Brother's Dominating Instructions
I loved the shock in Mr. Armstrong's eyes as he witnessed what a lying bitch his wife was.
He was aghast as he watched his supposed faithful, Christian wife getting wild with my mother and me. The slender man trembled in his doorstep. His hand shook as he stared at the tablet held in my brother's hand.
Clint's plan was well underway.
My brother and I stood on the Armstrongs' porch. On the tablet's screen, you could see Mrs. Armstrong, recorded by the hidden camera in my purse I'd set up on Clint's orders, feasting on my mother's and my pussy. We were tribbing each other as she ate our pussy. She licked up and down our twats, feasting on us with a hunger that was incredible. She moaned as she devoured us.
I shuddered as I remembered this amazing delight from a few days ago.
"This... this..." Mr. Armstrong looked up at Clint. There was no color left in the man's face.
"Right now, your wife is at The Lady's Touch Massage Parlor," said Clint, his voice powerful. He wasn't a skinny man. My younger brother had strength. The domination to have claimed every woman in our family, plus others, into his harem.
Even me. I was his sister-with-benefits. Not a lover or a sex slave, but someone who loved her brother's cock, a change of pace from the lesbian delights I normally enjoyed with Mr. Armstrong's daughter, Stefani, and other women.
"She's at that lesbian massage parlor she led the protest against," Clint continued. "That's where she is right now. She's there, getting teased. Touched. Pleasured."
Mr. Armstrong trembled. "Why are you showing me this?"
"I want to know what you're going to do about it," Clint said. "Are you going to be a man? Are you going to rule your wife? You're a Christian, Mr. Armstrong. You're supposed to be the head of your household. Look at your wife. Look at how wanton she's become. Time for you to take charge of your wife."
The man swallowed. "I don't... She... This is..."
I shook my head in disgust.
"It's okay, Mr. Armstrong," Clint said, thrusting the tablet into my hands, my moans coming out of the cheap speakers. I turned it off as Clint continued, "I'll teach you. Let's go."
"Go?" the weak man said.
"Yeah, go," I said, taking his hand and pulling on him. "Let's go take care of your wife."
Mr. Armstrong stumbled after me on the walk from his front door to his car. It was Saturday morning, the sun was out, his neighbors doing their yard work, standard suburban activity. Mrs. Armstrong pretended she fit in. A perfect wife. A pillar of her church.
A closet lesbian who shunned her daughter for loving me.
My blood boiled. I squeezed Mr. Armstrong's hand, almost crushing it. He winced as I marched to Clint's car. I pushed the older man towards the rear door. He slipped into the back seat, his eyes distant. He looked utterly rocked. His wife had betrayed him.
The cunt had to pay.
I slipped into the passenger seat as Clint drove. Mr. Armstrong made strangled noises as we drove through our town, heading towards The Lady Touch Massage Parlor. It was the brainchild of a family friend. Juana was a dominating lesbian who, with Clint's help, turned her older sister into a sex slave. Carmelita was Mrs. Armstrong's favorite masseuse.
She was taking care of the cheating bitch right now.
Clint didn't take us to the front of the massage parlor, but to a small parking lot behind the building. It was the rear entrance. We couldn't have men being seen entering our lesbian massage parlor. It was a safe place for women to be free to enjoy themselves.
Lee opened the back door and beckoned us inside. My little sister had a huge grin on her face, making her look even younger, a child with her hand in the cookie jar and not caring that she was caught. Her short, black hair swayed about her face.
My brassy hair swayed as I stood up, my nipples aching atop my large breasts. Clint wrenched open the car's back door and hauled out Mr. Armstrong. The man looked dazed. He stumbled as Clint pushed him to the door.
"Wow, Master," Lee said, staring at Mr. Armstrong, "what did you do to him?"
"Truth sucks sometimes," Clint said, his voice hard. He believed a man should take charge of his family. It was a philosophy our deceased father shared. He had raised Clint, molding him subtly to be ready to take charge of his sisters. With the premature loss of our dad, Clint had to step up to take charge of every woman, especially our mother drowning in grief.
"Mr. Armstrong," Lee said, "your wife is with one of our skilled masseuses. Your wife's a regular, you know."
"I.. I..." Mr. Armstrong said.
Lee led the way. I smiled as we passed Room 3 on our way to Room 4. I glanced at the door, hearing the faint moans coming from the room as Mrs. Armstrong enjoyed herself. I smiled as we went into Room 4.
It was set up differently than normal. We had a large TV in here hooked up to a computer. There was a security camera feed. We had added a single spycam to Room 3, something just for today. We didn't normally record our clients.
We wanted them to have privacy.
On the screen was Mrs. Armstrong climbing onto the massage table. Carmelita was lying on her back, her Golden-Brown skin contrasting with the married woman's paler skin. Mr. Armstrong groaned as he watched his wife lick her lips and lean her head down.
"Mmm, yes, yes," moaned Carmelita, her round breasts jiggling. She had a landing strip leading to her shaved pussy. "Get down to there and exercise that tongue. You were so mean to us. After all the pleasure I gave you, you tried to destroy us."
"I'm sorry," said Mrs. Armstrong. "I just freaked out."
She pressed her face into Carmelita's cunt. She licked as Mr. Armstrong groaned. He stared at the screen, watching as Carmelita shuddered. Mrs. Armstrong had her tongue jammed in the Hispanic slave's pussy. It was incredible to watch. The MILF's round tits swayed beneath her. Her auburn hair spilled around her head. Her rump was gorgeous.
I wanted to spank that ass.
"What is going on?" Mr. Armstrong said.
"That's a live feed of what's happening in the next room," Clint said. "Your wife is in there, getting her weekly massage. You can hear her through the walls." Clint picked up a remote and hit the mute button. Through the walls, you could hear the faint moans continue on.
Clint unmuted it.
"Why are you doing this?" Mr. Armstrong groaned. "Why punish me?"
"Punish you?" Clint demanded, anger rising. "I want to inspire you to take charge. Your wife tried to destroy this place because she's a hypocritical cunt. She freaked out because she
enjoyed
the things she does here. She writhed and shuddered and came over and over, and she loved it. And you know why?"
Mr. Armstrong shook his head.
"Because you weren't a man," Clint growled, jamming a finger into Mr. Armstrong's chest. "You didn't give your wife what she needed. It takes more than just being a milquetoast provider for your family. You have to give your wife the pleasures she needs. You have to be strong. You have to be the man of the house. When she's bad, you have to correct her. When she's good, you have to reward her. Love her.
"Make her cum."
"Do you make your wife cum?" I asked.
He swallowed.
"That's what I thought," Clint said. "She's found a way to cum, and she loves it. So you have a choice. Be a pussy, stay in here, and watch her soil your marriage, or go in there and take control of your wife. There's no divorce for Christians, right? There's no getting away from her. That's a sin your wife's committing. You have to take control of her."
His back straightened. I smiled as Clint molded the man. My brother knew what to say. I could see a spine forming in Mr. Armstrong for the first time. It was amazing to witness. His fists clenched. His eyes were on the screen.
"It's your
duty
to take charge of her," Clint said. "Your responsibility as the head of the household, as a Christian husband."
