash her beautiful hair. It wasn’t a particularly erotic act but it was great to watch either way. Obviously, with you not ‘interacting’ with her in ‘prayer’, she wasn’t sure if this was really allowed but she seemed content to just let you do whatever the hell you wanted.

She even helped dry you off afterwards, carefully toweling off your body. You could tell how she was taking you in with her hungry eyes as she worked her way down. When she was done with you she wrapped herself in a secure bathrobe and swirled her hair up in another towel. You covered yourself too,and stepped out of the ensuite before she could stop you.

Your father sat there in bed, looking miserable. Whenever he had finally woken up, he had heard enough to know what was happening inside his own personal bathroom. He had given you a quick glance but looked away, his expression hard to read other than the stiff wrinkles on his brow. Then you realised he was praying too. Under the blankets his hand was moving in that recognizable, telltale motion. He had been listening to his son fuck his wife and masturbating to it.

Your mother gasped behind you, the realisation hitting her. Your father had made his act obvious despite shielding it from view. Poor guy. Feeling a little sorry for the man that raised you, you moved around behind your mother and put your hands on her shoulder.

“Baba is praying diligently,” you said to the room. You started to part her bathrobe and the woman, of course, let you. Your father’s eyes shot up, lips taut. Like pulling back a curtain you showed him the beautiful nakedness of his wife. He stared at her, though you weren’t sure which parts. Her heavy tits with her swollen nipples? Her hairless pussy which was pink and moist? Maybe he was looking into your mother’s eyes. “Umi, tell Baba how we prayed,” you commanded her. “So that he may share in our holiness.” The woman only paused for a second.

“... Our son… he fucked me…” she told your father. The man’s face was red but the shifting sheets continued. “Ahyan stuffed his holy cock inside me and… he filled me with Allah’s grace.” There was a strained groan from the masturbating man’s throat, his eyes watery. “For the second time,” she added. That did it, and the choked noise he made had your mother looking away as the man ruined the bedsheets.

“Praise be to Allah,” you grinned, closing your mother’s robes again then walking past her to the door.

Your father stared at the ceiling, confused, satisfied, deflating.

“Allah is great,” he sighed.