The Same But Her Son is Hung Like the Prophet

"Once he comes of age, the son may seek his mother’s relief from arousal and she must do her full duty." The words spilled from her mouth as if she were recalling them from memory. You nodded, a smile spreading on your lips.

Your mother was still standing in the doorframe, now with one hand still covering her mouth. Those grey-green eyes met yours, and you could see her conflict.

"What... how did... Allah mae athbak (May God forgive me)," your mother said. "When did I agree to this, ahyan (my son)?" She shook her head again, seemingly confused.

"I think you always knew this day would come, Umi," you pointed out. "I am old enough, remember?" She blinked some more, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to formulate a response. But you could see the understanding settle within her as she fully internalized this aspect of her faith. She knew you were right. There was no denying it.

"I suppose you're right," your mother said, voice sounding weak and breathy. "I just didn't expect it so soon." She hesitated a moment, then she stepped into the room. You could see the conflict still raging within her, the disbelief, the worry. Yet there was no disobedience in her either, and as she approached you could see her resolve harden. Her features gained a hint of determination, as did her tone of voice when she spoke next. "Well, since it's Allah's will, we must not disappoint Him, abnay (my son)... Come." She motioned at you to stand.

You did so and her hands went haltingly towards your pajama pants, stopping short, her eyes going wide as she took in the full sweep of your bulge running out past your left hip.

"Oh my," you mother muttered and swallowed. Her fingers curled and she took hold of the elastic waistband of your pants and pulled it back a little. Then she peeked a glance into your front and inhaled sharply through her nose.

You weren't wearing underwear.

"Al hamdu Lillah (All praise and thanks belong to Allah)," your mother whispered. A shaky breath left her and she straightened, meeting your eyes. "I... I have never seen one... one so..." She stopped, searching for the right words, but it was apparent to you what your mother was referring to. "You're blessed like the prophet himself."

Yea, you'd done some extensive editing to what the Quran had to say about the Prophet, his life, and the very nature of the way he spread Islam.

He hadn't just had multiple wives and concubines, he'd had his close male followers' wives and concubines, even their daughters. It was now written and apparently believed (by devout Muslims at least) that when his armies invaded a town the women happily threw open their legs for the prophet, and their husbands knelt beside them, praying while pleasuring themselves in thanks to Allah for spreading such an enlightened way of life.

Her gaze lingered on yours, and you could see the fear and uncertainty in them, mingled with wonder and fascination. Your mother's expression told you everything. She was struggling, trying to reconcile what she had known for a long time with the reality she was facing now. Your cock wasn’t just larger than average. It was massive. And her duty towards it, and her faith, and obedience, was clear.

Your mother steeled herself again. With one fluid motion she reached into your pajamas and wrapped her cool fingers around your length. An involuntary sigh of pleasure escaped you and your mother let out a startled gasp, flinching like she'd received an electric shock. But she didn’t let go, her gaze locked on your crotch as her grip slowly tightened around your meaty shaft. Her breathing grew heavy, a soft moan escaping her.

"Allah ma athbak (May God forgive her)," your mother repeated her previous prayer. "He's so... warm. Hard yet soft and..." You were already leaking and your mother's fingers smeared the pearly liquid over your glans, down your shaft and over her hand. Her eyes narrowed in concentration, but she didn’t dare look at your face, not now. You could feel her trembling against you, the warmth of her body, and you breathed in her flowery scent. Your mother was nervous.

Your weapon always felt overly large for your own hands, her small ones looked ridiculously tiny on it. Still her fingers gripped your hard flesh tightly, sliding up and down the whole length, coating it with precum. Your mother's breathing grew faster, matching her motions and the pleasure rising within you. It wasn’t easy for her to wrap her hand around it fully.

Right now in this moment your mother's full duty was clear, to relieve you of your arousal through whatever means you deemed necessary so when you parted your legs to let your sac swing freely, "Stroke my balls too." Her other hand quickly dove under your shaft and cradled those two tennis-ball sized orbs.

"Alhamdulillah ( all praise and thanks belong to Allah )" your mother repeated once more, the reverence in her tone even stronger now. Her hands worked the length of your shaft and the heavy orbs of your testicles. Each stroke caused another dribble of precum to spill from the tip of your meaty shaft. With a groan you pushed your hips forward, forcing her fingers into your pubic hair. You were growing closer to release, and your mother picked up on this, her pace quickening.

"You're leaking, abnay," she noted quietly. "Is he almost there?

"Yes!" you gasp through gritted teeth, "Jerk it faster. Fast and hard!"

She did as she was told, bringing both hands to bear on your shaft even as she got a wild eyed look on her face, alarm clear in her voice, "Ah! W-where?!"

You grinned and grunted in pleasure and explained, "On your face! Your hijab, your dress! Mark you with my seed like the Prophet did before his followers."

Her eyes flashed with dismay but she didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. Her grip tightened on your meat and she kept pumping your length with an ever increasing frenzy as she directed your swelling tip towards her face. A breathy sigh escaped your mother, and you could tell she was enjoying this despite her earlier hesitation. Your mother's cheeks were flushed, eyes wide. Her jaw clenched and unclenched as she concentrated on her duty. It wouldn’t be long now. You were nearly at your peak.

"Ya Allah ( Oh God)," you mother mumbled, still working you furiously. As you neared climax, she closed her eyes, readying herself for what was to come. Another dribble of precum flowed forth.

"Almost there! " you growl,

"Yes, abnay!" your mother panted in reply, her hands blurring on your meat.

With a roar of pleasure rapid fire blasts belched forth. Large milky dollops of cum shot from your engorged tip with tremendous ****. They splattered against your mother's hijab, soaking into the forest green fabric in an instant. More blasts followed, each painting her face with more sticky cum. She didn’t stop or flinch as your seed continued to pump out, painting her skin in thick strands of pearly liquid. It was like a fountain was erupting in front of her face. You could hear her gasping in surprise, but she didn't waver. Another wave of hot, white seed hit her full-on. It splashed across her nose, coating her chin, running down her cheeks to drip onto her dress. Still your mother stood her ground, eyes closed, hands moving swiftly over your shaft as she milked your gushing manhood.

Your chaste, devout muslim mother's face was coated in your pearly goo, and you had to grasp her wrist to slow her jerking motions on your cock as you grunted out, "Enough, Umi. That's good."

With a whimper your mother halted her strokes, letting go of your still hard weapon and raising her cum-soaked hands. She blinked her eyes open. They were hazy with arousal. Her mouth hung open, tongue peeking out to lick at a thick daub of semen near the corner of her mouth. The sight made you groan in pleasure, and you could feel your shaft throb with need. It was clear she was enjoying this despite herself.

She wrinkled her nose as she sat back, her messy hands hovering in front of her body, unsure where to wipe off the cum. Your mother looked up at you, eyes still wide with disbelief as she took in your dangling softening tool.

"W-was that enough, ahyan?" she asked, a tremble in her voice. "Have I relieved your... arousal?"

"Yesss..." You breathed as you slumped down onto the bed.

Something of her normal manner returned as she snatched up a pair of socks and used them to clean her hands, "Don’t leave your socks all over the floor, abnay (my son)."

You snorted and added, "You know what I use those for..."

She looked at you sharply even through her blush, "You shouldn't crassly rub your... thing like that. It is unclean! Besides you should be saving that for prayer or if you must, with me!"

"Yes, Umi," you sighed theatrically even as you were absolutely filled with glee by her casual manner with her face absolutely caked with your jizz.

You watched her dab at her eye with the increasingly soiled bundle of socks.

Once that was done your mother looked down at herself and the large stains on her dress, "And you made such a mess of me!" She huffed. "I'll have to change!"

You shrugged and her gaze dropped down to your lap again. She was definitely enjoying the view as you relaxed there with your thick weapon resting atop your two heavy nuts on the bed between your thighs. She caught herself and took a deep breath and getting to her feet. Crossing over to your dresser she pulled out a clean pair of briefs and brought them over to you.

"Are these... large enough?" she asked, a concerned furrow on her brow as she got back down on her knees, "I could purchase a different size, I didn't realize how blessed you were..." She finished as she leaned forward to slip them onto you.

"They're fine." You tell her as you stick your feet in and stand up, "The next size up at the store would be too big around the waist. I think you have to special order ones with extra room in front."

She guided them up your legs and you play along rather bemused by the fact your mother is helping you put on your underwear. You hadn't written anything specifically about this in your edits, but it probably had something to do with the Prophet stuff. You'd basically filled it with bad erotic harem fanfiction, after all.

She settled you into the briefs, which did stretch quite a bit around your thick shaft and swollen, cum-filled sac. "I don't think it is good for him to be all compressed in there all the time, abnay," your mother murmured as she adjusted the elastic to sit low on your hips.

There was a bit of gleam in her eyes as she looked up at you, "You know if you wore traditional robes you could... swing freely like the Prophet..."

You snorted a little, "I like modern clothes, Umi. Besides then people would see the outline."

That gleam faded somewhat, replaced by a tinge of disappointment, "Only when you are aroused which you shouldn't be with daily prayer and my own duty. The Prophet's robe did hide his blessings until he wanted to show them. Besides think of how convenient it would be to pray in such a manner," she pointed out as she ran her hands up your legs to rest on your hips. The gesture was oddly intimate.

It was crazy how comfortable she'd become in just the space of a few minutes. She even leaned in and rested her cheek on your bulge and hummed thoughtfully, "So blessed."

That was actually a really good point about the convenience. "I'll think about it," you murmured as she rubbed her face on your thick meat through the briefs.

She let out a shuddering breath and rose unsteadily, "Alhamdu Lillah (All praise and thanks Belong to Allah )," she murmured, "All praise and thanks belong to Allah indeed for allowing me to relieve his arousal. What a blessing."

"I think you enjoyed it..." You observed casually.
Her eyes snapped up to yours and she blushed fiercely, "No, abnay! It is simply... fulfilling my duty and I am pleased to do so. I do not..." her eyes dipped down to your thick meat again, "take any pleasure of my own."

The denial rang a bit false as she tried to convince herself. "Of course not." You tell her wryly.

"Inshalla ( God willing ), abnay," she murmured as she headed towards the door. "I'm going to get cleaned up."

You watched your mother's big hips sway as she left. A sway that seemed much more pronounced than you remembered.

Your mother paused at the door, looking back and adding, "Oh and abnay. Don't pleasure yourself alone anymore. You know it is wrong. I won't tell your father but from now on... you use my duty or with us in the Prayer Room as is proper."

"Yes, Umi." You replied.

Her stern demeanor cracked and as she was unable to resist glancing back at your bulge, "You are so blessed, abnay. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

You chuckled as she left the room and you flopped back on the bed, your thoughts swirling.
In a very short amount of time, your mother had been transformed from a devout and pious Muslim woman into... well a sex servant of her own son.

"Praise Allah," you chuckled to yourself at the sheer ridiculousness of this situation.