Date: Thu, 31 Dec 2015 17:20:16 +0000
From: J. W. <jaywise1972@gmail.com>
Subject: Baba's Prayer

DISCLAIMER:

This story is a work of fiction and contains descriptions of explicit
sexual acts between a father and a son.

If this type of content offends you or you are under the age of 18 do not
read it.

Author's Note:

This story is the property of the author. It can be downloaded for personal
reading pleasure or sending to a friend, but if you wish to re-post them at
your own site, please contact the author for permission.

If it is illegal to read such material where you live or if you find the
topic distasteful the please leave now.

Copyright 2015 JayWise1972, All rights reserved.

Please contact me at JayWise1972@gmail.com if you like. I welcome all
feedback.

* * *

	I awaken, refreshed and alive, stretching in my bed. It is Saturday
morning, so early that only a few rays of sun warm the dark horizon visible
from my room. Sunrise is some time off yet. The sands outside of Riyadh
look cold, but soon they will be alive and vibrant under the desert sun.

	In the distance, a voice sings into the darkness. It is calling the
faithful to prayer. I feel a tingle travel down my spine as I prepare
myself for the task ahead. It is something I look forward to every week.

	I hear movement in the house below, and I know that Baba (Daddy) is
already up. I rise from my bed and slip into my white kurta pajama. It
would not be seemly to keep my father waiting.

	"Allahu Akbar. Allahu Akbar," the voice sings from afar. 'Allah is
most great.'

	I am already hard beneath the robe. I cannot help it. It is
morning, and I am very young. Baba says these things happen at a certain
age and it is to be expected. But the morning is only a part of the reason.
I shiver in anticipation and descend the stairs, crossing the downstairs
hallway with its mirror polished floor and white walls.

	Baba stands, motionless as a statue, before the large window in our
living room. It too faces the large tracts of sand. There are no other
homes within sight. Baba planned it that way. He is a wealthy man, and one
day I will be too.

	I do not need to say anything. He is already aware of my presence.
He turns from the window and nods once to me. I walk towards him, and
towards the prayer mat already laid upon the bare floor with its luxurious
carpet.

	The mat is itself quite ornate, with its niche, representing mihrab
of a mosque, pointing meticulously East. Every good Muslim is required to
know the qibla --the direction towards Mecca from their home-- at all
times. But my father has always told me that he could sense East from
wherever he happened to be standing without prior study.

	He watches me for a time, then nods again, and I slip the robe up
and over my head, turning for a moment to fold it carefully and lay it upon
a nearby chair. Baba also removes his robe, pulling it over his head. As he
does, I watch the rich fabric slide over his deeply tanned body.

	"Ash-hadu an la ilaha ill-Allah," the distance voice sings.  'I
bear witness that there is none worthy of being worshipped except Allah.'

	But it is true that I worship my father. I cannot help it. He is my
god; my Allah.

	Baba is a handsome man, and well built. He spent many years
developing his body and the family's wealth ensured that he fed it only the
finest foods. He seems to glow in the soft moonlight shining through the
skylight. First his strong thighs are revealed, followed by his midsection.
My eyes linger on Baba's long, thick cock... his 'qadib'. It is soft, but
swollen. Even at Baba's age, the morning will have its influence upon the
proud, wide member.

	His flat belly appears next, covered in a light dusting of black
fur. By the time Baba's chest appears, I am hard as stone. Wide, heavy
pectoral muscles crown my father's body, covered in dark hair that only
accentuates their size and power. They are suspended, it seems, from broad,
muscled shoulders and a wide neck. There is nothing within me but lust,
now. I ache for my father's touch.

	Once his robe is removed, Baba watches me. His dark eyes travel up
and down my paler, more slender form. I see the deep glitter of his own
desire.  We have still said nothing.

	Baba nods again, and I drop to my knees, perhaps a foot behind the
prayer mat. He turns to face the window; to the East, and steps backward
until his bare feet touch the prayer mat. Then he, too, lowers himself to
his knees and bends forward, in a position of prostration. This is a holy
time and he performs his duties as required.

	So do I.

	As Baba's head touches the top of the carpet and he begins saying
his prayers, I lean forward, my face nearing the spread, muscular cheeks of
his ass. His hole is tight, pink, perfect. Baba smells of scented water and
soap. No one may pray without first performing ablutions to cleanse
themselves.

	My lips touch Baba's hole lightly, and I plant a soft kiss there.
His prayer continues, unabated, but his legs spread wider, and his ass is
opened fully to me. I kiss the hole again, but this time I remain in place,
and my tongue slides inside Baba's secret place. There it will remain
throughout prayer.

	I do not remember when I started doing this. Baba has always told
me that it helps him to become closer to Allah when his son serves him in
this way. It is like a final cleansing that is pleasurable to us both.

	I reach down with one hand and stroke my hard cock. I am not
supposed to do this, but sometimes I cannot resist the urge. I am so hard
that my small manhood quivers at my touch.

	My father continues to pray, though his voice is huskier now than
before.  The ancient words coming forth from his full lips have been spoken
by countless millions before. This connects him with all of them, and
connects him with me.

	I kiss more deeply, my tongue squirming slowly, softly inside
Baba's perfect hold. Beneath his broad torso, my father's cock grows and
thickens until it is a wide, straight pole pointing downward at the ornate
mat. I reach forward and take it in my small hand, squeezing its formidable
girth, and Baba groans between exhalations of prayer.

	We continue like this for some time, I tasting and licking, sucking
at Baba's asshole, milking his big cock downward, making certain that the
precum leaking from its tip never reaches the holy mat beneath. I use it
instead to lubricate my own smaller cock before reaching back and
continuing to minister to my father's need.

	Baba's prayer reaches its midpoint and he growls, reaching back to
pull my head further into his ass. I slide my tongue inside him as far as I
am able and he rolls his hips, making humping motions against my face. The
words of his prayer are strong, but broken as his breathing quickens.

	Suddenly, Baba stands, recites a series of prayers, then widens his
stance. I know after many, many mornings like this, what I am to do. I turn
over and slide feet first between my father's muscular legs upon the mat,
until I am looking up from on my back at Baba's magnificent cock, balls and
ass. I could die here, watching the man who made me in all of his glory.

	Baba continues the prayer as he again lowers himself to the mat,
this time straddling my head with his powerful thighs. My tongue enters his
ass again, the soft rim a bit looser now, since I have been eating him. I
feel his heavy balls upon my neck, and the warmth of the precum leaking
from his big cock as I worship that hot hole and explore Baba's insides.

	He leans forward, pressing his forehead to the carpet, his eyes
pressed closed as he communes with Allah. Between the strains of his
prayer, however, I feel his warm lips close upon my small cock and suckle
it. These only last for tiny moments, as he must continue his prayer
without interruption.

	I continue cleansing him inside and out, and I feel his muscles
tighten above me. It is time.

	This is the part of Baba's prayer that is most difficult for
him. It is not an easy thing to worship the most high, even as you prepare
to rid yourself of the remaining uncleanness within your body. Only then
can one be truly holy; only then can one truly be one with Allah.

	This, too, I am used to. I cannot remember when it began, but in my
memory, it has always been a part of this ritual with my father. Perhaps it
has something to do with why mama left so long ago.

	Baba grinds his ass down upon my mouth, and I feel the hole widen
against my lips and tongue. And then I feel what it inside him begin to
come out. It is the sweet cake he ate yesterday. Every Friday, Baba eats
only sweet cakes. He calls them his holy cakes, and he eats them in front
of me, smiling... always smiling. He knows that he will feed them back to
me the next day, and this gives him great pleasure.

	I eat. With each squeeze of Baba's ass, each undulation of his
insides, more of the cake emerges and slides across my tongue. I chew and
swallow. He is careful not to give me too much at a time. We must not
desecrate the prayer mat with anything that might escape my mouth.

	'Eat, my baby boy. Eat your cakes so that Baba can finish his
prayer. Clean your father's hole and cleanse him so that he can be one with
Allah.'  His voice is gruff and strained, thick with lust. 'Yesss, such a
good boy. You love your Baba, don't you' You serve your father, as he
serves Allah.'

	I swallow. The taste is bitter, but still retains the honey
sweetness of the cakes, and the fragrant sweet tea after. Again and again,
my mouth fills as Baba empties his bowels into his little boy. All of it
ends up in my tummy, which begins to bulge with the size of the load. Baba
ate a great many cakes yesterday, and now I am taking them all from him.
Allah must be proud that a boy would show such dedication to his
father. Not every boy loves his father enough to swallow his shit.

	After some minutes, the last of it is squeezed out onto my
squirming tongue, and I take a moment to swallow, and clean my mouth of
every last trace before licking around Baba's hole to remove any remnants
of yesterday's feasting that might remain.

	Father moves his ass from my lips and gets up on his knees, his
massive cock pointing down at my face. Slowly, savoring every movement,
Baba widens his legs, lowering the fat head to my lips. I take the head
inside my mouth and suckle it, as an infant would its mother's breast. Baba
relaxes and begins to empty his bladder into his boy's mouth. I taste the
sweet, salty liquid and begin to swallow. This, too, must not touch the
prayer mat, therefore I must swallow every drop, as Baba has taught me to
do.

	Again and again I swallow, rhythmically, my tongue never leaving
the wide head lodged just inside my mouth, the flared glans hooked behind
my lips.  Baba leans his head down and takes my throbbing cock into his
mouth, sucking firmly with his warm, wet lips.

	I am small enough that he can take me easily, and Baba is
close... so close to his climax. He widens his lips and takes all of my
inside his mouth, including my smooth, hairless balls. The wet hotness of
his mouth soaks into me and I feel myself getting close to my own
orgasm. As the last drops of Baba's golden piss disappear down my throat,
Baba begins to plunge his big cock down into my mouth. His movements are
quick, urgent. He needs to cum.  He is miraculous that way. He keeps only a
few inches of his huge cock inside my mouth as he pumps with small,
rabbit-like motions.

	I know what he wants, and lean my head back, keeping his cock
within my my mouth as I straight the path between my lips and my fully
belly. Baba growls around my cock and balls as he sucks them, and slides
his member deeply into my throat, until his dangling balls are pressed
against my closed eyes and my lips kiss the base of my father's big penis;
the penis that made me...

	Baba bellows, though the sound is muffled by my genitals as they
stuff his mouth. Bottomed out in my throat, he unloads his final offering
to Allah; the seed that made me; the seed that Allah gave him to give to
me, mixing with the contents of my stomach. We are one, Baba and Allah and
I. I shoot my boy honey into his mouth and my father swallows, even as he
feeds his son, both bodies locked in the ecstasy of holy orgasm upon the
soft prayer rug, facing East as any praying supplicant must.

	He collapses upon me, his cock remaining deeply lodged in my mouth
for a few moments as it softens. He has taught me to breath in this way,
through my nose. Every few seconds, another small droplet of my father's
cum escapes the fat head and I swallow, though I do not need to. It will
make its way to my belly soon enough.

	When my father finally rises, pulling his big cock from my lips, he
looks at me with infinite love, and leans down to kiss me softly.

	'I love you, my son. You have done well.'

	It is my hope that I will never stop serving Baba in this way. He
is a devout man, and I must do everything in my power to help him serve
Allah. But I know, deep inside, that my reasons are more selfish than that,
and I find that I am already looking forward to watching my father eat
sweet cakes next Friday, and feeling his dark eyes upon me as he chews and
swallows tomorrow's communion.

* * *