Teaching Their Mommy-Slut
"You are going to be such a good, little masseuse, aren't you, Mommy-slut," my girlfriend said, a husky tone in her voice as I pulled my car into the back lot of the Lady Touch Massage Parlor.
"Yes, Daughter," Mrs. Armstrong said, her voice submissive as she sat in the backseat.
We'd just picked her up from her home. We got to own her during the day. She was our sex slave. Well, technically she was Stefani's sex slave, but my lover was more than happy to share her mommy-slut with the entire family. We used Mrs. Armstrong, enjoyed her, and then returned her to her husband for the evening. We didn't want to break up their marriage.
It was hot making her go to church with her husband, to pretend to the world that she was his demure and faithful wife while we made her our whore. The last few weeks had been naughty. It was just such a treat.
It was all my brother's doing. Clint had manipulated everything, convincing the wimpy Mr. Armstrong that we needed to control his wife and keep her from being a complete whore. The supposed uptight woman was a slave to her lusts.
Now she was a slave to ours.
I stepped out of the car onto the gravel of the back lot and stretched my back. I shuddered, my fingers flexing. My hips wiggled back and forth as I closed the door. My lover sauntered around the vehicle, a wicked grin on her face as her mother climbed out, her auburn hair sweeping around her face. Mrs. Armstrong wore her modest dress like usual. You would never know she was a sex slave. Even the choker she wore didn't look unusual.
It was a gold plate on a chain that fit snug about her throat and read, "Devoted Mommy." It was so innocent. I bet the women at church admired it, not knowing it was her slave collar, proof that Stefani owned her.
I unlocked the rear door of the shop. The massage parlor opened in an hour. Lee, Juana, and Carmelita would be along soon, but we were here a little early to teach Mrs. Armstrong. We wanted her to work here.
To give wanton massages.
"What if someone I know comes here," Mrs. Armstrong said as we slipped inside the parlor.
"Well, then they'll know you're a lesbian whore, too," Stefani said. She smacked her mother on the rump. My lover's green eyes were bright, her pierced nipples pressing hard against the stretchy, material. Her breasts jiggled. "Isn't that wonderful?"
"Yes, Daughter," said Mrs. Armstrong, her cheeks blushing.
I smiled and opened the door. I smacked Mrs. Armstrong's rump as she passed, her brown skirt molding to her ass for a second. I could feel she didn't have any underwear underneath. She wasn't allowed to wear any undergarments.
The moment she was inside, her fingers went to the buttons of her dress. She worked them down, popping the buttons through the eyelets. She bit her lower lip as she exposed more and more of her round breasts. They were the same size as her daughter's, but softer.
Would Stefani's grow larger now that she was pregnant, too? We just found out yesterday. Clint had definitely bred her that day we broke Mr. Armstrong and got him to agree to make Mrs. Armstrong our slut.
Mrs. Armstrong stepped out of her dress, folding it up, her naked breasts jiggling. Her cheeks still had that delicious blush. Juices gleamed on her dark-red bush. She wiggled her hips back and forth, her thighs rubbing tight.
"Mmm," I said, sauntering to the parlor's employee breakroom, my fingers pulling up the hem of my halter top. I bared my large tits, my brassy hair falling around my shoulders. "We're going to teach you to be the best masseuse, Mrs. Armstrong. You're going to be loving all our customers without getting paid."
"Eating their pussies," moaned Stefani.
"Licking their assholes," I groaned.
"Drinking their pee," said Stefani. "Oh, wait, you only get to drink our pee."
Mrs. Armstrong let out a low, throaty moan. She hadn't known about that perversion until Stefani pissed in her mouth two weeks ago, but she'd loved it. The older woman was such a slut. She wanted it all. She craved wicked passion.
I unsnapped the button to my shorts. I thrust them down along with my panties, my pussy freshly shaved by Lee this morning. My naked breasts swayed as I folded up my clothing and slipped them into a cubby. Stefani stripped beside me, her dandelion tattoo coming into view, bright and sunny on her pubic mound. Her pussy lips looked so juicy and engorged, her clit peeking out.
I licked my lips, aching to feast on her.
Her pierced nipples gleamed as she grabbed her masseuse robe. We wore these pastel, silk robes that were often doffed when we were alone with our clients. We had many regulars that came here just to have naughty orgasms, though a few women only wanted to be massaged.
We slipped out and headed to a massage room. I lit an incense stick as my redheaded lover stretched out on her belly on the table, her rump wiggling back and forth. Her toes flexed and curled. Her head vanished into the oval cutout at the top of the massage table, padded to provide comfort for her.
"I'm going to rub all over your body, Daughter," Mrs. Armstrong purred as she pulled out the massage oil. "I'm going to relax you."
"Good," she said. "I'm super preggers. I need it."
"You're not super preggers," I said, shaking my head. "You're not even showing.
I'm
not even super preggers." I was starting to have morning sickness. It wasn't bad, just some nausea in the morning that some saltine crackers helped settle.
"I'm
super
preggers, Yunie!" my lover said, her rump clenching. "I need to be pampered."
"Of course, Daughter," Mrs. Armstrong said, spreading the massage oil.
"Okay," I said, moving around the other side of the bed, my large breasts swaying. "I want you to really work those fingers into her muscles. Don't be timid. You're not going to hurt her. And pay attention to what you're touching. You can feel where there are knots in the muscles."
Mrs. Armstrong nodded. The married sex slave pressed her hands into her daughter's back. She massaged the flesh, working her digits into them. Stefani moaned in delight. I watched the MILF work, my pussy itching as she stroked her daughter's flesh.
Mrs. Armstrong's green eyes had a glossy passion in them as she massaged her way across Stefani's back, my lover groaning and cooing the entire way. My pussy dripped juices. It was so hot watching the mother pleasure her daughter.
Massages were such intimate acts. The rubbing of a person's exposed flesh formed a naughty connection. I bit my lip, my fingers itching to rub my cunt as Mrs. Armstrong went lower and lower, working in circles. I gave small corrections from time to time, having her put more pressure here, to work a little more vigorous there.
"Listen to Stefani's breathing, to the sounds she makes," I said, my nipples throbbing. "You can tell if she likes it or hates it. Moderate your actions. Adjust yourself. If she coos, work there more. Relax her."
"Yes, yes, relax me," moaned Stefani, her voice already a little drowsy. "Mmm, that's good, Mommy-slut."
"I'm glad, Daughter," panted the MILF.
