The Afternoon Prayer

This time you arrived before your mother to the prayer room. That was fine. Your mother entered about five minutes later and you saw her freeze in the doorway when she spotted you. The shocked look on her face was probably because you were already naked from the waist down. It took her a few seconds to recover, her mind realigning what was acceptable for prayer now, and she set herself down next to you.

“Umi, have a good day?” you greeted her, having not seen her since lunch, which you had let be completely normal except you knew your mother could feel her dirtied panties the entire time she went about the kitchen and even as she sat down to eat her meal. She put on a smile for you and nodded.

“Yes abnay, it was,” she said.

“Did you wear the underwear all day?” you inquired, and her face went pinker. She gave another, more timid nod.

“Of course,” she added, as she wondered about her embarrassment. “It is soaked in holy… semen…” At this you nodded too and smiled.

“Well time to take them off,” you reminded her, and she swallowed nervously but sat up a little. She began to pull her blue dress up, wiggling her hips as she shimmied it higher. You were sure that watching your so modestly dressed mother revealing her smooth olive skin and that beautiful ass to you would never get old. She held the dress at her waist and you could tell she was still uncomfortable with you openly ogling her bare butt, but she wasn’t even done yet. She began to peel the dirty underwear off, still sticky and damp with sweat with dried cumstains all over it. You could smell it too, that distinct aroma cooked up after a good few hours hugging close to your mother’s post orgasm soaked crotch.

Your cock was rock hard already and when your mother was a half-naked as you, it was time to ‘pray’. Your mother seemed to get stuck again, uncertainty stalling her brain as she stared at the wall feeling exposed but expectant.

“Make sure it’s a deep orgasm,” you said, jogging your mother’s ‘memory’ and she sat up, a little deer in the headlights at your forthrightness.

“The climax of worship requires serious devotion,” she replied agreeably, as if it was a normal religious mantra. And then your mother started to touch herself while you watched. She glanced at you, giving you that self-conscious side-eye, but tried to concentrate on masturbating for god. You stroked yourself along with her, smiling the entire time.

What you could notice now was how your mother controlled her breathing. Her nervousness, and perhaps excitement, was undeniable, but she was taking even, steady breaths as she masturbated next to you with a dutiful, almost noble air. You on the other hand were a lot more leery, and openly watched her rather discrete hand movements compared to your more vigorous pulling. Your mother was a beauty…