24 comments/ 86129 views/ 35 favorites Barry's Queens Ch. 01 By: LordOfHell Sorry, readers, for the amount of time it's taken me to get this done. I've been working on this story since I published the last, but just wasn't able to get it done until now. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. I have to warn you, though, that this is the longest story I've done on this site yet. For those of you who are new, this is the eleventh installment of my Garrett series, my longest series on the site. The chapters can be read in this order: Ariadne's Dreams (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4) Barry's Sluts (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3) Suzanna's Darlings (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3) If you don't wish to read all of that first, then that's no problem. You can enjoy this story on its own as well. Thank you for reading, and leave a comment! ****** SHORT CAST OF CHARACTERS Barry Garrett ------- Billionaire; owner of an adult media empire, and Master to dozens of submissive Sluts Suzanna Garrett ------- Barry's wife and Alpha Slut; former porn star Ariadne Garrett ------- Barry's mother; mother of ten of Barry's children Imani Ahmad ------- Barry's sister; an FBI agent and a newly collared Slut Lyrica Garrett ------- Barry's first-born child, born from his own mother Sylvester "Sly Cat" Castiglione ------- Mob boss; Barry's friend Sabre Kilroy ------- Underworld kingpin Peter MacAster ------- Barry's attorney Rebecca Swaim ------- Host of "Late Night Erotic" ****** ****** NOW Ominous breathing seethed from the other end of the phone line. The unseen party sounded raspy and out of breath, as if fresh from a five-mile jog. There was a muffled distortion, perhaps indicating that some sort of rag or mask was pulled over the mouth. An electronic distortion lowered their voice's pitch, and created a booming, threatening echo It was clear the other party was going well out of their way to disguise their voice, like a demon straight from hell. "So do I have your attention now?" "Who is this?!" Barry demanded. "That question doesn't matter, Mr. Garrett. What matters is that I'm the one with the power, so I am the one who will ask the questions and you are the one who will listen. Understood?" The malice emanating through the receiver was so strong, it felt like oily tendrils, clamping around Barry's throat. Even he, someone who had spent his life renouncing fear in its many forms, felt a twinge of it talking to the evil that seeped from the other end. But dauntlessly, he kept his head. "No, I don't think so," he retorted. "Either you tell me what you want, or I hang up." The echoing voice laughed. "Oh that's good, Mister Garrett. Or should I say . . . Doctor Garrett?! After all, you are a counseling psychologist now, aren't you? Yes, you hang your doctorate certificate so proudly on the back of the office wall. Right next to your German degree in sexology, and your many motorcycle, boxing, and skeet-shooting trophies." A lump appeared in his throat at the description which decribed the area behind him with such uncanny accuracy. If Barry hadn't known better, he would almost think his enemy were in the room with him now. Maybe they were watching him—or could see him right this very moment. What passed through Barry was a feeling that he'd never experienced before. An uncomfortable, powerful feeling that almost made him want to tear off his own skin It was the feeling of being violated. "I'm impressed, though. Controlled breathing, authoritative tone, and a bluff. All ways to assert power over a blackmailer and make them believe that they need to play your game. It was as if you'd read a negotiation handbook." As a matter of fact, he had. He'd had prior experience with it, after all. "Where are you?" "Let me put your mind at ease by assuring you that I'm not in your home, Dr. Garrett. However, let me amend that ease with the promise that I am very much not an imbecile. I know very well that you have no power over me, but I have the ability to destroy you in an instant. I have, in a very short time, given you just a taste of what I can do . . . the many ways I can hurt you. If you wish to experience more, then please, try my patience. But if not, I suggest that you listen and only speak when I tell you to." Barry growled under his breath. Whoever this person was, they weren't an ordinary crook. For whatever reason, their beef with him was personal. There was a level of anger . . . of sadism in their voice he'd never encountered before. They had a point to prove. "Alright," Barry spoke quietly. "I'm listening." ****** THIRTY MONTHS AGO "Okay, Garrett, here's the deal: the Deputy Director has agreed that we can keep your little . . . indiscretions with Agent Ahmad under wraps. Officially, she's an undercover agent infiltrating a dangerous criminal organization, so she's being granted enough leeway to do whatever it takes to get the job done. If that includes getting hot and sweaty with a man on the inside or getting a regular visit from the stork now and again, that's something the Bureau can handle . . . so long as that stork is dropping of bundles of information along with joy. You're getting us results, kid. In addition to the 3 billion in syndicate busts a while back, you've already helped us catch a fugitive we'd thought had fled the country weeks ago. These sorts of results are what we can use right now." Barry nodded, swallowing his disbelief. The Federal Bureau of Investigations just gave him permission to fuck one of their best agents. Who, incidentally, was also his sister. He just got the official word that they had no intention of stepping in and putting a stop to it . . . Even though Imani was now pregnant with his child. "But let me reiterate—this whole mess is on your head. If this goes south, or blows up in our faces, the Bureau is pulling out and leaving you two to drown on your own. We can and will disavow Ahmad as a rogue agent if and when we even get a hint that things are turning for the worst. Her ties with the Bureau will be terminated, she'll end up blacklisted, and any and all protection we provide you will be off the table. You will be completely responsible and complicit for any wrongs that turn up in an official investigation. That clear?" Barry nodded. "Yeah, got it." "Okay, then." Wilkes took a sip from his margarita and pushed his sunglasses back on his face. "Good luck to you, you sick fuck," he said with a friendly smirk. Barry left the restaurant and texted his driver. Within a minute, his black luxury sedan was pulled up to the sidewalk, and his long-legged, vivacious Slavic driver was opening the door for him. Barry climbed into the back seat, where his older sister was waiting for him. "Well, what did he say?" she asked nervously. "He said you're mine," Barry summarized with a wicked grin. "Oh thank God," Imani said, clutching her round, pregnant belly. "Barry . . . Master . . . I can't tell you how relieved that makes me." "Me either," he said, placing a loving hand upon his sister's thigh. "Finally, I can have my big sister all to myself." She turned her head, to avoid letting him see her blush. "We still have a lot to do, though." "Yes, Master." "Take off your top," Barry instructed his sister. With a nervous swallow, Imani reached up to her shoulders and pulled the straps of her gown. Slowly, gently, she pulled the material until it fell away an revealed her tremendous, full chocolate breasts. "You hesitated for a moment," Barry said coldly. "I'm going to have to train you better. You understand, Titty Toy, that my Sluts are to obey me without hesitation and without question, don't you?" She gasped. "Yes, Master." "Do you want me to touch your tits, my Slut? Do you want to feel my hands rub, pinch and pull them?" "Yes, Master!" she gasped. Barry nodded. "Roll down the window." Imani didn't hesitate this time. She lowered the tinted windows, allowing the cool autumn breeze to flow into the car, gently caressing her soft skin and her smooth, buoyant breasts. At the same time, people were going about their business barely twenty feet away. Men and women out jogging, old folk walking their pets, college students hurrying to and from classes . . . Almost none of them aware of the busty black woman in the back of the limo riding with her tits open. And when one of them, such as a cycler speeding along beside the car, would get a quick glance, it was always over before they could confirm what they had seen. Imani was nearly petrified—with fear, with excitement, with shock about what she was doing. Barry had seen this look dozens, if not hundreds, of times already. This was what it meant to "train" a Slut. Little by little, it meant putting her in gently uncomfortable situations, breaking down the boundaries that people built up all of their lives that prevented them from exploring true sexual freedom. The key to training any submissive was always finding a safe way to help them overcome their fears. To push them, like a child taking its first steps, slowly down the path that they would walk on their own. "Take a breath," he instructed, appreciating her heaving and falling breasts as she did. "Feel better?" "A—A little, Master," she squeaked. "Good," he smirked. He returned to business, to take her mind off of things. "Imani, are we any closer to figuring out who brought Hasana into my studio?" She took a breath, still aware that her breasts were in public view. Even so, she answered her Master's question, as she had been ordered. "We're only getting breadcrumbs. The dominoes aren't falling into place yet. We know that someone in New York was responsible for shipping the girls, and then they exchanged hands with the Syndicate at some point. With the Syndicate broken up, though, it's harder for us to get answers, because we can't directly link one group to the other." Ever since the Syndicate had been dismantled, the Tri-State area had been divided between three rival families: the Morettis, the Saracinos, and the Castigliones. The first year or so after the Syndicate's fall had made New England pretty much a war zone as the three did whatever it took to compete. Car bombings, hired hits, even attacking each other when visiting their kids' schools or visiting a church. But enough was enough. The Bureau needed someone to step in. Somebody had to take the first steps to reestablishing order in the area, but without letting something as evil as the Syndicate—or moreso—take power. And that was where Barry came in. "Undress yourself completely," Barry again instructed his sister, leaning coolly in his seat. "Then toss your clothing out of the window. Again, Imani did as ordered. Maneuvering in the spacious, maneuverable rear of the luxury sedan, Imani gently pushed the remnants of her clothing down to her hips, then wiggled to lift her ass off of the seats. Perversely, Barry watched his sister shed her clothing, revealing her completely naked, pregnant form. Unable to hold himself back, he placed a soft, loving hand on one of his sister's gigantic breasts and gave them a good squeeze. It pleased them to feel how full they were becoming with milk for his baby. Then, his hand slowly, gently crept along her flesh until it rested on her large, second-trimester-large belly. "Watch it," she said with a smirk as her gown flew into the street. "He kicks like Pelé." There was no words to describe the joy that went through Barry, hearing his sister lovingly describe their incestuous child even as it grew in their womb. Like responsible parents, they had been monitoring their child's growth incessantly, because there was always a risk whenever siblings created life together. But, the Garrett genes had proven strong so far, even with the nine babies his mother had given him, each of his children had been perfectly healthy. And really, no women handled pregnancy as well as Garrett women. ****** TWENTY-EIGHT MONTHS AGO The door to Barry's home office knocked, pulling him away from his computer. Finally glad to pull his eyes away from business, he leaned back and hollered for whomever was on the other side to enter. "Master? Is it alright if I take up some of your time?" Imani's beautiful mocha-colored face peaked from the other side of the door. "Not at all, Titty Toy." Imani's full figure appeared, dressed in the sexy, translucent gown that she had chosen as her uniform. It did absolutely nothing to hide the contours of her body, barely hiding her 41-F breasts. Her body was truly unique, with much more muscle and a thicker torso than most women, a feature which was only accentuated by her dark skin. Imani knew how to balance a sculpted, bodybuilder physique with a perfectly feminine figure and massive natural breasts. She was a superheroine come to life—a perfect for a geek like Barry. After weeks of diligent training, Imani now yearned to show off her body and her belly. As part of her submission, she'd vowed to her Master that she would find a way to retain her muscle tone and figure even after she had her baby—a promise she worked hard every day to keep. And just as Barry had ordered, his Titty Toy always wore clothes a size or two too small, just so that some of her belly always peeked out and her nipples were always ready. "Master, I've brought a guest that you may be interested in seeing." "A guest? I didn't get informed of any guests on the property." Imani nodded. "That's because I ordered Security to let her through without incident. I know that you like being informed of any guests, but I wanted to surprise you." Barry chose to let the incident go. "You said it's a 'she'?" "Yes. Someone I'm sure you'd like to see." She turned to the door and stepped aside, allowing whoever was beside her to come inside. "Hasana!" Barry said, coming from behind his desk to greet her. Equally happy to see him, she rushed forward and threw her arms around him. Hasana was a young Yemeni whom Barry had rescued a year ago, with Imani's help. After being kidnapped in her homeland, she was forced to become a porn actress in Barry's studio. Her discovery was what had led him to an entire trafficking network acting just under his nose . . . a discovery that had changed everything. If it'd never happened, then in all likelihood Barry would be dead or in prison now, his company under Syndicate control, and more girls like Hasana enslaved. In a way, Barry owed Hasana his life as much as she owed him hers. Gently slipping from their embrace, he stepped back and admired her. "Look at you! You're doing great!" She blushed, even noticeable under the heavy makeup she wore. She was so different from the night he'd rescued her, where she'd been a naked mess, sobbing her innocent heart out. "Please come in and sit," Barry told her, directing her to the sofa. Still smiling, she sat down between both Barry and Imani. "So, tell me . . . how have you been!? What's been going on?" The confused girl looked at Imani, who translated what Barry had said into Arabic. Hasana smiled and then spoke with Barry again, speaking her native language. "She says she's doing very well, thanks to you. Because you fought to keep her from being deported back to Yemen." Barry smiled. "Of course. I know it's rough there, and I didn't want everything you've been through to be for nothing. As I said before, you're part of my family, Hasana, and I will take care of you." Imani again translated for her, and Hasana's blush renewed. "Thank you," Imani said for her. "You don't know what that means to me. I've been to counseling for my . . . ordeals . . . and I've been trying to forget, but . . ." "It's okay," Barry nodded, his arm finding her shoulder. He understood how hard this was. As a sexologist, he'd spoken with victims of rape and sexual abuse many times, and it was always hard for them to speak about what they'd been through. For Hasana, the ordeal had been barely a year ago, so it was very much a fresh wound. "So, what are you going to do? Will you go to school like you wanted? You said you wanted to be a physicist, if I remember correctly . . ." "Yes. I want to go to school and get a respectable job. I didn't have many opportunities to do so in my country. But, I'm scared. I'm alone in this country, and I don't have friends or even a job. I can't speak much of this language, and I've never lived on my own before. I don't . . . I don't know if I can make it by myself . . ." Barry only nodded. Imani squeezed the girl's tender hand and waited for her to continue. "If I go back to Yemen, I will never have this chance again. I may even be killed . . . or worse. I will never be treated the same again. I have committed zina." Barry looked at Imani. "Zina? What's zina?" "It's the Muslim crime of fornication. She had sex with someone other than a legal spouse, so that makes her unchaste and wicked. On paper, rape doesn't count as part of the crime, but in practice . . . it's very difficult for women who are seen as impure to be respected. In her country . . . it's not even unheard of for her to be killed for her 'crime'." Barry's brow clenched. "I won't let that happen. No one should ever be looked down because of sex. And certainly not when they've been through what you have. " After Imani interpreted for them, Hasana smiled. "I was hoping you would say that," Imani translated. "That is why I have come to you." She stood, and in almost one motion, Hasana's robes fell to the floor, and her headscarf was cast aside to allow her beautiful black hair to shake loose and fall to her shoulders. Before he could even process what was happening, Barry was staring at a bronze, naked figure of Arabian perfection. Hasana's body was astounding. Her breasts were so perky, so natural. There was something magical about a young, healthy pair, not especially large or inflated. . . but natural perfection, like a pair of succulent, beautiful peaches. Hasana's contours were perfect—a thin waist with powerful, wide hips. The difference from her waist to hips perfect for bearing children. Even her ass was round and plump . . . the type Barry worshipped. Hasana stood and turned, placing her entire body on display for him. Barry turned to Imani, but she only glanced back with an "I have no idea" face. Hasana spoke, and Imani translated. "I have heard that you have many lovers, and that you treat them as you would treat many wives. I have already broken the laws of my faith, and I will never be truly accepted back. I wish for Allah to forgive me, but I'm afraid. It might be too late for me. But you are a good man. You have seen my body like this before. You already own part of my innocence. For that reason, I would submit myself to you, and serve you as faithfully as I would a husband. I will give you many children, and perform any wifely duties that you ask." Barry's Queens Ch. 01 Barry's cock was already alive. Somehow, he could understand what Hasana was saying even if Imani hadn't been there. He may not have known Arabic, but he could always comprehend the language of lust. For years, Barry dreamed of collaring an Arab woman. In many ways, they were forbidden fruit. And every man on the planet secretly wanted everything that he couldn't have. Even more than that, he loved Arabian women. Their beauty was renowned, and their loyalty to their men unparalleled. He still yearned for an Arab pet in his "collection". He was a hedonist, of course. He couldn't help it. Barry stood, staring deeply into Hasana's eyes. Gently, his hands squeezed her shulders. Warmly, he smiled. "No. I will not collar you." Hasana didn't need Imani to translate that first word. She understood it well enough. Imani also didn't need to translate the next word she spoke. "W-Why!?" Barry drew a pronounced breath. God, looking at that beautiful woman . . . his cock struggled for control. But he needed his brain to win. "Because, Hasana, as far as I'm concerned, you're still a slave." She tilted her head questioningly to Imani. Her eyes turned back to Barry, and he motioned for her to sit. "Hasana, the number one thing I believe in in this world is sexual freedom. I will never collar someone who feels forced to be with me or who feels that they have nowhere else to go. Every single person I have collared always had many other options before they came to me, and they will always have options should they choose to leave. "Sex and power alone mean nothing to me—what's sexy to me is choice. "Any woman who is mine has become so because I am her best choice out of many." When this only fueled her confusion, he continued. "Imagine if you were in a beauty contest, Hasana. Would it mean anything to you if you were the only woman competing? Would you feel like you had accomplished anything at all if the judges had no one to pick but you?" Imani explained, and then Hasana lowered her head and shook it. "Then you understand my position. I cannot collar you, because doing so would be doing both of us a disservice. It would rob you of the freedom of choice. And it would rob me of any true meaning to my conquest." Shame crept onto the girl's face as Imani translated for her. Trying to cheer her up, Imani put an arm around her. "But . . . what will I do . . .?" Imani translated the girl's sobs. Barry took her hand again. "You're going to get a job, continue your therapy, and go to school is what. Imani, does the Bureau have access to groups that can help? Do you have the resources to point her in the right direction?" "Yes, of course." "Then talk to whomever you need to and set it up. I want Hasana getting the best care possible. I'll even pay for up to five years of room and board to live anywhere she chooses, as well as any expenses for her education that aren't covered by grants, awards or scholarships. Is that clear?" Imani was glowing. "Yes, Master!" As Imani explained, Hasana's mouth fell, and Barry continued. "I don't ever want to hear you doubt yourself like that again, is that clear? I don't practice any organized religion, but I'm still believe there is a God, whatever name we choose to call Him. And I don't believe that any God as good as your Allah would ever abandon a smart, wonderful woman like you because of something so petty. I hope this isn't offensive . . . but if He would, then I say fuck Him and be happy for yourself. "So I'll make you a counter offer, Hasana. In five years' time . . . or whenever you finish your degree, whichever comes first . . . if you still feel that you belong here, you can come back, and I will accept you with open arms. I will take you as a wife—in spirit, if not legally. And I will do my damnedest to give you as many of my children as I possibly can. I will make it my business to keep you pregnant at every damn opportunity. "Is that acceptable to you?" Hasana nodded and swallowed, trying her best to hide how tempted she was by the offer. "Yes . . ." "Good," he said with a smile. Kissing Hasana quickly on the cheek, Barry stood and headed toward the door. "Imani, get her dressed and make sure she gets something to eat before she goes home. Then afterwards, come to me when you've got information on how we can set this all up." "Yes, Master," Imani told him. As Barry stepped through his office door, he heard a loud, Arabic accent cry, "THANK YOU!! ALLAH BLESS YOU!" Barry took one last deep breath in the hall, feeling pretty good about his morals, but with a libido that was quickly growing frustrated. Trena, who had been standing in the hall awaiting him, stepped to his aid. "You seem tense, Master. Is there anything I can do?" When his ravenous eyes fell upon hers, she already knew. ****** TWENTY-THREE MONTHS AGO "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MASTER!" Barry stared the machine that Emily and Ariadne had brought to his office, with the help of some of the male servants. It looked like it had been cannibalized from parts of a car engine, a mechanical bull, and a few other things he couldn't even begin to describe. Aside from a seat that was obviously meant for the user, it was impossible for him to make heads or tails of the damned thing. Mechanics were not part of his expertise. "So what . . . what does it do?" "You'll just have to find out, won't you, Master?" Ariadne cooed, still churning her hips in Barry's lap, letting her warm, soft ass rub itself all over her son's hips. As if to punish her for her little teasing, Barry gave her a hard slap on that gorgeous ass of his mother's, and she moaned deeply even as her pussy convulsed and she started cumming all over her son's cock. "Oh, Gooood," she screamed. "Do it, please. Cum inside me, Barry. Mommy needs your cum!" In a steady, loving rhythm, Barry's hips rose and fell—his long slick shaft almost dropping out of his mother's pussy, but then plunging back in deeply. Ariadne whimpered. "I can't go on like this! I'll do anything you ask, and I'll accept any punishment for being so weak . . . but right now, I'm so worked up that I'll just die if I can't have your cum inside me!" Barry chuckled. "Alright, Slut. I can't have you dying before my baby's born." He reached around and grabbed his mother's large, swollen tits as his hips sharply increased their speed. Ariadne's back fell upon her son's chest, fusing their bodies and their warmth together. With a solid grip on his mother's breasts, squeezing and pulling them to his own satisfaction, Barry started to pump closer to his own climax. Ariadne, almost gone to pleasure and lust, barely opened one eye to look at her own slave, and spouse. "Emily, come here and—aaaaaaah—lick Mistress's pussy—mnnngggh—and the Master's cock . . . until her pussy is full of his sperm," she commanded. Emily was already moving before Ariadne's words finished. "As it pleases you, My Mistress." Emily immediately fell to her knees and brought her lips to the magical point where mother and son met. Her tongue licked and traced upon both sexes, from cunt to cock and back again. One hand also fondled, caressed and stimulated the Master's balls while the other did the same to her Mistress's clit. The two bodies continued to slap together, and both mother and son muffled each other's cries with a steamy kiss. Even as Barry felt it building in his balls, Ariadne could sense it and her body shoot with hot passion. Even Emily seemed aware of what was coming, her fingers acting as a catalyst to intensify the inevitable. Barry let it come—he let the release hit right at this moment, with his both his tongue and his mother's exploring each other, and his arms wrapped around her pregnant body to fondle her lactating tits. He picked this moment because it served to remind them both of all that belonged to him, and always would belong to him. Barry's cum shot inside his mother's pussy, and she gasped as it coated her insides with its warm thickness. Normally at this point, Barry would keep it put to plug her up and make sure nothing leaked out, but that wouldn't have been fair. Ariadne was already pregnant, and Emily was there, gazing to his eyes and begging to let her taste them both. He obliged, removing his cock from his mother's hole and letting his juices ooze into her inviting womb. Emily's tongue was there, desperate to catch every drop. "Happy Birthday, Master," Ariadne again cooed, with much more exhausted breath. Barry responded by kissing her yet again. *** "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MASTER!" A chorus of voices sang. Barry's eyes shifted from person to person, staring at each of the twelve Sluts before him curiously. One of them handed him a large envelope, so full that it was actually heavy. He rose an eyebrow. "You girls should know how much I hate reading paperwork," he scolded. "So someone needs to tell me what this is before I bother opening it." Of all the girls, Chandra, Trena, Kitten, Shania, Amy, Rahel, Devorah, Consuela, Sonia, Anna, Veronika, and Jordana, Chandra seemed to be the least nervous. The gorgeous redhead had been a Slut long enough, and his reaction wasn't unexpected to her. "It's . . . a new kind of contract, My Master," she said with a twinkle in her eye. Curious, Barry finally chose to break the seal and see what lay inside. His hand caught a stack of papers, and he carefully read. "Form of Name Change . . . Chandra Burrell . . . Garrett?!" Grinning ear-to-ear, Chandra nodded. "Yes, Master." He repeated. "Chandra Burrell Garrett?!" Barry shuffled through the rest. "Gediki' Garrett. Trena Lin-Garrett . Devorah Garrett. Veronika Garrett. Jordana Garrett. Amy Kellogg-Garrett!?!" The other girls smiled. "Yes, Master." "Okaaaaay . . . what the eff is going on?" The girls glanced at each other with a flash of wickedness churning in their eyes, moments before breaking into a fit of giggle. "Well, naturally, we had all been thinking how wonderful it was to call you our Master, and how fantastic it feels to know how much you love each of us. But, we all know that as long as we live in this society that we will never be your wives. Not officially, anyway. But that doesn't mean we, personally, can't take it as far as possible. To show just how much we adore you, Master." "So you all got your last names changed . . .?" Again, they smiled. "Yes, Master." "Even you, Amy? What about your husband?" Amy Kellogg was one of the few women in Barry's stable that had been married before he collared her. That made their relationship particularly delicate. Still, being collared meant that Amy's pussy would never belong to her husband again so long as she wore it. Barry never, ever collared a woman unless she agreed that her pussy was his property from that moment on. Otherwise, both Amy and her husband were free to what they chose, and Barry always made sure both spouses were happy. Danny sometimes seemed a bit jealous of Barry 's ownership of his wife, but jealousy was part of the cuckold life. Barry respected the man and his sacrifice. The least he could do was be sure he was well cared-for. "Danny and I had been talking about this for weeks," Amy answered. "When I detailed the idea to him, and told him that I wanted to belong to you not just in body, but also in spirit, he had the biggest hard-on I'd ever seen. He's quite happy to be cucked to such a degree by a superior man, and I couldn't be more proud of him." "If that's the case, then I am, too. All the same, I'll be sure to have a chat with him, Amy, to make sure that there won't be any hard feelings or misunderstandings." "Of course, Master," she nodded. "I do love both of you, so I wouldn't expect anything less." "We also talked it over with Suzanna, Ariadne and Emily, Master. Just to be sure," Chandra explained. "Since they already bear your name." That was only technically true. Suzanna Garrett was Barry's wife, and his submissive. Ariadne Garrett was Barry's mother and his submissive. Emily Garrett was Ariadne's wife, but also his submissive's submissive. All three were both Garretts and his property. "Ariadne, of course, thought the whole thing was 'kind of silly and a little weird', but she had no personal objections if you didn't," Chandra told him. "And Emily, of course, agreed with what her Mistress said. Suzanna was totally keen on the idea. She loved the thought of being part of a real harem. In fact, she—" Trena elbowed Chandra sharply, cutting the redhead off. "Oh, oops. I almost let that slip!" she corrected. "I can't tell you enough how much this pleases me," he told them, intentionally ignoring that cryptic last statement. "I promise I will honor this gift, starting with a honeymoon for all of us. I'll take you anywhere the eleven of you can agree upon, and we'll have a formal wedding. If you wish to be my 'wives', then by all means. But we're going to do things the right way." His eleven brides blushed. "In that case, Master," Chandra began. Her voice almost seemed to have a hint of jealousy. "You'll want to see Suzanna's gift right away. If you liked this, you're going to love it." "Yeah, no shit. After all of this, I'm even more hyped than ever." *** "Master and Alpha Slut, I'll be just outside if you need anything. Also, Alpha Slut: you asked me to remind you to bring up certain matter with the Master during your meeting today." "Oh! That's right! I did almost forget! Thanks, Marie!" Suzanna beamed. Mariana gave her patented curtsey in reply. "That's why I'm here, ma'am." The door closed and finally they were alone. Barry and Suzanna. Husband and wife. Master and his favorite Slut. Barry scooped his beloved into his arms and kissed her so deeply and powerfully that it conquered time. As the moment slowed, Suzanna went limp in his arms and gave herself to him immediately, letting go and becoming fully immersed in their unconditional love. Finally, after that blissful eternity, their lips parted. "My goodness, Sir. Do you kiss all of your wives like that?" Barry chuckled. "Until a few minutes ago, I didn't know I had more than one." She smiled wickedly. "You deserve no less, my love." That made him happy. "So, before we begin, what was this business you wanted to bring up . . .?" Suzanna shrugged. "It's nothing that can't wait until we—" "If this subject is somewhat unpleasant, I'd rather get it out of the way now so I can end my birthday on a positive note. Now, tell me what's up. And that's an order, Slut." "Yes, Master," Suzanna nodded. "It's . . . Carla." One of the Master's newest Sluts, part of five girls he'd conquered in Venezuela months ago. Mariana had been part of that group, along with Sasha, Claudia and Abelina. "What about her?" "Well, she's . . . she's kind of being a bitch. She doesn't listen to any of the other Sluts, she doesn't do what I tell her, and she's constantly starting arguments with the rest of us over something petty, like politics. It's just . . . she really grates my nerves." Barry listened to his wife's concerns. "I'll handle it." His reassurance seemed to do the trick. "Thank you, Master. Just hearing you say that makes me feel ten times better." With a chortle, he said, "See? Was that so hard? Now, if there's nothing else, let's move on to the good part." "Yes, my Master . . . or should I say . . . my Lord." Barry eyed her a moment. "'Lord'?" "Mmmm-hmmmm," she cooed, a gentle finger searching the toned, masculine curves of his chest. Her other hand materialized from behind her back, as she presented her husband with an odd assortment of pamphlets, brochures and religious paraphernalia. "Baby Farm, what is this . . .?" he looked over the material. "Did you join some sort of cult?" "No, silly," she giggled. "I created one." "What . . .?" "Look at the name." Barry took a closer look. "The . . . Orthopraxic Barrican Communion?! What?! Suze . . . you didn't . . ." Her face lit jubilantly. "I did!" "Suze, you named a religion after me?" "I did!" "Suze, I-I'm not a god." "Who said you had to be one? I registered the Barrican Communion as an orthopraxic spiritual organization. In other words, rather than a common belief, it's common actions that design our faith. Actions like, you know, fucking our handsome Master and religious Lord as part of a proper, routine ritual." Barry swept through his brown hair with a nervous palm. "I . . . I don't know about this, Suze . . ." "You enjoy this, Master. I can see it in your eyes." A naughty smile curled. "You know that this very idea is turning you on. You like the thought of your cock being worshipped, don't you, honey? How does it feel to know that dozens of sexy, slutty followers will be dedicated to nothing less than fulfilling than your every sensual pleasure? That women will join seeking nothing but the anointment of your cock and the blessing that comes with carrying your child?" Barry chuckled. "You know, you sound totally crazy." "Yes, dear, I'm a cultist," she teased him back. "But come on, you know that the thought is driving you wild. And I did this for you, my love. Because you've taught all of us that the one thing we should never run from is what makes us happy, no matter how difficult or strange it seems. You, more than anyone else, understand that." Barry ran his fingers again through his hair and laughed. "Jesus, Suze. I hate it when you're making more sense than me. "Oh wait . . . am I even allowed to say 'Jesus' anymore?" She shrugged. Summoning her inner bureaucrat, she added, "the OBC neither denies nor avows the existence of any deities or supernatural, metaphysical creatures or entities." "You really are a crazy bitch, you know that?" Suzanna's grin widened as Barry kissed his wife. "Well, thank you, Suze . . . this gift is quite the pleasant surprise." "Well, I have to give credit where it's due—this was also partly Mariana's idea. Make sure you keep that in mind the next time you . . . 'reward' her." "I'll remember." He chuckled and she nodded. "Now bend the fuck over." "Yes, my Lord," Suzanna purred. "And Master . . . I'm fertile tonight. Please bless me with your holy rod and anoint me carrier of your blessed child!" "You are loving this, aren't you, you Slut?" Barry growled. As reluctant as he was to admit it, the thought was intoxicating. An entire religion devoted to him—to his service and his manhood—along with an entire harem of women who were now, in every sense that mattered, his wives. Chandra had been right—this made their gift even better, because his Church would play by any rules he chose. If he wanted twelve wives, he got twelve wives. Or thirty. Or a hundred, if he wished. More than ever, no law or taboo could contain Barry Garrett. Each step he took in exploration of fantasy took him further from the chains of reality. Further from society's concepts of morality, religion, law and order. But he didn't care. Long ago, he'd made a vow. He would always do what his heart told him to, and he'd never lie about what made him happy. And this made him happy. Rules and restrictions be damned. Only two things ever mattered: pleasing himself, and in doing so, spreading his pleasure exponentially to others. As his cock sank into his wife's hot, pink flesh, he reminded himself of this fact. He reminded himself that this was only the beginning of things to come. Slowly, he fucked her, letting her body please him however he chose. And in doing so, his pleasure spread exponentially to his lover. Barry's Queens Ch. 01 Steadily, he picked up the pace. She screamed and howled and begged her Master . . . her Lord . . . to fuck her as hard as he could. She begged him to cum inside her and make her pregnant with his holy child. And Barry complied. With beastly authority, Barry shot hot jets into his Slut wife's womb, letting his cum settle inside her, seeking to impregnate her with their second child. ****** TWENTY MONTHS AGO "Good afternoon, ladies. I'm glad to see you all here today." The 'Sister Sluts' all responded to the greeting with very friendly "Thank Yous" and "Hellos", some of them nervous and hesitant about their first public television appearances. Still, a few appeared relaxed, perhaps even relishing the spotlight. "In case you don't realize, my name is Rebecca Swaim, and I'm the hostess of 'Late Night Erotic'." The first Slut, a red-haired woman about four months pregnant, responded to that. "Aaaaah, so you're the one they replaced me with?" Rebecca turned to look for a moment, and realization flashed in her eyes. "You're Chandra Burrell!" Chandra smiled. "Yes, or at least, I used to be. I'm 'Cum Bucket' now," she said without a hint of shame or embarrassment. "That is what your master calls you, correct?" Rebecca replied. "Yes, as well as my Sister Sluts. And now, I actually prefer it to the name I was born with. It excites me every time I hear it." She pulled down the strap of her panties to show the tattoo with her name just above her pussy. The woman next to her smiled and patted Chandra's thigh, as if to confirm a similar feeling. An astonished Rebecca shook her head. "He doesn't use your names? And it doesn't embarrass any of you at all? To be objectified like that?" "Why would it?" another woman said. Rebecca's notes recognized her as 'Susan'. "Not a one of us here are ashamed to be 'objects' to our master. In fact, it fills us with immense pride to be considered his property." "The highest honor for any of us is for our bodies to be used in service to our Master," Chandra said, holding her large, round belly. "To us, he is the single man worthy of the privilege." Each girl nodded her head in agreement, and proudly touched their own bellies. "That's interesting," Rebecca chuckled. "I haven't even begun the formal questions yet and already, we're getting to the juicy bits. I'm very happy to see such candid and honest answers from each of you girls." "Of course," Chandra said. "We plan on being as straightforward as we can be." "I also notice that most of you are pregnant. All by your Master, presumably?" "Of course," Susan answered. "All of us are expected to submit the use of our bodies for the Master's needs. Anything he wishes of us, including bearing children as often as we're capable, is expected of us." "Ouch," Rebecca scoffed. "Isn't that . . . harsh?!" Chandra shrugged. "Our pain is not important. What matters is the Master's satisfaction." Trena continued. "A few of us the Master keeps exclusively to manufacture his children. They are his incubators. His Breeding Sluts. Nothing more, nothing less." "I . . . see." She readjusted her notes in her lap. "So, who amongst you was the first to submit to your master?" The girls looked amongst themselves and then Chandra once again rose her hand. "Well, technically, the first and second of the Master's Sluts are the Beta and Alpha Sluts now. However, they're not present, so I suppose that I was the first among those present to be collared by him." "Yes, but I had known him before you," said Alani, who spoke with a noticeable German accent. "He only met you after he returned from Germany, where I met him." "Yes, yes, met. But she asked who was collared first." "Well fuck, if we're talking about who met him first, then I have everyone beat. I knew Master Barry in freshman year of college, even before he'd met his wife in fact," said the Chinese Trena Lin. Another girl, Ryann, then responded: "Yes, but you didn't even give him any pussy back then, so that doesn't count!" Trena scowled at Ryann, who flaunted her tongue in response. The two girls giggled, letting everyone know that their bickering was all just in good fun. "We joke about this sometimes, you know," Chandra replied again. "Stuff like who's been fucked more by the Master or who's known him longer. But, we don't mean anything by it. We're all the Master's property in the end. He likes watching us compete over him, but he does NOT like it when we fight over him for real." Again, all of the girls nodded. "And of course, we're always nice to the new girls," Susan said, looking at a quartet of beautiful, tanned Latinas. "Oh, are all four of you new? And what are your names? Um . . . your birth names, I mean." "My name is Carla. I was collared along with Claudia, Sasha, Abelina, and Mariana, who isn't here. The Master collared all of us roughly a year ago in Venezuela." "Oh wow! So is it difficult being away from home so suddenly?" Carla shrugged. "No, not really. I had always wanted three things: a handsome lover, children, and to visit America. Now, I have all three." "So the Master actually gives you everything you want?" "And then some," the girls answered. "We are allowed to do almost anything we want, so long as it pleases him. And sometimes pleasing ourselves pleases him." "And when Master is pleased, he fucks us a lot." Rebecca nodded once again. "Well, let's talk about something you mentioned briefly a few minutes ago, shall we?" Rebecca asked eagerly. "So, amongst you, who's been fucked more?" Immediately, the answers came. "Trena." "Trena." "Trena for sure." "Definitely Trena." Rebecca's mouth hung with astonishment. "Wow . . . it sure seems that it's unanimous, huh, Trena?" Trena smiled evilly. "Yes, but I'm kind of a special case." "How so?" "Well, I'm Asian, of course. Asian women are always either innocent flowers or total wanton whores." Rebecca rose an eyebrow. "Isn't that a bit . . . racist?" "Yeah, but I like it. Stereotypes can be wicked and fun," she answered gleefully. "Master loves to fuck his horny little sex toy. Some of us like to embrace stereotypes. Like, haven't you ever wanted to be fucked by a big black cock, Becky? Sure, we all know that's just a stereotype, but haven't you ever wanted to indulge yourself? Just to see what it was like?" Rebecca chuckled. "Actually, my boyfriend is . . ." After licking her lips, Trena casually unzipped the crotch of her slave suit and stuck a finger into her pussy to the knuckle. "Oh God . . . I'm sorry. I just couldn't talk about it anymore without doing something about it!" "Oh well, don't mind us at all. We are a late cable show." Trena barely seemed to hear Rebecca's words. She was already enveloped in a torrent of euphoria. She moaned and gasped as her thighs widened ever further to invite her pussy into her pussy. The other girls watched Trena finger herself to an immediate climax, their eyes sparkled with lust. "Well, I suppose now is a good time to go to our next topic," Rebecca said, continuing the conversation over Trena's continuous moaning orgasms. "I would like each of you ladies to regale the audience with the tales of how you were first collared by your master. What was said when he collared you? How did you feel at that exact moment?" The girls looked amongst each other, no one objecting to such an idea. "Which of us would you like to go first?" Chandra asked. "I'll go!" the enthusiastic Carla said. "It's actually a very funny story . . . " ****** FOUR MONTHS AGO Barry had finally hit a breakthrough. After more than two years searching for a lead, he'd finally found someone who might have information about the slave ring that had forced Hasana to his doorstep. "Mr. Garrett, Ms. Al-Hasan is here to see you." Barry pressed a button his earpiece. "Thank you, Mariana. Please send her in." The doors to his office opened, welcoming the beautiful Arabian woman that crossed the threshold. As she came into view, the world slowed, just so he could fully appreciate the heavenly creature. Though small, her body was a nearly perfect hourglass. Though she was Arab, as Hasana had been, this woman was a marked difference. Her outfit showed off all the finer points of her body: a tube top pulled low enough that a tantalizing amount of cleavage was inevitable, a skirt that left nothing of her smooth, feminine legs to the imagination. Heels that no sane woman would ever wear, unless waiting for a man to crawl between them and watch them dangle helplessly. Normally, a girl like this Barry would give his right leg to collar. He still yearned to find his Arab Slut. Just look at her, this woman was simply waiting for a slave leash. She was begging to walk through his estate with a baby in her belly . . . But unfortunately, it was not likely to be. This particularly beauty was another man's property. "Ms. Al-Hasan, I'm so pleased to meet you," he said, stepping from behind his desk and reaching for her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Garrett. I'm so pleased that you are able to see me on such short notice." Smiling, she allowed him to take her hand and press it to his lips. A scent reminiscent of lilacs accompanied her, and her skin bore the subtle taste of cinnamon. "Well, it's Doctor Garrett," he corrected her as he directed her a chair. "But beautiful woman may always call me Barry." "And please, call me Katy," she said as she sat. "And I really hope you're the good man everyone says you are. I desperately need your help." Barry nodded. "I try. If you tell me what the trouble is, Ms. Al-Hasan, I will do my absolute best to see that justice is done for you." ****** TWO MONTHS AGO "Buenos tardes, mi amo," said Mariana Velasquez, just as Barry emerged from his private gym. Trena was on him immediately, wiping the sweat from Barry's hair and forehead. As usual, she left his naked body alone to sweat, allowing it to shine spectacularly. Mariana, like most women might, greatly appreciated this gesture. "Are you ready for your afternoon updates?" Though only part of this household for little more than two years, Mariana was vital to his everyday function. Ever since she'd met him in Caracas, she had acted as Barry's liaison, record-keeper, scheduler, and accountant. And, as her round belly currently indicated, she had other important duties. "Master, there is one order of business that I think you'd like to address immediately." "Oh?" Barry acknowledged, reaching for large glass of lemon-water offered by Trena. "Ariadne—I mean, the First Slut—informed me that she received a call from Carver High. They've asked someone to come pick up Lyrica, as she's gotten in trouble again." Barry sighed, much color draining from his eyes. Mariana sympathized. For as long as the Venezuelan had been collared, the Master's first-born, Lyrica, had been quite a problem child. Problems with authority, disregard for any rules or regulation, and a massive chip on her shoulder. The girl didn't fear anyone save for her father. She was also a consummate liar; her word never meant a thing, so long as she fulfilled her immediate desires. That wasn't even getting to the contempt she had for her brothers and sisters, or for her father's Sluts. It was always there, bubbling just below the surface. And the crazy thing was, everyone always insisted that this wasn't the "real" Lyrica. They always promised that Mariana had only ever seen the dark side. That Lyrica was really a very sweet and nice girl. But "sweet" girls didn't throw their siblings' toys into a blender out of spite. "Sweet" girls didn't toss garbage on a Slut just because she'd had a bad day. "Sweet" girls didn't try to flush other peoples' pets down the toilet. The Master had been desperately trying to figure out his first child for more than a year now. Somewhere along the way, he may have convinced himself that her attitude was his fault. Or maybe there was something about Lyrica that only reminded him of himself. Either way, the anguish on his face as Mariana broke the news told her his next decision well in advance. "Call for a car," he told her, setting his finished drink upon Trena's tray. "I'll handle this myself." "Yes Master," Mariana nodded obediently. *** Barry actually found his daughter difficult to recognize at first sight. Lyrica had always possessed a head of honey-brown hair like both her parents. Ironically, Barry had inherited his hair color from his mother, and the two of them passed those genes along to their first baby, Lyrica. Brown hair was a proud Garrett trait, as all but one of Barry and Ariadne's children had similar colors. But Lyrica's hair was now bleached blonde, with a few orangish highlights here and there. For whatever reason, Lyrica seemed determined to renounce everything that made her a Garrett. At age 13, she had suddenly grown desperate to hate everything: her hair color, her family, and everything in between. But that was a thought for another time. Barry needed to stay focused on the here and now. "D-Dad?" Lyrica cried as she noticed him, "what are you doing here? Where's grandma?" Barry slowly entered the room, keeping his hands locked inside his pockets, taking a non-threatening posture. "Someone happened to be listening when Ariadne got the call to pick you up," he lied. Ariadne was one of the few people Lyrica still spoke to. If she'd thought that Ariadne had betrayed her, it was almost certain that she'd start hiding things from her (grand)mother too. "So, it's just me," he continued. "And, I want to hear from your own mouth what happened. What did you get in trouble for this time?" Her eyes went everywhere, except to meet his. He could already sense the lie before she spoke a word. "I didn't do anything . . ." "Lyrie . . . your teachers aren't constantly picking on you for no reason. This is the fifth time you've gotten in trouble this school year, and I want to know what's going on. Now, come on—you know you can talk to me. Have I ever not listened to you?" It was like pulling teeth. Who was this man, who could command an army of Sluts with complete authority, but could hardly get a 13-year-old to cooperate even when he begged? "I didn't . . . I didn't do anything!" Lyrica insisted. "There's this guy in school who makes fun of how pale my skin is. He's always calling me 'chalk' or something even more stupid. So, today I got tired of it. I just called him names right back." Barry was unflinching, unchanged. "And what did you call him?" Slowly, Lyrica's eyes travelled from one side of the room to the other. "I called him a 'clit-licker'." Barry sighed and reached for the bridge of his nose. Already, here came the headache. "I-It's just because he has this really long tongue . . . and . . . well . . ." "Lyrie . . . ." He cut her off. "We've talked about this before, haven't we?" Again, her eyes lowered. "Yeah . . ." "I can't keep telling you this, honey. That sort of language . . . . You have to behave yourself when you're with—" "Yeah, yeah, the 'lames', I know." Barry sighed. "No, that's not what we call them, Lyrica. What do we call the people who don't think like our family does?" "The 'Accepted'," she corrected herself, with air-quotes. "Whatever. They're just lame." "Lyrie . . . We live our lives our way, and they live theirs. There's nothing wrong with them. You can't look down on people just because they don't like the same things we do." "Why not?!" she huffed. "They do it to us." "And then you do it back. What does that accomplish?" She didn't answer, simply locking herself in an arms-folded pout. "Lyrica, I warned you what would happen if we had to have this talk again, didn't I?" That brought her interest back. "Oh please, Daddy! I won't get in trouble again, I promise! Please don't do it!" "Oh so now we're all 'Please Daddy', are we? Sorry, Lyrie . . . you knew this when you disobeyed me, so you have to pay for it. The World Finals are off the table from here on." "No, you can't do that!" she protested desperately, standing on her feet to yell up at her father. Lyrica Garrett had become a videogame champion. Hours upon hours in a given week, the girl buried herself behind a television, barely moving except to touch a controller. Shooter games, fighting games, strategy games, even puzzlers and role-playing games—these had become not just her pastime, but her calling. She'd inherited the hobby from her Dad. . . but Lyrica was far, far better than Barry could ever hope to be. The middle-schooler had actually entered statewide competitions . . . and won them. Her bedroom was a trophy closet of more than three dozen different prizes as testaments to her skill. In her bedroom, she even had a working arcade cabinet that ran the latest edition of her favorite game. Barry had, of course, completely indulged this. After winning three local tournaments, Lyrica was now invited to defend her titles against other competitors at the annual World Finals. This was something she'd been working hard at, practicing like crazy for nearly all of the past year. But given the other problems surrounding the troubled girl, her dream just had one stipulation. "You did it to yourself," Barry chastised. "I warned you what would happen if you didn't get your act together." Fury burned across her cheeks, her tiny fists shaking and her teeth crackling. "This isn't fair! Why am I in trouble because I'm getting picked on?! Why do I have to deal with it when everybody calls me pale and skinny and ugly and nerdy and inbred!??" That last one rose Barry's eyebrow. "What?! Inbred . . .? Lyrie, who calls you th—" "Nevermind . . . It doesn't matter. Leave me alone." Without another word, teenager stormed out, slamming the door behind her, charging out to Barry's waiting car. Barry inhaled deep. Just three years ago, his daughter always smiled when she saw him . . . he still remembered her happy and innocent eyes. Just three years ago, she called him "Daddy" not just when she wanted something. Just three years ago, not every conversation between them ended in a slammed door and silent car ride But alarmingly sudden, the changes had come. First, her attitude had changed, then her habits, and now, even her hair. The blond highlights she now sported were only a symptom of the plague that was slowly consuming his daughter. Just why had he even spent the last decade of his life studying the human mind, as well as psychology? He now had a Ph. D in Counseling Psychology, and he specialized in helping people overcome their problem and most intimate relationships. But it was all good for nothing when it came to his own daughter. ****** TWO WEEKS AGO Like an obedient slave, Ariadne minded her chains as she climbed aboard her bed and turned over onto her back. She made sure both the chain of her collar and the ones snapped to each of her ankles were clearly out of the way, to provide as little hindrance as possible. Once finished, she laid herself back onto the large, comfortable pillow and waited, eager for what was to follow. Mere inches away, the Master was slowly shifting his hips back and forth, getting every inch of his hard cock down Trena's throat. As always, Cum Guzzler worked wonders on her Master's cock. But he was done with that fornow. "That's enough," Barry commanded. The disappointed Asian released her mouth from his manhood, her eyes flush with hope to repeat later.