Speak the Truth and Be Free

“It’s time for midday prayers, abnay.” The way your mother called you ‘my son’ in her lyrical Arabic had become so different from when you were a child. It was so much more … insistent now.

You looked up from your desk, the ink of the page quickly drying. The woman was leaning a shoulder on the doorway, draped in her pale abaya, the modest robe made from silky chiffon with a simple, helix-patterned stitching running up the centre. And it clung to her in places of course, where her chest swelled, where her hips widened… and you could tell, from the thin, airiness of the fabric, she wore nothing else underneath.

You shut your copy of the Quran and stood. You were happy to see her, she could tell from the ready tent in your pants. Imagination had gotten away from you as you wrote new scripture into the book. She knew you would follow, and she swayed in her step, also knowing you would be watching her ass all the way to the prayer room.

Fareeha was already there, kneeling. Waiting. Her headscarf matched her mother’s, both of them wearing white around their heads, covering their hair and neck, only their pretty, strikingly similar faces exposed. For now. Fareeha smiled, stroking her belly habitually, watching her mother as she knelt beside her.

“I’ll lead the prayer this time,” you said, moving in front of them. You would remain standing. Your congregation of two looked up at you, natural supplicants, ready to listen to your every word, whether they liked it or not. This session would be a fun one. More of a … study in the words of the Almighty. “Oh mighty Allah,” you began spreading your arms in a low arc until they were down at your sides, palms out. “Let us pray to your wisdom and heed what is beckoned…”

You saw your mother and sister trade glances and they seemed to sit up a little straighter, like students in the front row of a classroom ready for a quiz. “What shall we do when we are beckoned?” you asked, in your lilting rhetoric. Together, in one voice, your mother and sister responded.

“We shall heed…”

“We shall heed for the grace of Allah shall touch our mouths and make them holy for His words are command. When we are beckoned...”

“We shall heed,” they chorused.

You smiled at their quick adoption of the style. This call and response method of prayer that would let all parties express their true devotion. Well, it was time to get into the meat of it then.

“When the son rises, who shall serve him in prayer?”

“The mothers and daughters… the sisters and aunts…” both women said, their recitations flawless as they ‘remembered’ the words of the holy text.

“When my arousal is known, who shall serve me in prayer?”

“I will,” said your mother.

“I will,” insisted your sister.

Your attention went to the older woman then, her eyes almost glittering with the adoration she stared up at you with.

“Who does the mother service?” you asked, and basked in her loving expression.

“The son… my son…” she answered without hesitation.

“When my cock is revealed, what does my mother do?”

“I will hold it and kiss it as it is my babe…” she told you, her belief making her chest swell.

“And?”

“And I will keep it warm in my cunt… let you return home… and be used as you want… as much as you want and as much as you need.” Her cheeks were rosy and you noticed her squirm, rubbing her thighs together. But she had said all of her truths clearly, and you knew she was devoted. Now you turned to your sister, who was very much leering at you. She almost shivered with excitement, her fists clenched in her lap.

“Who does the sister service?” you asked her, Fareeha’s smile so wide it began on her face but ended on yours. The lust in her eyes was clear as a candle flame.

“The brother… my brother!” she was eager to tell you.

“When my dick is hard, what does my sister do?”

“I will lick and suck and squeeze it until it spills its seed and wanes.... then I will lick it some more… suck it like a slut… and jerk it… and make it hard again… until you spill your seed for me once more...” She improvised a little, but you couldn’t fault her for her enthusiasm. If her pregnant belly wasn’t weighing her down she might have been on her feet by now so she could whisper her desires straight into your ear while rubbing your cock through your pants.

“And what of the father?” you said then, and saw the flash of uncertainty across both women’s faces. “Who serves him?” Your mother spoke first, after taking a deep breath.

“I serve my son now… if he asks me to forsake his father then I do as he heeds… I serve my son and do as you want me to do,” she said, and that seemed to be that for her. It’s what the Holy Quran taught her, after all. Her husband had been her first lover, her first love, but here and now by Allah’s holy word, you were all she would want if you wanted it so. You nodded, satisfied, then looked to your sister.

You expected maybe more confusion, or perhaps a frustrated frown, but instead that devilish smile had returned.

“I serve my brother… I serve you, Ahyan,” she said simply.

“And if you wanted to fuck Baba?” you asked, slightly off book now, and your mother seemed both surprised by the diversion and the topic at hand.

“I don’t want to fuck Baba… not if you don’t want it,” she realised. “Your wisdom prevails. By Allah’s grace… I will serve you. My body… this body… will be blessed only by you.” That heartfelt moment of perfect scripture recitation was only undercut by a question that seemed to spill from her lips before she could stop her thoughts. “But can I still fuck, Umi?” she asked. In prayer.

“Of course,” you said graciously. “As Allah’s wisdom commands.” Which meant your wisdom, and you were wise indeed, being the son of the house. And that made your sister extra smiley, while next to her your prize of a mother blushed.

“Now,” you said, both women refocusing their attention on where you were… standing at attention. “We pray for Allah’s holy grace… and we shall receive it…”

“We shall receive it,” they chanted in unison, one mind for the scriptures again.

“Let’s pray.”

“Yes,” your sister agreed, reaching up for your pants. “Let’s pray!”

Your pants were pulled down and your cock sprung out, hot and bulging and ready. “Say a saucy prayer, mother,” Fareeha said, as she shuffled up closer to you so she could feel the heat of your meat by her face.

“Uh… the mother serves the son with her mouth… and bathes him with her tongue,” she recalled, and so she leaned in and did just that. You let out a sigh as you watched her work and felt her drooling devotion. She kissed your skin, licking the underside of your shaft down to just before your balls. She kept her hands folded in her lap so needed to stretch her neck as she moved her scarfed head to make sure to keep her mouth on your dick.

“Mmm… yes, and the sister serves the son too…” Fareeha said, adding her piece briefly then joining in on the mouthy worship. She kissed the other side of your shaft with a pronounced smacking sound and was soon coating you in warm saliva with her tongue too. “My little brother’s tasty cock,” she went on. “It’s to be worshipped as if it contained Allah’s holy essence itself. Mmmm… mmmmmm! Mother!”

And she couldn’t contain herself any more. Snuffling your cock, cheek to cheek with her mother, was too much to resist. She turned and pressed their lips together, sharing a deep kiss that mom didn’t try to fight.

“Fareeha… daughter…” she gasped as they parted. “You’re so soft…” The woman seemed almost in a trance. The fact that she was once again made to kiss her daughter, like some lurid lesbian, turned her on so much. She no longer remembered that such a thing would have been forbidden by the Quran, but the taboo flavour of your sister’s lips remained. It drove her wild, this strange but familiar shame that washed over her, and the only cure was to suck your cock. She returned you to her mouth, craning her neck to reach your tip, tasting the first ooze of your precum then swallowing the head whole.

Yes… this was the feeling, she thought. The heat of you in her mouth and the way you stretched her lips the more inches she took. It had felt wrong the first time. And the time after that. It had been so confusing until she realised it was because she wasn’t being true to herself. Yes… as a mother this was her duty. Her initial disgust was why she felt bad. She felt bad about a holy act, which didn’t make sense, so she had to adjust her thoughts. She needed to let her arousal flow more freely. Enjoy the way her son’s cock filled her mouth… reached her throat. The taste of his cum. All of those once sinful thoughts that made her nipples stiff and her pussy gush were all very good, very bless-ed things.

She tried looking up at you, eyes watering as she throated your cock, making whorish, unmotherly noises as her spit dripped out of her mouth and onto your balls.

“She’s good at that,” your sister said, stroking her mother’s back encouragingly. “And she’s so pretty when she sucks your cock.” She kissed the woman on the cheek, then leaned her head against hers, both of them moving to her rhythm. She watched you enjoy your mother’s mouth, smiling her wicked smile, but then seemed to get bored and drifted down to suck on your balls.

Her greediness made you groan as she tried swallowing both of your nuts, the whole of your sack, into her widening mouth. She was so slutty and pregnant you barely recognized the woman your sister had become.

“Allah protect us!” your mother suddenly blurted after spitting you out. You were confused for a moment, seeing the redness of your mom’s face not caused entirely by her softly suffocating herself with your cock. She continued stroking you, using her stringy spit as lube.

“Umi?” you could see the worry creasing her expression. “What’s the matter?”

“The Shaitans… they... plague me…” she told you, taking a gasping wet breath and her throat relaxed. You sister finally dropped your ball from her mouth and raised her head up.

“Shaitans? Evil spirits?” your sister said, much quicker at connecting the Arabic dot than you for once. They were the demons and devils of Islam.

“Yes… they put thoughts in my head, Ahyan,” replied your mother, her grip on you firming. There seemed to be a battle in her mind as she bit her lip. That concentration her face juxtaposed with her hand running up and down your drool slick cock had you throbbing. “They make me feel shame,” she admitted finally, like this prayer room was her confessional. “Like my actions with you… the both of you… are wrong.”

Your sister shot you a concerned glance then turned to your mother and pulled her in for another close, intimate, lover’s kiss. Mom had to slow down her stroking you, which was fine because the view was the most lovely distraction.

“Does that feel wrong, Umi?” Fareeha asked the breathless woman as they broke.

“No…” your mother said, but then her perfect brows furrowed. “Yes… a little…”

“Evil spirits huh?” Your sister pursed her shiny lips in thought. “They whisper their evil thoughts to you do they? Saying that sucking your son’s cock is wrong? Telling you that letting him take you deep in your womanhood is not what a mother should let her son do to her? That his beautiful cock is somehow dirty and sinful? That he shouldn’t pump his hot cum inside you?”

One of Fareeha’s hands had wrapped around your shaft while she talked through your mother’s misgivings, her other hand slipping under Umi’s robe. “But how can acts of love be wrong, Umi?” your sister said in that way a teacher asks a question she expects an obvious answer to. “How can such sweet, delicious pleasures that we bring each other be evil?”

Your mother’s shoulders shuddered as her daughter’s fingers worked in and out of her pussy. “Look at Ahyan’s big cock, Umi,” Fareeha commanded. “My brother’s cock… your son’s thick… delicious… warm and throbbing cock…” Your mother’s eyes burned with lust as they took in the sight of your glorious, tongue soaked manhood. “If feels good when it’s inside you, doesn’t it?” There were nods, fingers also making her feel good. “When he stretches you and fills you… there’s no other feeling as wonderful is there? To have your own flesh and blood slide his hot hard flesh up your needy wet cunt. Speak the the Truth and be FREE!”

“AHHn!” Your mother cried out, Fareeha working her lovely magic under her robe, and you had to grit your teeth with how masterful her stroking was. “Yes!” your mother finally thought to reply. “It feels better than anything!”

“Hold onto that thought, Umi,” your sister said. “It protects you. It will chase away the shaitan… those evil little doubts… those nasty little whispers…” With that she stopped fingering your mom, and she treated herself to a taste. All the while she still kept jerking you.

Your mother’s shoulders sagged, but she was nodding, panting, and turned to you again. “What we share is love, Umi,” Fareeha went on, a sage in this debauchery, telling your mother everything she needed to hear. “Come here and let’s share in Ahyan’s gift for us…” And she released you from her grip, your cock thrumming (like one of those springy door stopper thingies, y’know, those things that go “GloiOiiOiiOiiOiing!” when you flick them? But upright. And your dick.). Your mother leaned in, slurping onto the side of your shaft like the cock leech she was, and your sister climbed to the top with her tongue and took your head in her mouth this time. She drew you in deeper into her welcoming wet warmth, and, combined with your nearly preening mother, Fareeha’s long, cheek hollowing suck made you explode.

Heat rushed up your core, splurging into your sister’s mouth, her lips wrapped tight as she drained you. Your mother noticed your pulsating cock and let out a whimper, missing out on the hot splashes undoubtedly coating her daughter’s tongue. You pumped spurt after spurt into your greedy sister's maw. Umi made a feeble attempt at mouthing where your sister’s lips met your shaft, but she wasn’t budging so had to resign herself to being a bystander to your load… for a few seconds.

Fareeha raised her head, sealing her lips with a kiss at your tip as she pulled away. With your mother looking up at her so pitifully she couldn’t even let the moment linger, feeling it too cruel after their little revelatory talk. She grabbed the older woman’s face and gave her the kiss. Their lips parted and your mother fed on her daughter’s spit and her son’s thick, warm cum. It was the sloppiest kiss you had ever seen, which was saying something. That essential, creamy fluid passed between mother and daughter and back again, with swirling, thirsting passion. Tongues slid into each other’s mouths, bathing their tastebuds with your precious, holy, slimy seed. They spread it on each other’s teeth, on the roof of their mouths, and then pressed soft, sticky lips again and eventually it was all gone. Swallowed. Absorbed. They turned their faces to see you, their blushing cheeks touching, their smiles glossy.

“Any more doubts, Umi?” you asked the supremely satisfied matron.

“No more doubts, abnay…” she said happily. “Only love.”