Fareeha's Feelings

You had gone to bed still (a little worryingly) hard, but you were exhausted and wanted to rest well and save yourself for tomorrow.

When tomorrow came you had morning wood. You stroked yourself idly for a few seconds beneath the sheets as your brain caught up. There was a conspicuously empty space next to you in your bed. When you sat up you caught the faint smell of something familiar in the air… a spicy fragrance that you realised must have been your mother preparing a very complicated meal. She got up early for that then.

You wondered if you should go find her for a morning prayer, but then remembered Fareeha. In moments you were in the hall and then at her bedroom door. You knocked, groggy enough to be polite. It only took a second for it to open, your brother-in-law filling the doorway, adjusting his shirt collar with one hand.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Morning,” you nodded. Beyond him you saw your pregnant sister, smoothing out the sheets of a just made bed. Ibrahim shifted into your view protectively.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, stern but calm.

“You’re going to be late to meet the contractors, love,” came his wife’s voice behind him. His frown remained as he glanced over his shoulder but he didn’t budge from the doorway.

“Contractors?” you had to ask. The man sighed, his fire dwindling.

“Yeah I need to talk to some guys about the storm damage,” he said. “I’ve got to drive back home and sort things out…” There were obviously conflicting priorities battling in his mind. Staying at his in-laws house was not ideal to start with, and the reality of your new ‘position’ in the household was more than he could have been prepared for. Really, the only optimal path was for him to leave his pregnant wife here and get his own house fixed as quickly as possible.

“You should get going,” Fareeha said, now right behind her husband, hands on his shoulders. He turned and gave his wife a parting kiss, and she returned it without reservation. Of course such displays of affection rarely ever happened out in public, but since they were currently in your parent’s home, in private, it was fine. The thought remained hot in Ibrahim’s head and he didn’t look at you as he moved past.

“I’ll probably be back tomorrow,” he said, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“Be careful. It’s a long drive. Don’t go too fast,” warned his caring, pregnant wife. And then he was gone and you were alone in the room with your sister. She stood there, a figure of absolute womanhood that not even her conservative fashion could hope to hide. The expression she wore was placid… but expectant.

“I assume you’re here for something?” she said, managing to not sound haughty yet still signalling the disapproval of a big sister who knew you were up no good.

“I thought we should pray together,” you said. The utmost sincerity in your voice took Fareeha aback and she seemed nervous in that moment. It was fleeting and she crossed her arms over a chest you don’t recall being as busty as you remembered.

“Right now?” she asked.

“Right here,” you added with a smile, stepping up to her. Your bulge was apparent. Her perfect eyebrow regarded your brazen leer and she steeled herself.

“Welp. Take it out, I guess,” Fareeha said, as casual as she could be. Her ‘big sister’ energy hadn’t faded in her time away, you noticed. That dominating air still radiated off her, only now there was an even more commanding presence up against hers. Already hard and with steady hands, you calmly dropped your pants and let her see your erection.

“And you, get on your knees,” you told your sister. There was a flash of outrage in her eyes. Disbelief. Anger. Defiance. “To pray,” you added. Of course. There could be no refusal from her now, and though she huffed for a moment, in the next she was dropping down to the carpet. Perhaps you should have felt bad about making a pregnant woman get on both knees for you, but instead it had you heating up, rod now like iron. You had to capture the image in your mind; Your beautiful older sister, powder blue headscarf framing her stern, olive face, kneeled before your bulging cock. Her bulging stomach was unmissable even under her long mauve shirt. The ultimate symbol of her fertility, juxtaposed with the throbbing, veining cock of her brother hovering just inches from her face. That face… brow knit in annoyance, shifted as her lips curled. You were too mesmerised by her smile to realise her fingers were curling around your shaft. She started jerking you off, unprompted.

Her hand was soft and warm and the silky motion of her stroke was telling. Fareeha was not quite like your mother. She was more experienced. Bolder right off the bat. “That’s pretty good,” you said, attempting to regain some lost ground and trying to ignore your sister’s smirking. “You really know what you’re- Ohh! Whoa!”

She pulled you down a bit, just suddenly and firmly enough to catch you out, then her mouth was on you. That tongue was like a hot wet brand and you winced from the pleasurable shock. There was a hum followed by a pent up sigh.

“Mmmm I missed sucking cock,” your sister said, rubbing her spit into your shaft for a few seconds. “Ibrahim’s been so busy… I’ve been so busy… I almost forgot what it’s like.” And she went to remind herself again, taking your thick head back past her lips and swallowing half of your erection effortlessly. She sucked and slurped and you found your defenses falling. You were growing in her mouth, pressing into her tongue, but started to feel smaller. Feel like the little brother whose loving, but sometimes cruel big sister pushed around when he got too annoying.

She pulled you out with strings of saliva drawing a bridge to her mouth. “Wow, you’re even thicker than my husband… and I guess you’re bigger than baba too,” she said. She started strong there, but the memory of seeing her father masturbating openly made her falter. To the woman’s credit she quickly recovered by slathering you with her tongue. She took to this twisted new way of worship so readily it made your head spin. Your sister obviously loved giving blowjobs. And she loved teasing you. This translated to several agonisingly amazing minutes of your older sibling licking and sucking and moaning all over your cock.

She would tilt her head to mouth at your shaft sideways, open mouthed kisses travelling from base to tip with patient, loving care. She covered you with spit… then licked it up as it dripped down to your balls. She nursed at your swollen scrotum in those moments, humming, the vibrations from her throat sent right into the center of your waiting reservoir of jizz. “I wonder what your cum tastes like,” she said, her breath on your nuts, looking up at you with one eye, the other covered by your spit slick erection.

There was a laugh and she had to stop her oral ****, but her hand returned to keep your achingly hard cock twitching. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you? Little brother?” she asked, rhetorically of course. The answer was clear on your face. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since I called Umi… as soon as I remembered you had turned eighteen,” she went on, slowing down her strokes but gripping you more firmly. “I wondered… what kind of man did my little brother become?” She kissed your balls, making her lips smack loudly. “I guess you completely tamed mom,” she said, then kissed the midway point of your throbbing shaft. “She was taking your cock like a real… a real whore… a whore for her own son…” Those final few memories seemed to be making your sister breathless, but her soft lips found the tip of your cock and planted her needy kiss on you like a punctuation. “Praise Allah you became such a good boy… such a great man… please bless me… bless your sister…”

Fareeha tilted her back and opened her mouth wide, presenting that hardworking tongue to you. Her milking grip was relentless and the fact that you had been able to hold yourself for so long had been just short of a miracle. She was such a slut… All you had done was tweak the Quran to allow yourself some fun (if depraved) sexual privileges. The way your sister was acting was all her own. You were surprised it had taken her so long to get knocked up... “Akhi al-sagheer… Please,” she moaned, one hand beating you off like nobody else had, her other carefully stroking her pregnant belly. “Feed me, little brother.”

“Fuuuuck… Allah is great!” you croaked, whole body shaking as you busted your nut all over your sister’s tongue. She pumped you with intent, catching each wild spurt as best she could. The first few laced over her chin and right cheek, but the majority of your ropes she made you cover her tongue with. Her final stroke was a tight, squeezing pull, rocking you forward. Her lips wrapped around your sensitive head and she sucked whatever was left out of you greedily. You were panting and almost squinting, but when she released your cock you made sure you were able to commit the results of your corruption of the scripture to memory.

Your sister sat there on the floor, still looking up at you, her mouth hanging open. Your sticky streaks glistened on her skin, your milky cum pooled there on her tongue. She was otherwise spotless, not a drop on any of her clothes. When she closed her mouth she shut her eyes and swallowed your load with a gulp.

“Mmmm… wow…” she breathed, opening her eyes again. “Your cum is disgusting, Ahyan,” she said. “But I love it.” She offered you her hand, raising her eyebrows when you stared at it dumbly. It took you a second, but you helped your pregnant sister back to her feet. She still wore your cum on her face and was making no effort to clean up the sticky leavings settling there. Instead she moved for the door. “I can smell umi is cooking something special.”