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Copyright © 2011, Surt, ALL Rights Reserved.
There is no need to read any previous Tabootopia chapters before reading this as everything relevant is explained throughout the story. Anyone involved in anything sexual is of the legal age limit. Feedback is always appreciated and replied to. Thanks for reading and enjoy! The Celebrity templates are:
Shohreh Aghdashloo is Farah Azim
DeeAnn Donovan is Dynamite Diana
Susan Sarandon is Miss Bolovey
Amanda Bynes is Regina Cestin
Madeline Zima is Vivian Keentucker
Brenda Song is Soyo Banks
Tracy-Ann Oberman is Vera Banks
Kirsten Davis is Claire Cestin
Chisato Shoda is Yukari Takahashi-Kwon
The crowd had been thrown into a fever pitch; the last performance was absolutely what they wanted to see. The pressure was on for the next performer, but she knew she could deliver and so did her son.
“Our final performer of the day, she is The Middle-Eastern Sex Bomb!”
The crowd gasped.
“Hey!” The MC retorted. “Quiet down, quiet down! Ahem, anyway, here she is: Farah Azim!”
Farah adjusted her robe, walked up the stairs, pushed aside the curtain and walked into the shining light. Her son went towards the curtain to watch the action take place…
His mom is hot. It’s something he has been told over and over. Erotic fascinations were unloaded on him each day. While walking down the street with her, guys would stop and stare. They’d admire and sometimes comment on his mother’s hip swaying walk. While playing in the schoolyard he’d get questions from his peers about his mother’s choice of delicate lingerie. These types of questions became common place in his life, though the big question only his friends would dare ask him. That question was if he regarded his own mother to be “hot”. His answer was always no, but the real answer was slightly more complicated.
He did think she was hot, yet he had no clichéd perverse fantasies of himself involved in any sexual contact with her; to him that felt so wrong. Seeing his mother in states of undress, having other people drool over her, knowing, thinking about her having sex, now this did appeal. The thoughts did not consume him; he regarded this fetish as more of an interesting sideline when his porno collection ran dry.
His mother’s name was Farah Azim, a raven-haired Persian woman originally from Iran. After her divorce she decided to move to the U.S at the age of 40, shortly after the birth of her son. Farah’s ex-husband, a rich investment banker, continued paying hefty child support payments to Farah, which lead to her keeping her privileged lifestyle. Farah also had a fully-grown daughter that lived in the U.K.
Her son was named Sami. He was 5’2, short, slim, dark hair, tanned, boyish-looks, his style tailored to his American upbringing (baggy jeans, crocked baseball caps). Both mother and son lived in Livingston County, Michigan.
During his final year of high school, Sami invited his friends over to his place. This set off a series of events that changed both Sami and Farah’s lives forever.
Sami’s two friends were Michal, a smart alec, frizzy haired, self-tanned know-it-all who routinely wore a dress shirt and trousers, and Kerry, an easily excitable, stocky, medium-heighted, occasional gym-going teen who always wore Ed Hardy or Affliction shirts. They were in The Azim’s new up-market apartment.
“Oh my look at this house!” commented Michal, impressed at the plush decor of the place. “Look it, that T.V is huge, wow!”
Kerry too was impressed. “Wow this is some place, come to think of it, I’ve never been to your other house — or seen your family. It’s just you and your mom, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” replied Sami in his high-pitched mid-west accent. “Rich family, you know how it is. Come we can watch the game on this.” Sami was anxious; he’d come inside the home not knowing his mother was in the bedroom — working out.
The guys sat down and started flipping through the channels. Their focus was interrupted when they heard the loud slamming of a door. Kerry turned his head and let out a low-pitched yelp when he saw her.
Michal turned around and muttered quietly: “Oh my.”
Her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor, her large breasts fit neatly into a moist white sports bra, her wide hips stretching the clingy jogging pants.
“Hello boys,” she said in her seductive, raspy middle-eastern accent. Farah had a big smile on her face, sweat rolling down her mocha-skin, her breathing heavy, her breasts heaving.
Kerry tried to speak, “Ah, umm, ah.”
They were speechless and for good reason. To those boys she was a large, shapely structure of unobtainable delight. Their heads arched up, gazing, minds racing.
Farah looked at her son. “They your friends?”
“Yeah,” he said with his arms crossed, face red.
“I’m just going in the shower,” just then she took the band out of her hair, shook her head and allowed her luxurious locks to flow.
“Pleasure meeting you two.”
“Y-yeah,” replied pendik escort her son.
Farah went into the bathroom, shutting the door.
Kerry took out his phone.
“Who’re you calling?” asked Sami.
“My parents, I’m done with them. I want your mom to adopt me.”
After this encounter every guy in the school wanted to know Sami. Through Sami they wanted to see, meet, get-to-know the school’s first ever “Hot Arab Mom”. Living in the more free-flowing U.S of A meant that Sami knew he’d be exposed to some real dirty comments about his mother: This he did like. He enjoyed hearing the perverted comments towards his mother, no matter how crude they may have been.
“Hey new kid, I heard your mom’s got a great ass, send her my way and I’ll give her a good fucking.”
“You know what they say about Arab women? I don’t, I just wanna have sex with your mom.”
“Your mom single? I wanna date her. Ha-ha, nah I’m just playing. Seriously I would tap that ass, I hear she got a nice booty, sexy round ass, big juicy tits, cock-sucking lips too, hmm! That’s what I’m talking about, you lucky fucker for having her as your mom!”
The answer would always be the same: a polite laugh and a half-smile. (He also never bothered correcting them, as his mother was Persian not Arab.)
While Sami had acquired many acquaintances, Michal and Kerry remained his only two friends. This meant Michal and Kerry were allowed exclusive benefits such as tagging along to Farah’s weekly visits to the swimming pool…
The guys were in the indoor swimming pool, all wearing board shorts to conceal the quite obvious reactions they were getting while surveying the location.
“I can’t wait for your mom to come out here!” said Kerry with a yelp.
“Oh my, is she going to look good today!” said Michal.
“Hey, come on guys. That’s my mom,” Sami was trying to keep the pretence going.
“Lookit, lookit, there she is.” Michal pointed across from them.
Coming out from the female changing rooms, clad in a Speedo one-piece swimsuit and swimming cap was Farah. She took a running start and jumped into the pool.
Michal approved. “Oh my! Look at her go! Look at that body!”
“I think I saw some camel-toe, camel-toe! eek!” said Kerry.
They saw her complete her laps with surprising precision; this was a woman in shape, despite pushing 60. After she was done, she grabbed onto the steps and lifted herself up. Everyone in the complex turned their heads to look: She tip-toed out the pool, dripping wet, blue rubber fabric clinging tightly to her body. Farah grabbed the towel from the grinning pool boy and dried her face, her back to the patrons, her ass cheeks jiggling.
Michel approved again. “Oh my! Look at your mom’s ass!”
As did Kerry. “It’s ridden up her butt! Ohh! Oh, I, I think I see the camel-toe, I see it! I see it!”
“Oh, guys, come on, that’s my mom!”
“Hey you should hear what the guys at school say,” remarked Kerry. “It’s worse than the stuff they say to you. Much worse, they say all sorts of stuff about her.”
“Oh, what do they say?”
“You really wanna know? Well, what they keep going on about is how great your mom would be as a stripper.”
That thought excited Sami. “What? Really? N-no way.”
“Yeah I was there, they were saying her on a pole in her panties would be the perfect role, doing some belly dancing, you know, that studded bra and panties they wear! Oh! Yeah…because I’m your friend, I stood up to them and said she should not be stripping, oh no, she’s too classy a woman for that. What she should be doing is high-class escorting, jerking off old, rich white men.”
“I’m sure that’s not too far from what’s she’s already doing!” added Michal.
“Hey shut up, here she comes.”
Farah approached the guys, towel wrapped around her body. “Ready to go boys?”
“Umm, yeah, yeah,” said Sami.
They all stared at her behind as they went to the changing rooms, Michal and Kerry not noticing that Sami was admiring his own mother’s bottom. This proved to be only the protruding wet tip of where things would be going with Sami and his mother.
Sami was not close to his mother. In his younger years he would have nannies taking care of him. As he got older she remained mostly absent, her job requiring her, in her own words, to “look after the finances of many businesses.” To this day it is not clear to Sami what his mother’s job actually was. He was, however, able to paint a better idea in his head of what kind of woman his mother was.
After the pool visit, Sami had developed a theory: His mother was drawing attention from men — deliberately. And not because she liked the attention, oh no, Sami noticed that his mother did her best to look good so she could get some sort of pay-off.
For example, when Farah was negotiating the rent of her apartment, she wore a plunging, formfitting neckline dress, bright red lipstick, with her hair all fluffed up. Sami was there in the distance, watching her giggle like a schoolgirl, escort pendik touch the realtor’s arm, fluttering her pretty brown eyes, even hugging him right before he left. Later that evening she went to “finish” the negotiating at his office. In his bed that night, Sami had an idea of what his mother was doing. He liked his version of events, very-much-so, though he didn’t think they were real. It seemed too far-fetched, his mother sucking the real-estate agent off, a very hot thought, but something that remained in his realm of fantasy. In reality he knew his mother was a dignified Iranian woman from a privileged, highly traditional background. In actuality, Sami’s fantasies were nearer to the truth than he’d ever imagined…
The series of events that showed to him his mother’s true nature started in school. Sami was called to The Principal’s office. This principal, a plain-looking, balding mid-forties white man, was sitting behind his desk.
“Umm, sit, take a seat.”
Sami sat, trying to figure out the reason why he was there.
“So, umm, just before you joined you skimmed right by the previous semester, now it makes no difference to your final grades whatsoever, I was just thinking you should be doing some of the previous work the other students have done.”
“Like, do more work, to what I’m already doing?”
“Umm, yes you could say that. I know it seems unfair, I just feel it may be in your, and in the school’s best interests, umm, yes. I called your mother about this, seeing if we could get some extra class-time for you. She insisted we talk about this at her home.”
“Well to be honest with you, I’m not liking this at all.”
“Well it’s good that it’s not up to you,” he flashed him a smug smile and went back to his paperwork. “You can leave now; we’ll talk about this at your home.”
Sami left the office, not at all pleased at what had transpired. He spent the rest of the school day grumbling about this with his friends; afterwards he hanged around with them and arrived home at around 6pm. Once he came home, he saw his mother pacing around the apartment in her shinny black robe.
“Now where did I put it — oh hello Sami.”
“Hello.” Upon closer inspection, his mother was dressed quite odd for the occasion. Her hair was styled into curls, her make-up was on and she was wearing black stockings.
“Did you speak with The Principal, Sami?”
“Yeah I did, I don’t wanna do it Mom, I don’t wanna do any extra work because I already got enough.”
“Oh I know, I know dear. You will not be doing any more work, I promise. I’ll take care of everything.” What happened next in equal parts shocked and aroused. Farah casually untied her robe, took it off, folded it and put it on the table. She stood there, in her satin black Victoria’s Secret bra, panties and garter belt.
“Wh-what the fuck!? What the — fuck! What’re you doing?”
“Sorry — no wait, what, why, why?”
“I think you are mature enough to know the truth. I dress like this when I need matters taken care of. I need to convince him, so I will.”
Sami was all over the place. Like a rock in a hard place (literally) Sami was constantly bobbing his head. He would look, then look away, look, then look away. He was in delight at the sight in front of him, but didn’t want to present himself as too eager. After a couple of seconds of silence, he spoke while looking at the floor.
“You’re going to have…sex with him!?”
“No, don’t be absurd. I’m just going to, well, you’re old enough to guess. You don’t need to know details.”
Sami tried wording his next question very carefully. “Mom…are you a, a woman who sells her services…to men?”
“I am not a prostitute; I do not have sex with men for money. I don’t do this with just any man, just those that I need favours from, that’s all.
“Oh, ok. Wait, Mom –“
“Sami, do not be ashamed, I am not naked, I’m wearing clothes; I’m quite comfortable dressed like this…Sami, look at me, dear.”
Sami almost burst when he got a good solid look at his mother. The details of her lingerie: the delicate finishes, the fine lace fabric, little bows dotted around the seams. Seeing his own mother in her sexy best, the slim stomach, thick thighs, inviting breasts, it was almost too much joy to take in.
“Are you ashamed?” she asked him. “I understand it may look demeaning but I do not feel that way. If an issue must be dealt with, why should I not use my natural, feminine ways? My mother did the same; whenever an important man would come to our house, she would offer her services, look her best, there was nothing wrong with it…Sami, are you angry?”
“N-no I’m not,” Sami was more turned-on than anything, he shuffled his legs around to not make it obvious. “I’m just really…surprised.”
“Ok, I understand. Could you wait by the door? Let your principal in if he knocks.”
She rushed into the bathroom, shuffling around the cabinets. Sami leaned on the couch, tactfully rubbing away while his mother was not looking. Farah then came pendik escort bayan out the bathroom holding a bottle of lube and sanitizer gel.
Knock, knock. “Hello? Is Mrs. Azim in?”
“That’s him, stay there, be a witness.”
She sashayed over to the door and opened it.
“Ah hello Mrs…oh God.”
Farah looked at him with an innocent expression. “Yes? Are you my son’s principal?”
“I’m yes, I’m yes.” Having Farah’s giant breasts in his eyeline scrambled his speech.
“Come on in.” Farah walked inside with an exaggerated hip sway walk.
When The Principal saw Sami standing there he got a distinct croak in his voice. “Oh, oh, ah, yes, ah.”
She stood with her hands clasped, ready to conduct business. “Please, he won’t be any trouble. Now I hear you want to give my son a larger workload?”
“Ah, yes, that’s true, but, but, but we can talk about it.”
“It will not take long. Here is my offer: you come into the bedroom, drop your pants, I will rub your penis with this hand and you will make sure my son gets no extra work.”
“Oh, deal, deal, done, done.”
Farah pointed to her right. “Go on inside.”
The Principal rushed into the bedroom. Farah looked at her son; he didn’t know what to say, so he nodded. She smiled, took the lube and hand gel, went inside the bedroom, closing the door as she went in.
“You didn’t have to be naked for this,” she said.
“Is, is it ok?”
“Will you be…naked?”
“Yes, I do not want to stain my lingerie, it is quite expensive. Please try to ejaculate on the plastic. Hands to your sides.”
It all went quiet for a bit. Then, a minute later, Sami heard loud squishing sounds. She was doing it: his mother was giving his principal a handjob. A minute later, Sami heard a horribly loud moan:
“OHHHH DEAR GOD!”
Sami backed away from the door. He was hearing one of the most unattractive sounds in human history: the male scream-gasm.
They were deep, satanic, primal groans of delight. “OHHHH! AHHHH! OH! AHHH! OHHH! AH, AH, AH! AH! AH!”
Sami retreated to the couch, television on. After a minute, The Principal came hobbling out the bedroom, legs shaking, cheeks red.
Farah came out in her black robe, her lingerie on the floor behind her.
“Please, tell my son what you just told me.”
“Umm, yes…you won’t have to do any extra work.”
“Thank you for coming, please see yourself out,” she put her hand on his back and halfway pushed him out the apartment.
“M-Mom,” said Sami after his principal had left. “What if he tells someone about this?”
“Not to worry,” she reached into her bedroom and grabbed her IPhone. “I got insurance, I got it all taped. American technology is so fantastic, amazing really. I’m going to the shower now. You ok?”
“I’m ok, Mom.”
It took all of five minutes. He saw, heard, and knew it was recorded, yet he still couldn’t believe it: His sexy middle-eastern mother had jerked off his American principal in his home — for his benefit. Sami was zombified in front of the television, hands on his pants without him noticing.
His mother came out of the shower, wearing a long white bathrobe, towel around her hair. She sat down on the couch, a cushion away from her son.
“Are you ok, Sami?”
“Yeah, I’m doing fine. I’m ok.”
“Good, I am glad…I do not think it’s an appropriate topic for a mother and son to discuss, but if you have any questions, you may ask.”
Sami knew he had to tread very carefully. “Umm, yeah Mom,” he said with a nervous laugh, “It’s pretty weird, yeah…I just, umm, ok don’t tell me what you do with the men, I just want to know if you have…proper intercourse with them, be-because I want to know if you’re being safe! Is all I want to know, if you are putting yourself at risk, you know, because I don’t wanna worry.”
“Ok, I understand, that is an important question, I shall answer. I do not want to say too much, but I will let you know that I do not have sex with them, no sex; I only do what you just heard. Quick, clean pleasure, ok Sami?”
“Ok, Mom…Cou-could you tell me the kind of men you did this with? If you don’t want to that’s fine.”
“No I think you deserve to know. Umm, for your benefit, the men that you know about, that would be what you want to know?”
“Ok, let me think…The man in the amusement park who said you were too short to go on the ride, the man who fixed the pipes, the nice teacher you had who helped with your history homework, our old neighbour who didn’t like the balls you kicked in his yard, umm, the karate teacher, I had to do that for each lesson, umm…many times I did not need to offer a service, a costume change was sufficient. Small American shorts, tight t-shirts, push-up bras, I even wore my swimwear once at the old house when your soccer coach came over — Oh I’m sorry, I got a little carried away, I talked too much. Of course there are also several high-ranking business men, but that is work-related and I’ll keep that information to myself.”
Hearing his mother so casually list off all the men she’s jerked off, possibly forgetting some along the way, was the most turned-on Sami had ever been. He needed to leave the room to let out all his “feelings.”
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