16 comments/ 83985 views/ 48 favorites Barry's Sluts Ch. 03: Imani By: LordOfHell Welcome new and old readers. This is the GRAND FINALE of my 'Barry's Sluts' series. I've been working on this story, whether plotting or writing, for the better part of two months, ever since I completed the last chapter. I apologize for those who've waited so long, but I wanted to make it as perfect as I possibly could. I wanted to end the series with a bang (no pun intended) and give you the best story I possibly could. I'm very pleased with the results. Be warned that this chapter is LOOOOOONG. Much longer than any story I've thus posted on Literotica, but I hope it's for good reason. I wanted to treat my loyal readers to an epic conclusion, and I look forward to hearing what you think. Comment below and tell me your thoughts! I look forward to hearing from you! Final Disclaimer: This story possesses a few strong racial epithets and racist undertones. They do not reflect the views of the author, but are used simply for the purposes of the story. ****** Suzanna Garrett reached her hands out gingerly, each palm taking hold of the other woman's exceptionally round and perky breasts. With a ponderous gaze, she squeezed them . . . gently at first, but then more firmly and deliberately. The young, beautiful redhead in her late teens reacted to her touch, swallowing deeply at having her bare and ample bosom so willfully controlled by the experienced domme. Suzanna did not fail to notice this, and she smirked wryly upon noticing the girl's reaction. Rather than ease up, she took this as an opportunity to press further, mashing her fingers into each tit so firmly that they sank into the pillowy flesh with deep imprints. The young woman gasped and sighed, and as Suzanna's hands began to massage the round curvature of her breasts, it became apparent to all that her nipples had hardened significantly. Her breathing was shallow, quick and excited, her lips quivered from even the slightest touch, and her hands twitched at her side, no doubt eager to slip a single finger deep into her pussy. Suzanna, or 'Madame Zanna' as she liked to known in the presence of submissives, knew how to stimulate the flesh, regardless of the gender it belonged to. In mere seconds, she'd turned this girl into pure putty in her hands. If Suzanna had asked her to, she would fall to her knees and lick the mistress's pussy right that second. If Suzanna had told her to pee on the floor in front of the other Madame and submissives, the girl would do it. Watching an experienced domme in action was a thing of beauty, especially when it wasn't even her own slave she was controlling. "I like this one," she purred. "She responds extremely well. She seems to be quite easy to submit, to say nothing of her willingness." Suzanna leaned her head lower and playfully flicked the young nipple with her tongue. "Mmm. Very nice." The Mistress tapped her foot on the floor, showing no signs of pleasure or displeasure with the actions of her submissive. "Have you made a decision, then?" Suzanna leaned back and studied the other eleven women in earnest. All equally nude, collared, and standing at attention beside each other, the girls offered a variety of sensual flavors. Different races, heights, physical builds, ages, nationalities, and temperaments. Piercings and no piercings. Body art and clean skin. Smokers and nons. There was something there for almost anyone to like. Which was exactly what the Mistress prided herself in. "God, they're all so yummy," Suzanna squealed with a childish shiver. "I honestly wish I could afford each of them, Mistress Aria." Ariadne Garrett, now known to her submissives as 'Mistress Aria', couldn't help but smile at that. She wished the same. Each one of her whores fetched a high price, and purchasing all of them for a single night would meet a quota that was unprecedented in all her three and a half years of running the 'Service'. Aria would like nothing more than send each and every one of her prized submissives off to be fucked by a customer, but she knew that such a thing was not likely to happen. Especially not since the woman who planned to buy them happened to live in the same household that she did. Suzanna walked across the line of whores, once again taking each one into account. She carefully considered their every feature, their every curve. Once or twice, she stopped behind one and there was an exceptionally loud smack that could only distinctly originate from a hand firmly striking across a supple ass cheek. "Papa does love meaty asses," she said, referring to the nickname she referred to her husband by. "And I want this to go absolutely perfectly for him. Do you think he would like this one?" Mistress Aria tapped a finger against her chin. "At the least, I certainly don't think he'd be disappointed, Zanna. However, if you're asking for my honest opinion . . ." "I am." ". . . I would suggest that you go with his regular." She lifted her flogger to point at the girl standing at the very end. The unnatural blonde with the black roots, tattoos littering her upper arms and torso, and piercings covering every naughty part, from her tits to her pussy. Suzanna stepped in front of the girl, considering her. Carefully, she took the chain that connected her pierced nipples together and tugged it slightly, causing the young woman to moan. "This is new," Suzanna noted. "I had her install them less than a month ago," Mistress Aria nodded. "For . . . my own pleasure." Suzanna smirked. "Showing such blatant favoritism to your first whore, Aria? For shame." Mistress Aria tilted her head smugly. "The rest of my whores are well aware that I have a bit of a soft spot for my Emily. She was the first one to willingly submit to me. However, they're also aware that I'm still fiercely devoted to each of them like my own children and in turn expect nothing short of complete obedience. Isn't that right, girls?" "Yes, Mistress!" Each confirmed in unison. Suzanna chuckled, showing clear signs of being impressed. "Well, Aria . . . I'm lost. I honestly don't think I can decide anymore, so I'll ask again. Which one do you think Barry would prefer?" Mistress Aria smiled again. "Like I said before. I would simply choose his regular. She's learned to serve his needs quite well." Suzanna contemplated once again and turned back to the pierced whore with the unnatural blond color. "Fuck it, then. I'll take her." "Very good," Mistress Aria uncrossed her legs and stood from her chair. "Follow me, and we'll work out the details in private." Suzanna followed the Mistress to her office and the two women locked the door behind them. Almost as soon as the door was closed, however, Suzanna spun to find a ravenously horny Mistress Aria thrusting their lips together and inserting a writhing, juicy tongue between the younger woman's lips. Their kiss continued several minutes, until both women were finally sated with each other. The Mistress then stepped away, licking her lips with a very satisfied gleam in her eye. "God, you have no idea how horny that made me," she confessed. Suzanna grinned wickedly. "You're breaking character, Ariadne, my dear." "Sorry, Teacher, but I don't care," Ariadne replied. "Besides, I was never 'in character' in the first place. All of that was how I always behave in front of my whores." Suzanna nodded. "Then you've become a fine Mistress, my pet. And you don't have to call me 'Teacher' anymore. Here, you and I are equals." "I'll try to remember that . . . Teacher," Ariadne said humbly. Finally collecting herself, she walked behind her desk and sat. "So, everything's set for the weekend?" "Absolutely, darling," Suzanna answered sharply. "With this last detail taken care of, everything ready to go. Hubby's going to receive one hell of a pleasant surprise come Saturday." Ariadne nodded. "That's wonderful. I can't wait for the weekend to get here!" ****** Saturday indeed came quicker than anyone could expect, and by evening, the Garrett residence in Beverly Hills, California was completely set for Master Barry's surprise. When the door opened, and the handsome patriarch of the Garrett family walked inside, he was immediately greeted by five pairs of feminine hands. One taking his laptop case from his hands, another eagerly beginning to remove the jacket of his suit, yet another undoing the laces of his brilliantly polished shoes, a fourth quickly unfastening the belt that held his slacks, and the final pair of hands caressing his face while a soft and loving set of lips pressed themselves to his. "Happy Birthday, Master! Welcome home!" All five women said as one. Barry's eyes conveyed surprise, but not shock. While he certainly hadn't expected this, his dominant nature allowed him to quickly adjust and wait patiently as his five eager slaves did their jobs. He was quite proud so far—it was a slave's duty to know every possible way to please their master, and the ability to pleasantly surprise him was tantamount to excellent training. He glanced at all five of the women servicing him—Emily, Trena, Chandra, Ariadne . . . . . . and a new face he hadn't seen before. As the young, dark-haired girl quickly but diligently unbuttoned his shirt, Barry took a moment to consider her. "Hey, little one. Who might you be?" Her sparkly green eyes glanced up to meet him. "I'm . . . I'm Kitten, sir." He chuckled lightly. "Where are you from, Kitten?" "Wyoming," she squeaked timidly. "Don't stop," he ordered, noting that her hands had stopped unbuttoning his shirt. She immediately got back to task. "Why are you here, Kitten?" "To serve you, Master." "No, that tells me what you are doing. Not why you are doing it." She paused for a moment, seemingly unsure how to answer. She seemed frightened, scared of being rejected. "M-Miss Burrell said t-that you would like me." Barry turned to Chandra, the redhead who was slowly and gently massaging his feet. "Cum Bucket?" "Yes, Master," she said, answering her name dutifully. When in her master's domain, the initials in her name did not stand for 'Chandra Burrell', but 'Cum Bucket'. "Kitten was born on a Native American reservation of the Shoshone people, but her parents are abusive. They conceived and raised her for the sole purpose of selling her to pay off gambling debts." Chandra assisted Trena as the two of them pulled Barry's underwear down and he stepped out of them. "Then one day, she saw your appearance on my show. She heard what you said and she told me that your words moved her." Kitten smiled. "'I devote my entire professional—and personal—life toward the examination, advancement, and . . . naturally . . . enjoyment of all things sexual. Sex is one of the most amazing values we humans possess, and it factors, in some way, into everything we do . . . from religion to science to interpersonal relationships. My task . . . my purpose in life . . . is to explore that value and, hopefully, further define what it means to be a sexually free human being.' "'Life is really about squeezing every ounce of fun that you can get out of it. Everything can breed excitement—love, professionalism, leisure—all you need to do is never settle for anything. Always know what you want and what makes you happy, and then never settle for anything less than that.'" Kitten parroted everything Barry had said during that interview, word for word, meeting the same inflections and emphases that he himself once had. She had memorized everything about it. His words, his meaning, his posture . . . everything. "What you said changed me," she said as she finally removed his shirt. "I realized that I wasn't 'free'. I was my parents' slave and soon to be another man's slave, but it wasn't my choice. I wanted to learn how to be free, so I wrote to your column at Adultmag.com several times. But back then, I used my real name, Gediki', which means 'kitten' in Shoshone." He remembered Gediki'! Three years ago, she'd been a teen who wanted to know what to do about her parents' abuse. Barry had written back and forth with her through his column, and he had made it a personal mission to try and help the young girl. He had thought they were making progress, but then after a few months, she never wrote back. Barry had always wondered what happened to her, if he had failed her somehow. "Gediki'!" he exclaimed happily. "I had always worried that something had happened to you . . ." "I ran away from home, Master. But I owed you my life and I wanted to thank you. I didn't know how to find you. A short time ago, I visited Ms. Burrell and she told me that you and she were close." 'Close' was an understatement. Ever since their brief sexual encounter after the show, Chandra and Barry had enjoyed many other sexual liaisons over the past three years. In fact, he had collared Chandra three years ago, and she had even willingly become impregnated with a son. Barry often visited them . . . both to see his beautiful little boy, and to occasionally fuck his slave. "She also told me that you need someone that can serve you. Someone who can look after your home when you and your slaves are absent, or to watch your children when you are all . . . 'playing'. A maid, a nanny, and a slut all in one. I want to do that for you, Master. If you'll let me." Barry cupped a finger under the beautiful young girl's chin, causing her delicate, nude body to rise in front of him. She was gorgeously petite, with impressive b-cup tits and wonderfully flat tummy. Her extremely dark hair brought out the pink in her skin wonderfully, and her green eyes shimmered as they gazed into his. His cock had already risen to full attention, and taking in all of her lovely features was keeping it throbbing and ready. "Gediki'," he said, "I can never have too many submissives as far as I'm concerned, but are you sure that's what you want? You ran away from home to avoid being enslaved. Are you sure you want to go right back to that?" She shook her head. "Master, I call myself 'Kitten' now for a reason. I am your pet. The difference between then and now is that I choose to do this. I will be a slave, but I will also be 'sexually free'. I wish to serve you, Master, in any way that I possibly can. I will do whatever you wish of me, whenever you wish it, without question. And I choose this because . . . I love you." Barry smiled and he looked at Ariadne, Trena, Chandra, and Emily. "What about the rest of you? Do you accept her?" Each woman nodded. "We do, Master," Ariadne spoke for them all. No longer needing to be convinced, Barry reached down and scooped his arms behind Kitten's knees. With skillful precision, he sank the young woman on his stiff erection as she gasped in passionate lust. Pressing their lips and tongues together, Barry carried his new submissive with him into his bedroom, which each of his four other submissives following in tow. Barry slammed Kitten on the bed roughly, spreading her legs wider for him. He leaned forward, his mouth falling upon her stiffened nipples, even as her pussy stretched wider to accept more of his manhood. The other women took various positions around them, each one knowing precisely what to do. Trena immediately dropped the floor, crawling underneath Barry's widened legs to bring her lips to his naked sack. As her hands deftly explored his defined thigh muscles, her tongue was eagerly lapping his testicles, doing her best to bring him further joy, even as he slowly fucked Kitten's moist and accepting pussy. In the meantime, Chandra had positioned her pussy directly above Kitten's mouth, and the young girl's tongue explored the older woman's clit eagerly. It became obvious to Barry that the two of them had done this before—in fact, Chandra had probably taken it upon herself to train the eighteen-year-old in anticipation of being presented as a birthday gift. Emily moved behind Barry, laying her body atop Trena's, and the two women began lightly grinding their pussies together. But that wasn't all—Emily then leaned forward, pressing her tits against Barry's lower back as she slowly inserted a finger into the Master's tight asshole. Slowly, she pumped her finger in and out of his rear cavity, bringing him even further to the brink of ecstasy. And finally, Ariadne—Barry's own mother—placed herself in front of her son, riding atop Kitten's belly. She then eagerly fed both of her round, immense breasts to her son's face, squeezing them hard until she finally lactated and produced an impressive amount of milk. "Happy Birthday, Master," Ariadne cooed as she held her son's mouth to her breasts, something which had become birthday tradition in the Garrett home. A son suckling at his mother's teat on the day he was born. It seemed rather appropriate. The group fucking continued for nearly a half hour until Barry finally came deep inside of Kitten's pussy. She hollered through an immense orgasm while Chandra and Ariadne played with her clit, and she lay back, exhausted as she watched Barry pull out of her and leave her opening leaking his milky seed. Without any hesitation, Barry presented his cock to Trena, who eagerly lived up to her slave name, 'Cock Guzzler', as she inhaled his cum-soaked meat. Trena gave the most enthusiastic head that Barry had ever experienced, and after four years of being both his slave and a devout porn star, her technique was absolutely flawless. Barry was hard again in seconds, ready to get back to work. He continued fucking her mouth for some time afterward, until he finally came and she lewdly swallowed every drop of it. Somehow, Barry remained hard even after, and when he pulled his cock out of her mouth, Trena whined like a puppy. Chandra, however, wasn't waiting any longer and spun on her knees and arched her hips, presenting her lovely anus to the cock Trena had worked hard to revive. Barry didn't keep her waiting, and began pounding into her immediately, leaving Chandra a quaking, hollering mess. Once more, the other slaves—minus the still-recovering Kitten—descended upon the new slut being fucked, and took new positions. This cycle continued an impossible length of time, with Barry fucking one girl for at least half an hour before dumping his load inside of her and waiting to become stiff again, then pushing deep into another girl and repeating the same process. After three hours, each of the women had been fucked once, but by then, some of them had gone long enough without cock that they pleaded with their master for seconds. Barry grinned and accepted the challenge. Eight straight hours of fucking, and by the end of it, there wasn't a single person who had the strength to continue. Barry himself was amazed that he'd been able to last long enough in every hole, but that was more of a testament to his slave stable's abilities than his own unnatural stamina. Happy Birthday, indeed. But still, a part of Barry felt that something had been missing. Although he certainly hadn't expected to be serviced by all four of his dearest submissives—and one completely new slave—there was still someone absent. By early morning, everyone had collapsed on his bed around Barry, drifting to sleep while covering him head to toe with their soft, naked bodies. Barry himself drifted to sleep but woke up a few hours later with the amazing sensation of warm, supple titflesh touching virtually every part of his body. Not wanting to wake his adoring submissives, he gently reached for the phone at his bedside and dialed. "Hewwo?" an adorable voice said on the other line. "Hi, Shep. . . is that you?" "Yea Daddy. Hi Daddy. Howa you?" Barry's chest swelled at hearing the voice of his three-year-old son, Shepard. "I'm fine, Shep. How are you, buddy?" Barry's Sluts Ch. 03: Imani "Fine Daddy. Miss you." "I miss you too, champ. I'll see you soon." "Kay." "Hey, is Nanna nearby?" Barry heard the phone drop, possibly hitting the floor. "Nannaaaaaa!" A few moments passed before the phone was picked up again. "Hello." "Hey, my love." "Hi, baby," Suzanna purred into the line. "Did you enjoy your birthday present?" "I love you," he cooed with exhausted breath. "I'll take that as a yes," she laughed. "I wish you were with us," he said. "Well . . . someone had to look after the kids. Or did you forget that you squeezed nine of them out of your mom?" "I didn't forget, but . . . you could've just hired a sitter . . ." "Don't be silly," Suzanna scoffed. "Enjoy yourself and know that I'll be here waiting." Her voice lowered so that it couldn't heard. "I can't wait to hear you describe to me how it felt to fuck five slaves at once. And I want full details." "Oh you'll get it," he growled. "Mmmmm," Suzanna panted, apparently on the verge of cumming. "Sweet dreams, my beloved." ****** SEVEN MONTHS LATER Suzanna excused herself from bed, with a dry mouth forcing a journey to the kitchen for a cup of water. She paused only briefly to double take, noticing that the other side of the bed was empty. Shortly after, with sated thirst, she decided to snoop to find out where her husband had gone. She didn't like waking without him beside her; the bed always felt one thousand times more empty without this warmth and mass to make her feel safe and snug. She headed downstairs and finally saw a soft light coming from Barry's home office. The door was open, so she decided to peek inside. Barry was huddled at his desk, seemingly writing. Suzanna was now incurably curious; just what was so important as to lure him from their bed in the middle of the night? She slid a gentle hand on his shoulder, not intending to startle him. Of course, Barry didn't startle easy in the first place, and he merely glanced up and smiled at her, taking her hand in his and pressing his loving lips to it. "Hey, Papa," she said. "What're you up to?" "Not much, baby. Just taking care of some minor, but important things. I'll be back in bed in a bit, okay?" Suzanna looked at the stationery on his desk, in particular, what seemed to be dozens sheets of paper, greeting cards, and hand-written checks. It didn't even take half-a-second for her to realize what this was pertaining to. "Oh. It's that time again already, baby?" "Yeah. One week after New Years'. Every year." The two of them remained silent for a short period, gently squeezing one-another's hands. She understood now why Barry had deemed this important enough to leave bed for. In a way, she felt the same. This was an anniversary nearly as significant as the dates they met or were married. In a way, it was actually more significant. This was the day they had both nearly died. Roughly a month after she'd met Barry, Suzanna's then-boyfriend, Victor Gregorio, falsely believed the two of them to be cheating together. No amount of pleading on her part could convince Victor otherwise, and he grew more and more unstable as his masculinity felt threatened. The really stupid thing about it was that Victor knew about Suzanna's job as a porn actress—in fact, he approved of her fucking around as long as it brought them money. However, he was comfortable with his position and Suzanna's friendship with Barry belittled his ego. One night, an argument about Barry flared up between them at a nightclub, and Victor brandished a gun in Suzanna's face. He was insane, delusional, and h3 threatened Suzanna's very life, stroking the gun and saying he 'hadn't made up his mind whether or not to use it'. All of a sudden, Suzanna found herself locked in a nightmare, death hanging over her for the first time in her life. With no other options, she found a way to text Barry in secret, desperately begging him for help. Without hesitation, Barry came to her rescue. He showed at the club just as Victor had made up his mind to shoot her and he beat the snot out of the bastard. Victor, however, managed to grab his gun during the struggle and was about to shoot both of them when a bouncer arrived to break things up. In a panic, Victor shot the bouncer and Barry used that opportunity to hit him and run. Victor chased them through the club, into the parking lot, and down the highway, shooting anyone who got in his way at the time. The three of them were in an accident on the highway, and Barry was shot and crippled for months afterwards. It was only through hard work and Suzanna's affectionate care that he learned how to be completely ambulatory again, and it was during that period that their love was solidified. They were married less than two years later. Every year since that day, Barry had taken it upon himself to send gifts to the families and loved ones of the people killed or significantly injured during Victor's rampage at the club. Both he and Suzanna recognized that some of them gave their lives shielding them from Victor's gunfire, whether intentional or not, and others were harmed during the stampede and commotion. Either way, it was a fact that without those sacrifices, the two of them wouldn't be here, enjoying life as they can. It was the least they could do to show appreciation. "How much are we giving this year, honey?" she asked him affectionately. "Not as much as I'd like to," he told her with a sigh. "This is a crap year, what with shooting suspended and sales declining all around. I asked Ma what sort of figures we could spare, and she thinks that a mil is the highest we should aim for without breaking the bank." She smiled. A million. Only her husband would think that a million dollars was too little to give out of the kindness of his heart. But that just went to show how much they'd accomplished with the lives they'd been blessed with. A million dollars was no small amount for anyone, but for the Garretts, it was only the tip of a vast iceberg. Barry was the owner and CEO of Stallion Productions, the adult media company for which Suzanna had worked all of her adult life. In fact, it was she who introduced him to both the studio itself and the porn industry in general. Since then, however, Barry's leadership and business savvy had made Stallion bigger than it had ever been, and the Garrett family was now rich beyond their wildest dreams And steadily getting richer. At least, until recently. This year had seen a significant drop-off, for several reasons. The recession was finally hitting the porn industry hard, with actual sales reaching their lowest point in years and free internet streaming and piracy becoming more and more commonplace. In addition, Epona Materials, a subsidiary of Stallion which dealt with fetish items and intimate products, was starting to downswing after years of phenomenal sales. And finally, but most importantly, there was a production freeze in the California porn industry. Stallion wasn't the only company affected, but they were unfortunate enough to be where the problem originated. About nine weeks earlier, one of Stallion's biggest stars turned up AIDS positive. The studio put an immediate stop to everything, but not before discovering that four more stars and starlets had been infected as well. For a short period, Suzanna herself was catatonic with worry, but she fortunately tested clean. That was a major relief for all of the Garretts, but Stallion was nonetheless locked out of filming until both the Health and Quality department and their lawyers gave them the okay. All of the above factors added up to huge problems for the Garretts financially, with their annual revenue already 36% lower than it had been for the previous six years. They would survive, of course, like any strong family would—but hitting a brick wall was nonetheless disheartening. The fact that Barry, of his own accord, still willingly donated a million dollars to the families of the people to whom owed his life showed what kind of man he was. What sort of character he exhibited. Suzanna couldn't help but feel proud of him, and she put a loving arm around his shoulders to let him know it. "Things will get better," she told him. "I have faith." "Yeah, I know they will," Barry said, keeping his upbeat and unbreakable spirit. "But not until we take care of all our little problems. And one big problem." Suzanna's expression flattened. She knew exactly what he was referring to. The darkest cloud that hung over the Garrett household. The delicate thread that threatened to unravel their whole tapestry. "He wants the same cut, doesn't he?" she asked solemnly. "Yeah he does," Barry spat bitterly. "Every damn cent." ****** The next morning, Barry was scheduled for a meeting with the managers of Stallion's Health and Quality department, who had been assigned to discover where the source of the STD outbreak had come from and to clamp it as neatly and efficiently as possible. He was eager to get this out of the way so that he could get back to doing what he loved to do—filming people fucking and getting paid for it. "Tell me you have some news," he said as soon as they were seated in his office. "Yes sir," said Eliza Campbell, the Executive Manager of HnQ. She glanced at her assistant, Taylor Russell, and he produced an envelope of data on Barry's desk. "I don't have time to read, so give me the long and short of it," he ordered. "Well sir," Taylor said, apparently the one who'd compiled the data himself. "It seems that the source of the outbreak was Sammy Slamz aka Samantha Davis. We determined that the urine sample Ms. Davis produced for her most recent drug test was not genuine. We administered a subsequent test, which yielded a positive result for controlled substances." "Fire her. Immediately." Barry looked to his Administrative Assistant, Phyllis Ortega. "Right away, Mr. Garrett," she stated. Barry tapped his finger on the mahogany wood agitatedly. Company policy, from the moment he had taken control, was a zero-tolerance mandate regarding illegal substances, including cannabis. This was precisely the reason why. Barry needed to make an example. The sad thing was, Sammy Slamz was an old star, part of Stallion's family since before he took ownership. She had a two-year-old son that she was raising alone. But, he had to remain heartless and look to what was best for his company. He needed everyone under his employ to know just how seriously he took this rule. "Mrs. Ortega," he suddenly said, his voice softening the slightest bit. "Yes sir?" "I want you to extend Ms. Davis an offer for a discreet $36,000 gift, paid in installments of three thousand every month . . . under the condition that she will only receive each stipend after providing concrete evidence of attending drug rehabilitation and a making vow of nondisclosure regarding the specifics of this arrangement." She smiled at him warmly, as she tended to do when Barry made these sorts of decisions. "Happy to do so, sir." Barry sat back in his seat and rubbed his forehead. Another thirty-six grand that he was just giving away. In all truth, the dumb bitch didn't deserve a cent, considering all of the business she'd cost him from this crap. He would need to add three extra zeroes to even come close to matching it. But, it just wasn't in his nature to abandon someone who needed help. Which, unfortunately, was not the most conducive attitude to running a business. Hopefully, though, something good would come of this. Barry had thus far followed his instincts and they had yet to fail him. He wouldn't start second-guessing himself now, even with the tide already knee-deep and quickly rising around him. "Um, Mr. Garrett, there's one other matter we need to address." He sighed, knowing already that this couldn't be good news. "Such as?" "Ms. Davis was not the only one who tested positive for illegal substances. Though the rest were clean of STDs, we found three other individuals that failed a clean drug test." "Cut their asses loose, too," Barry grumbled. "What are their names?" "Sarah Soap aka Vicki Washington, Roxy Rocket aka Caitlyn Foley, and Alina Red aka Alina Taratova." Barry recognized every name on that list. All three were young and very promising talent. All three were exceptionally beautiful. All three would be nearly impossible to replace. And all three had been recommended to him by his 'benefactor', Rod Styles. "God dammit," Barry groaned with a palm mashed into his face. They were three new and talented actresses who were known for not having many hard limits. Fresh, new girls that didn't have put-offs or hang-ups were like untapped oil in the porn industry. Barry knew damn well that lots of studios didn't share Stallion's uptight policy on drugs and that it was almost a certainty that one of those studios—his competition as it were—would scoop up those three stars immediately. But he didn't care. This was how Barry ran his business. Everyone who worked for Stallion was his family. The safety of that family was a top priority. "Get rid of 'em." "Yes, sir," Mrs. Ortega nodded again. "Is everything else going smoothly?" he asked his HnQ execs, eager to wrap up this crappy meeting. "Is the studio clean?" "Yes sir," Eliza answered sternly. "We can resume filming at any time." "Then inform our legal people and let's get everybody back to work." "Right away, sir," she responded. "Dismissed." The two stood and made their exit, leaving Barry and his assistant to themselves. "Mrs. Ortega, I need you to schedule a flight to Vegas for me," he told her. "Yes sir. Departing when?" "As soon as I can fucking drive there. I need to talk to my 'buddy' Rod . . ." ****** Being in adjacent states, the flight from LA to Vegas wasn't especially lengthy, and Barry had made the trip often over the past few years. He arrived in Vegas just before sundown with minimal jet lag, and the cab took him to Rod's estate just on the outskirts of the city. The Styles Ranch, as he liked to call it, was a multi-acre piece of real estate own by Rod Styles, the philanthropic heir of Stylez Holdings, most noted for their hotel and casino chain. Rod was, easily, one of the wealthiest men in Vegas and was well known for his carefree and debaucherous lifestyle. Normally, Barry would highly approve. He fully condoned submitting to sensual pleasures—after all, he himself had made sex and sexuality his primary field of expertise—but Rod was a textbook example of the type of person that made hedonism look bad. Drugs, liquor, and other forms of depravity were common at the parties and "gatherings" Rod frequently hosted, and Rod himself tended to waste time and money like water. While Rod wasn't exactly the brightest bulb, he was mostly a harmless dimwit. Barry would even go so far as to include Rod as one of his tightest friends if the guy weren't so inconsistent. Rod was great company, and knew how to lighten up any occasion, but he didn't know the meaning of the word 'restraint'. To put it into perspective, Rod had at least thirty-seven women claiming that he fathered their children, but had only bothered to confirm nine. The rest of them Rod had either settled with out of court or was still continuing to dodge the paternity tests. His hotel franchise, however, ensured that Rod would never lose enough money to be anything less than 'fabulously wealthy'. The amount of money he was worth shamed what all of the Garretts combined amounted to, and that was exactly why Barry intended to remain on good terms with the guy. Rod liked Barry, so that meant he was keen on investing in his ideas. A fair number of the ventures Barry had attempted in the past several years wouldn't have gotten off the ground without Rod's generous backing. When Barry arrived at the mansion, he was only moderately surprised to see somewhere over a hundred cars parked on the property. Today, it seemed, was another Styles party. Barry slipped in pretty easily after paying a steep fee for entry. Once inside, it seemed that festivities were winding down for the evening, because there was no music or social mixing. Just piles upon piles of clothes and humping, writhing flesh everywhere. There wasn't a single place Barry could turn without seeing a cock and a pussy in deep, rhythmic coupling. Echoes of pleasure were a constant, with soft and loud moans reverberating nonstop through the halls. The aroma of sex, sweat and copious alcohol quickly overwhelmed him, increasing the palpations of his heart with every deep whiff. The wet smack of flesh and loin could be physically felt from all angles, stimulating his skin, making his own concealed weapon come to life. The sheer amount of fucking going on simultaneously was unreal. People were screwing each other on the floor, in the living room, on the stairs, in the bathroom, on the pool table, in the kitchen, within the closets, and inside the hot tub. Anyone Barry passed who wasn't fucking was simply looking for someone to partner with. "G'damn you're hot," a drunken voice slurred. "Come on. Yurr next." Barry turned to find a gorgeous redhead with some of the most delectable tits he'd ever seen smiling at him with a newly-acquired drink in her hand. She looked completely smashed, barely able to even stay aloft. Yet, her eyes scanned him up and down before locking on the obvious tent in his pants. She grinned anxiously, knowing by the size of the imprint, Barry had exactly the type of tool she sought. '"Can't believe n'body's claimed you yet," she said, reaching out and tugging at his shirt. "C'mon, baby, I'm ready to go." Even if Barry were in the mood, which he was not, the strong sting of alcohol on her breath was an immediate turn-off. Barry didn't like fucking women who smelled like they'd drank a whole brewery. Never had. Never would. He and all the women in his household drank socially of course, but he found being totally wasted a complete turn-off. What was the point of fucking someone if they wouldn't even remember it in the morning? "No thanks," Barry rejected, gently pushing her away. He nudged his head toward a guy knocked out in the corner, his cock still erect even in his sleep. "Dude over there looks ready to go, though." She glanced over and then frowned at him. "He ain't gonna give as good as I get. Whassamatta big boy? I'm too much woman for you ta handle?" Barry just shrugged and turned away. "Yeah. I guess." "Pfft. Whatever. Fag," she spat before staggering off. Rod was exactly where Barry expected him to be—in his bedroom, along with about seven other girls. Two of whom were draped over his equally naked body, two who were sleeping on the floor, and another three who were snorting lines in the corner. Barry ignored them all and made a beeline for his 'buddy'. "Hey Rod. Come on, man. Time to wake up." Rod only murmured incoherently, saying something about hos and trains, but nothing Barry felt bothered to figure out. Shaking his shoulder a second time, Barry insisted on waking him. "Yo. Up, man. We need to talk." When Rod failed to wake a second time, Barry looked to the side and saw an unfinished drink in a glass. Taking it in hand, he splashed it on Rod's face, making sure that as much of it fell on his eyes and nose as possible. "God, fuck!!" Rod exclaimed as he popped up, startling the girls hugging on him. "Jesus Christ that burns! Who's the goddamn dick weasel who—" He glanced up through squinted eyes to see Barry. "Aw shit . . . Barry! Hell yeah, man! Welcome to the party, my nigga!" For the record, Rod wasn't black. He wasn't even 1/1000th black. One of his kids was, though, and that was all it took to convince himself that he had N-word privileges. Barry's Sluts Ch. 03: Imani He and Barry slapped hands and Barry used that to help Rod to his feet. Astoundingly, Rod didn't seem too drunk or high, so it looked like Barry might just get a serious conversation out of him yet. "Dude, I've been trying to get you to one of my shindigs for years. Glad to see you could finally make it!" Barry smirked and shook his head. "Not here to play, Rod. Got something urgent to talk about. Business." "That's cool, um, whatever," Rod said with obvious disappointment. "Yeah, let's take it in my office so we could get some privacy." Barry nodded and followed Rod into the next room, where his office was. However, with about five couples fucking everywhere inside, it wasn't as 'private' as Rod had implied. "Oh for fucks' sake. What did I say, goddammit!? My fucking office is fucking off-limits for fucking! Take this shit somewhere else, people!" The disappointed couples scampered off, some even leaving their clothes behind in their haste. Rod didn't pay it any mind and even lifted a pair of thong panties from his desk chair and brought them to his nose, taking a deep whiff. "Oh hell yeah," he said perversely before stashing the underwear in his drawer. "Keepin' 'em." Shortly after, he turned his attention back to his friend seated on the other side of the desk. "Actually, Barry. I'm glad you wanna talk business. I just got through acquiring almost seventy candidates for new talent. All total, I think I can get us eight studs and fifty-nine sluts." Barry's eyebrow rose. "That many?" "Like I said, man. I know people. Besides, ain't hard to find bitches willin' to turn themselves out in this economy. It's the one thing the recession actually improves. Anyway, our boys in Talent Acquisition should be getting the good news in a couple days." Rod wasn't kidding. With the economy in the tank, there was no shortage of women who were willing to resort to whoring themselves to remain financially secure. Everyday, former teachers, businesswomen, and devoted housewives turned to the streets to make ends meet, and Rod was determined to get in on that action. In his defense, the porn industry was a lot pickier, more humane and relatively safer than walking the corners. Still, this was an aspect of the business that made Barry's skin crawl. It sounded too much like exploitation. True, the line was sometimes blurry concerning ethics in the porn business—but Barry maintained that anyone under his employ always had a choice in what they did. Oh sure, he'd accept a slut willing to film herself being fucked in a heartbeat. But, he wasn't keen on how he'd seen some of the other studios acquire their talent. Some places had far less scruples than Stallion did, resorting to blackmail, extortion, fraud, and even outright slavery to get women naked before the camera. But again, that wasn't how Barry did things. The women who were his 'slaves', his submissives, had all chosen to be and could stop anytime they wished with absolutely no strings attached. The girls who worked for his studios were treated like respectable, honest-to-God employees, complete with bonuses and stipends for doing good work. Even the women who moonlighted for Ariadne's cyber-brothel had made the decision without coercion of any sort and were absolutely sure of what they wanted and their ability to quit whenever they liked. Barry didn't obstruct freedom through red tape, wage slavery, or legal loopeholes. He absolutely abhorred the thought of taking advantage of desperate people. There was no question that the lines got blurry in the porn business, but Barry Garrett always knew where he drew his. "Some of these 'sluts' wouldn't happen to be sitting in the next room getting crunk, would they, Rod?" Rod's eyes darted nervously. "Uhhhhh . . ." "Goddammit, Rod. We've talked about this before! No fucking cluckers!" "Yeah, yeah, I know. But, come on, man. You should see the way these bitches suck cock. They love it. You gotta—" "I wouldn't give a shit if they had the power to suck the audience's dick through a TV screen," Barry answered sternly. "No goddamn addicts, Rod! I just had to fire three people you sent me because they failed testing." Rod seemed hurt, but not surprised. "Who?" "Sarah Soap, Roxy Rocket and Alina Red." "What?! Barry, man, are you fucking nuts?! Those three are made money! Some of the best talent I've ever seen. They can't get enough fucking, and they'll spread their legs for anything!" "Don't goddamn remind me. But, that doesn't change the fact. You know that damn disease scare we had recently? Turns out it was started by an addict who'd slipped through testing." Rod scrunched his nose. "One of those three?" "No, but—" "See? There's no problem, then. My talent is always gold, man. We still test for disease and shit all the time, right? And we caught this one before it got bad. So if some of our best and brightest feel like getting loose off the set, then that's their business." Barry shook his head. No way in hell it was that simple. Besides Sammy Slamz, four people had been AIDS-infected during this latest fiasco before they caught it. Four of his loyal, hard-working employees had been lost. Most importantly, four good people had their lives irrevocably changed because his studio failed to keep a tight enough leash. Barry's teeth grit. Any one of them could have been Suzanna. And just like that, it could have easily spread to every single person in his family. Fuck no. No amount of money was worth that. "Rod, you're missing the point—" "No, Bar, it's you who's missing the point if you don't see what I'm saying. We're businessmen. We make money. I know shit's tough right now, but that ain't no problem of mine. I've cut you a ton of slack in the past because you've always come through. But, I haven't been seeing any return in a minute, man. I'm giving you straw-spun-gold and all I'm getting back is dog shit on a stick. We're cool and all, man, but there's only so far I can bend, you hear?" Barry let out a sigh and rubbed his hand through his hair. Rod shrugged. "Aiite, man. I'm just saying. In the end, the studio's your show, and all I can do is give the Stallion a slap on the ass. It's your job to ride that old horse to victory." He lit a cigarette with a lighter produced from another desk drawer. "Speaking of old horses . . . you give Thornton his cut yet?" "Not yet," Barry sighed, wary of being reminded. "Don't stall too long, man. We don't need to be in any deeper shit than we are." And so here it was: the 'big problem' Barry had spoken with his wife about the night before. Bill Thornton, the mayor of Chicago, and the man who controlled much of the political climate in the immediate Chicagoland metropolitan area. Even outlying counties, such as the suburb where Barry was born and his mother currently lived, were under Thornton's control by proxy. All he had to do was lean in a certain direction, and he'd always get what he wanted. And he was leaning on the Garretts pretty damn hard. The main dilemma was Barry's personal code of ethics. It was a delicate balance. As mentioned earlier, he was a hedonist; he lived for freedom and blatant satisfaction. But, the laws of society were archaic. To that end. not everything Barry and his family did was . . . 'legal' in the strictest sense. To avoid mincing words, every person in his family—every single one of them aside from the children—were criminals in the strictest sense of the term. Ariadne Garrett, his mother, was also Barry's slave. His cum slut. His personal whore. Barry had collared his own mother roughly seven years ago, and the two of them had lived as Master and Slut ever since. But she was only the first of many. Throughout the years, Barry's 'harem' of slaves had grown. A true dominant archetype, Barry had collared twenty women across multiple continents and he had dozens upon dozens of occasional lovers and one-night-stands besides. But Ariadne, his mother, had been his first in every regard and still remained his favorite. For sure, the sensual love and intimacy Barry and his mother shared would likely be considered abhorrent to any moral court, and their children would be in danger if anyone ever discovered the truth. Every one of the babies Ariadne had given Barry was completely safe, happy, and healthy, but that wouldn't stop narrow-minded simpletons from sticking their noses where they didn't belong. But Barry would defend his loved ones to his last breath, no matter who tried to break them apart. Far as Barry was concerned, anyone who lumped consensual incest in the same boat as real crime was a fucking idiot. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. Ariadne herself had recently abandoned her former business in home décor and had taken to being a professional Mistress and Madame, with her own team of slaves and whores. It had started when Barry, noting that he couldn't always be on hand to give his slave the attention she craved, told her take a lover. To his surprise, Ariadne had done him one better and actually collared her own slave: Emily. Emily, it turned out, had a secret fantasy for being whored—an idea that Ariadne found enticing. And so it was that a new and exciting chapter in her life had been born. And things only expanded from there. In the past four years, Ariadne had gained eleven other submissives, all of whom allowed themselves to be whored. But Ariadne was careful. To hear her tell it, all she did was set her submissives on 'dates' with a variety of men who were willing to provide charitable 'gifts' for their company. On the surface, absolutely nothing directly stated that what they did was prostitution, but if it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck . . . And then, there were the other things Barry had dipped into over the past four years. The things that even Rod himself didn't know about. So yes, the Garretts were far from law-abiding citizens. But it was still about choice. Ariadne had chosen to become her son's personal property. Every one of his slaves had. Any slave that wanted to leave his care was free to do so, without any questions asked. Ariadne's situation was no different. Any one of her submissives and whores, even Emily, were free to remove themselves from service at their own discretion. No coercion, force, or red tape of any kind was involved. The only reason any of them were there was because they wanted to be. But it was all too fragile. As strong as they'd become, as powerful as the Garretts were now, everything they'd built was like a house of cards on loose sand: just waiting for one foul wind. One strong blow, and all of their lives would be ruined forever. Their dreams shattered. That was the risk they were all willing to take to live with the freedom they dreamed of. Men like Thornton, however, exploited that dream and pissed all over it. In order to keep everything he and his family did safe and secret, Barry had been blackmailed into making 'contributions' to Thornton in order to ensure that the slimy bastard had a sizable cushion to run his political campaign with. Barry still had to pay him, even now, with business at its lowest point. Thornton didn't give a shit how tough times were. He had the Garretts right by the balls and he knew it. But, if Barry had his way, the asshole's days were numbered. "Barry, I want to say again, dude . . . I'm still sorry for getting you into this whole mess with Thornton," Rod said remorsefully. "I'm helping you out as best I can, but I need just a little cooperation, alright?" "Yeah Rod," Barry acknowledged. "Look, don't worry about us. I'm getting everything back on track as we speak. By tomorrow, we should be back to filming." "Out-fucking-standing!" Rod exclaimed gleefully. "About time I got some good news." "Oh and one more thing," Barry said, knowing that their business was shortly to conclude. "What's the word on that security stuff you said you were looking into?" "Already done," Rod said with a smirk. "Styles Holdings now owns SecuriNet Solutions. We're in the final stages of making them the premier security group for my hotels and any of our known affiliates. Such as yourself. Once the deal's done, they'll be available for both professional and private security. And these guys don't fuck around." "Good," Barry nodded. "See? What'd I tell you, man? I do good work," Rod said triumphantly. "Within a week or so, you and your people are going to have the best guys outside of the Secret Service watching your backs and making you all feel safer." "Glad to hear it," Barry acknowledged. Finally, some security for his wife, his mother, his kids, and a few other members of their extended family. As their fame and fortune grew, the Garretts had been getting visitors from tabloids, evangelists, stalkers . . . just about every freak you could imagine. Barry had been trying to sort out a bodyguard system for years, and he'd asked Rod to help him with that. Rod came through, but better than that, he'd actually picked out a security firm that took their security work personally. These guys were known for being dogmatic about protection, even willing to get their hands dirty to help their employers. That was exactly what Barry needed: people he could count on to get the job done. So the freeze was over, business was starting again, and protection was on the way. Finally, it seemed like the Garretts' dark cloud was beginning to pass. ****** THREE WEEKS LATER Ariadne leaned over the bathroom sink and glanced once more at the tiny white mechanism, paying careful attention to the strip in the middle. She'd been glancing at it over and over again for hours. Except that it wasn't hours. It was only a few minutes. Minutes that felt like hours. She'd been in this exact situation once before, eagerly awaiting a response. Trying to desperately take her mind off of the infinity it took to finally have her answer. At least this time, she had a much better distraction. "How much time has it been?" Barry asked as he nibbled her ear tenderly. "F-Four minutes, thirteen seconds, M-Master," Ariadne gasped as she felt her son's hand caress her naked rear. Slowly, his hips began a slow, stirring motion, and she could feel his firmness moving against the walls inside her. She moaned loudly, a sensual spark racing from between her legs throughout her entire body. It spurred her heart to quicken, her breath to become ragged, and her skin to moisten. Behind her, he pressed his body firmly against hers, the wetness of their skin causing them to stick together like panes of glass. She enjoyed that sensation of their bodies being intertwined, stuck together with his stiff manhood still locked deep within her. This was a position she savored; one that she would welcome to last forever. His hands roamed wherever they pleased, touching his property. It didn't matter where they went or what part of her they explored, it all belonged to him. Every ounce of flesh. Every drop of sweat. Every escaped breath. They all existed for him and him alone. Now what was called a 'Switch', Ariadne Garrett was a dominant some of the time, and a submissive herself at other times. In her 'day job', she was a Mistress, with her own stable of slaves which she commanded and arranged dates for. But in her own home, she was her son's slave. His Slut. His to do with as he saw fit. "Check it again," he said with an eager growl, both hands reaching up to cup her meaty tits. She did as he asked. "Four minutes, fifty-two seconds, Master. A-Any second now . . ." Sure enough, as the two of them glanced at the white home pregnancy indicator laying upon the sink, a soft blue strip appeared in the results window. "Blue. Blue's good, right? Is it good?" He was so eager for an answer. Bless him. "No, Master," Ariadne said dejectedly. "It's not. I've . . . I've failed again." Ariadne felt him slide out of her, and in an instant, he spun her completely around to face him, her buoyant and juicy breasts bouncing from the sudden motion. Her eyes widened and she stared at him with wide eyes, hoping that she hadn't done something to displease him. "Cut that out," Barry said before leaning forward and planting a loving, lustful kiss directly upon her lips. His tongue parted her lips and explored his mother's warm, wet mouth, and she eagerly met his tongue with hers, allowing the two to get acquainted with every curve and groove of each other. As he pulled away, they both left their mouths open long enough for the tips of their tongues to touch one last time, with a dewy string of saliva trailing behind where they had once touched. "You haven't failed me at all," he told her again. "I don't know where you get these ideas." "B-But Master," she stammered meekly. "You expect me to bear children for you. My body's primary purpose is to produce fruit from your seed, and it's not performing to task. That's why I say I've failed you." He smiled. Warmly, but with the same expression one would give a child that asked if the moon were made of cheese. "My Slut, do you know why I love to see you pregnant with my children?" She shook her head. "The Master does so with all of his servants, does he not?" His smile widened, indicating that it was true. Most of his submissives, though not all, had been pregnant with his child at some point. Chandra Burrell was just another example. But, that was merely because the way Barry fucked was savage, uninhibited. He claimed his slaves whenever, wherever, and however he wanted to, and he came wherever he pleased. Quite often, this led to the natural consequences—consequences that took nine months to pan out. So yes, Ariadne was right about that, but when Barry spoke again, he reminded her of the one thing she had misjudged. "That's . . . half-right, Slut. But, you're ignoring the fact that none of my other slaves has given me more than one child at most. You, and you alone, are the one that I've impregnated over and over again." It was the truth. Every year since they had become lovers, Ariadne hardly gone any time at all without a child in her belly. Over the course of seven years, she had borne him nine children, with not one of them being a multiple birth. Over a period of 84 months, Ariadne had only spent a grand total of two and a half with an empty uterus. This was because there was hardly a day when she and her Master did not fuck, and even within days after giving birth, Ariadne could not tear herself away from sex. Her doctor always spoke out against it, saying that it wasn't the most healthy choice, especially for a woman her age, but she didn't care. He didn't understand. Feeling her son inside her was worth it. Feeling bred by her own son was worth it. She and Barry never used birth control or contraceptives of any kind. She refused them. Her body existed for her son to fully enjoy to the extent that he wished, and denying any function of it to him was pure heresy. "And that is because I love you," he continued. "I want to claim you. To stamp ownership over every part of you. Your ass, your cunt, your lips, your tits . . . and your womb. You're my favorite. Every part of your body pleases me and it gives me immense pleasure to use them. They are mine. My ass, my cunt, my lips, my tits and my womb." She blushed, but frowned at the same time. "But, Master, I'm . . . I'm forty-six now. I think that my body . . . your property . . . is beginning to show its age. I don't think I can continue to serve you as I always have." Unfortunately, it was true; her body was denying him all on its own. Her hot flashes had begun sometime months ago, after the birth of their latest daughter. Her periods were becoming irregular, and she was developing the oddest changes in her mood.