Incestuous Flesh Massaged Ch. 05

Her husband bought all her sobbing words. He hugged her like a beta cuck and told her what an amazing woman she was to recognize her mistake.

God, Mr. Armstrong was pathetic.

Our clients started to filter back in. Things weren't fully back to our first week in business, but the heat was dying down. Luckily, the protest didn't gather any support beyond a few fringe Christian sites. No police ever showed up to ask questions.

It was Saturday morning. I stretched my back as I sat beside Clint in his car. It was a comfortable Lexus. My phone beeped. I grabbed it as Clint glanced at me. He wore a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, looking relaxed and somehow dangerous all at the same time.

It was a text from Lee: "She's arrived and with Carmelita in room 3."

I nodded to Clint.

He started up the car and drove us around the corner onto a residential street. Three houses down, he pulled into a driveway I hadn't been at in years. The Armstrong residence. A nervous shudder ran through me as I climbed out of the car.

Clint led the way, marching up to the door with purpose, a tablet clenched in his hand. He reached the door and hammered it hard.

"Yes?" a man's voice asked. "Can I help you?"

"Mr. Armstrong, it's Clint Elliston," my brother said.

The door opened. "Clint?" my girlfriend's father said. "And... Zoey. Um, can I help you?"

"Do you know where your wife is?" Clint asked.

"She started some book club," he said. "They're going to be meeting every Saturday."

"You sure about that?" Clint asked as he swiped the screen of the tablet, turning it on. The video I recorded in the hotel room was already loaded. Clint turned it to face the man and tapped the screen.

The video began playing.

Mrs. Armstrong's punishment wasn't over. Not yet.

To be continued...