Barry's Queens Ch. 01

"That's not true!" Kitten shouted, standing from the sofa. "We all came here of our own free will! The Master always gave us a choice, and we do those things because we love the Master! Not because we're brainwashed or—"

"Kitten, dear, please sit down and be quiet," Suzanna told her, her own rage barely suppressed. The startled Kitten only did as her Alpha Slut commanded, sitting back onto the sofa properly and folding her hands in her lap.

But she was hardly the only one upset by MacAster's slanderous lies. The man was insulting each of them—making them all seem like little more than children incapable of making up their own minds. But the worst of it was that the things he was saying weren't completely untrue; there was always enough truth mixed with the lies to paint them all in the worst light possible.

Barry was unmoving, his eyes transfixed upon the screen. Outwardly, he appeared calm, but his features pulsed and twisted with rage.

It hadn't escaped him how the traitorous attorney had completely avoided the hostess's question about whether or not his Sluts were here of their own will. He'd cleverly danced around it, while still painting the most malicious picture he could.

"You said that there's some sort of cult, correct? What exactly do they worship there?" the reporter continued.

"Why, Mr. Garrett himself, of course."

"He has these people believing that he's a GOD?!"

"More or less, and all of the women who live with him are expected to join in the worship of the man. In any way he sees fit for them."

Ann glanced off-screen. "Ah. I'm being told we have a clip. Apparently, this is footage from an interview made nearly two years ago with the women of Dr. Garrett's cult."

***

The live show cut to archived footage accompanied by narration. The video showed an episode with Late Night Erotic with show host Rebecca Swaim, taped several months earlier.

"A shocking glimpse into Garrett family was given to anyone lucky enough to tune in to late night-cable many months ago. On an episode of the candid sexually-themed show, 'Late Night Erotic', several young women from Dr. Garrett's 'harem' agreed to an interview.

"To say that what we learned is bewildering would be an understatement. Here, we learn that Dr. Garrett's mistresses are not even allowed to think of themselves as real people."

REBECCA: "He doesn't use your names? And it doesn't embarrass any of you at all? To be objectified like that?"

SUSAN: "Why would it? 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."

"Also, women are encouraged to foster unhealthy attitudes about their culture, gender, and racial identities."

TRENA: "Well, I'm Asian. Asian women are always either innocent flowers or total wanton whores. Master loves to BLEEP his little sexy toy."

CHANDRA: "He likes watching us compete over him . . ."

"Through the words of these women . . . these so-called 'Sluts', it's clear to see that the only thing this group exists for is to boost Dr. Garrett's immature ego.

"But what, you may ask, about children? Dr. Garrett uses these women as breeding stock. When he collars a woman, he puts her through nine months of pregnancy almost non-stop. The women are, in fact, expected to forcibly keep themselves pregnant."

REBECCA: "I also notice that most of you are pregnant. All by your Master, presumably?"

CHANDRA: "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."

TRENA: "A few of us the Master keeps exclusively to manufacture his children. They are his incubators. His Breeding Sluts. Nothing more, nothing less."

REBECCA: "Ouch. Isn't that . . . harsh?!"

CHANDRA: "Our pain is not important. What matters is the Master's satisfaction."

"And what of these children? Late Night Erotic never gave us any look at the lives of the children who live inside such a perverse and decadent household, but it is something you would think would be worth noting. What sort of values are they taught? What do they think of their father, let alone the 'property' that gave birth to them? However, UBC News was able to speak with at least one person who may have insight: Gary Lennox , the principal of George Washington Carver High School, where Dr. Garrett's eldest daughter attends."

The next clip conspicuously cut the beginning of Lennox's interview: ". . . sharp drop in grades, zoning out, and a constant need to escape from reality. She's become a more difficult student this past semester."

The reporter holding the mic responded: "Mr. Lennox, in your professional experience, are those qualities signs of neglect?"

Lennox thought for a bit and then nodded hesitant: "Well, certainly. All of those things are usually very potent signs, and—"

"So all totaled, what we learn today about the Garrett home is not a very pretty sight. Dr. Garrett has, for more than a decade now, been extremely protective of his family's privacy and we believe that we're starting to see the clues as to why. This has been Sara Parasini, for UBC News."

***

The room was aghast as the clip finally ended. In particular, Chandra, Susan, Trena, and the other girls that had done the private interview with Late Night Erotic were beside themselves, wanting to find a hole to crawl inside and die. The other Sluts gazed at them with a mix of both anger, betrayal, and pity, but none spoke.

Barry, however, sat still. Even now, his expression was still unchanged.

Finally, the program returned to the live show.

"Despicable," the reporter said with gnashing teeth. Despite her reassurances earlier, her eyes cast a damning gaze to the lawyer. Seething with accusation, she hissed, "and you were part of this for how long?"

"I was Dr. Garrett's attorney for more than twelve years, starting long before this insanity began. Initially, I felt that I only needed to do my job and not ask questions, but as more and more time passed, I realized that I simply couldn't do this anymore. I needed to . . . to 'cleanse my soul' . . . so to speak. And I needed to reveal to the whole world what was transpiring there. What kind of sick man Mr. Garrett was, and what types of ordeals he put those poor women through."

Finally, Barry stood. His tall, powerful figure looming in the center of the room with fists clenched tightly at his side.

"Turn it the fuck off," he demanded. "NOW."

Obeying his command, Mariana stood promptly, reaching for the Power button.

"Thank you, Mr. MacAster, for coming forward. And I can only hope that you can find some peace within yourself knowing that you've done the right thing." The reporter reached to the side and produced some paperwork. "In preparation for tonight's show, we have already alerted the proper auth—"

Barry turned to exit the room, his congregation of loyal slaves—his beloved Queens—watching his every move. Concern etched upon their faces, each of them studied him carefully, wondering if they could, in any fashion, be of use to him. Their eyes begged him give an order, to tell them how they can help alleviate his displeasure.

But he couldn't ask anything of them. Not for this. Not for a betrayal this deep—not for what was his worst nightmare come to light. Barry had always feared that a day like this would come, and it finally had. Now, he only had to hope that he'd prepared enough, planned enough, to undo the damage before it could start.

Before he even knew it, Barry was well out of the room and far down the adjacent hall. Though he walked alone, the hall filled with the sound of heels hurriedly chasing behind him.

"Master," Mariana spoke. "Mrs. Ortega called. She said that she saw the whole thing, and the press has been calling non-stop. She also said not to worry—she won't say anything at all to them until she hears instructions from you."

"Thank you, Mariana," he said solemnly.

"Is there anything I can do, Master?" Ariadne asked . . . or rather pleaded.

"Or me, Master?" Chandra followed.

"Or me, of course," asked Trena.

"I'll do whatever you need, Master," said Kitten.

"So will I!"

"And I!"

"And me too!"

"Just tell me if you need me, Master!"

Barry turned, forcing himself into the best smile he could muster and raising his hand to silence the voices.

"You all have already done the best service you can by disproving the lies you heard today. However, I need to be alone right now."

The girls all nodded in silence, though they looked upon each other with worry.

Barry retired to his office, alone, leaving the lights out to avoid giving himself a headache, and really let the shame of what just transpired truly soak in. His attorney . . . his friend . . . had just betrayed him in every since of the word. Barry had always known that at some point the rest of the world would be curious about the intricacies of his private affairs—after all, rich people breed scandal—but, he'd always thought it would happen on his terms. Because his attorney, a damn good attorney had always been there.

But what do you do when the person you've always relied on most turns out to be the one you never should have trusted?

Before he could allow his misery o pull him any lower, the door opened, and Suzanna entered.

"Suze, I said—"

"You can use those lines with the other Sluts if you want, honey, but I know you best." Walking briskly until she was behind his desk, Suzanna pushed Barry back into his seat, took his cock by her slender hands and forced it fully into her mouth, enveloping his thick shaft fully with her warm and soothing lips.

"Suze . . ."

"Shhhh . . ." she said, as his cock became free with a pop. "You need this."

Before he could protest, Barry knew she was right. Already, he could feel the despair draining . . . the sadness retreating . . .

"Please don't mind me. Think for as long as you like, darling. I'll be here to help you."

Barry leaned back in his chair, his anxiety falling sway as his wife's head rose and fell again and again between his legs, he hands resting softly upon his thighs. She was right—with the fog of anger swiftly lifting, Barry's thoughts were clearer. With the salve of pleasure awash him, he was reminded of his purpose, and the very thing he fought for.

"Thank you, Suze," he said, gently petting the top of his favorite Slut's head. "God, I have no idea what I'd do without you. Without any of you . . ."

Sliding her lips away with a loud POP, Suzanna's blues looked up at him as she smiled. "You're welcome, Master. Though . . . a better 'Thank You' would be to see you smile. But, given the circumstances to night, I'll settle for feeling your warm, thick cum in the back of my throat."

Lovingly, Barry nodded.

But he didn't smile.

******

-Epilogue 1-

ONE DAY AGO

Casey and Dillan Roseland—a Rhode Island couple that spent half of their time working as professional hackers, vigilantes and bounty hunters. The two had been together for more than 22 years, and had busted over a dozen cases for local law enforcement, parole officers, and even the US Marshals. Roughly Four years ago, the two of them had been working diligently to bust open a humongous scandal when suddenly, they were stopped dead in their tracks by none other than the Mayor of Chicago himself. Bill Thornton's goons offered to pay the couple handsomely for all of the information they'd collected, along with a public statement denying any scandal. The Roselands refused the offer, and as a result, the two of them soon found their home burned to the ground, along with their five loving canine pets.

Their hatred for Thornton and his co-conspirators ignited, the Roselands took up a new crusade, though they were forced to start completely from scratch. But investigations are slow and costly when you have no money, and the two were running out of time when luck finally met them.

And luck's name was Barry Garrett.

"You don't have to say anything," Casey said with a smirk. "Dill and I saw the news. We know what's up."

That was the first thing the two of them said to Barry after answering the doorbell, as they swung the front door open to invite Barry, Suzanna, Imani and Ariadne through.

"So what's the situation?" Dillan asked.

"The public's in an uproar. Poor Phyllis has been running around putting out fires all day, and one by one, most of Barry's financial backers are catching word. Optimistically, we're look at about 15% drop in sales," Suzanna responded.

"If there's anything the media wants," Imani said, "it's a new villain to hate. Whoever's been playing us, they're giving the people just what they want and spinning things just the right way to make Barry look like America's worst monster since a guy named Manson."

"Well, you can rest assured . . . we've already been looking into it," Dillan told them, his shoulders hunched over a laptop with what seemed like a dozen cables jutting from every direction. Barry wasn't what one would call 'computer savvy'—he knew enough to run a business and maybe play a videogame or two—so he couldn't even hazard a guess as to what all of that crap was for. "But that's as far as this silver lining goes. So far, we don't have any solid leads."

Barry sighed as he took a seat opposite of Dillan, and his three girls all sat around him, with an equal amount of concern in their eyes. Casey picked up on it and gave a sympathetic smile. If anyone knew what he was feeling, it was the two of them.

"Believe me when I say that we're working 'round the clock on this, and we're not gonna quit until we get something you can use." Her eyes swept across the quartet of guests. "Iced tea for anyone?"

Barry shook his head no, but the girls all nodded yes, and Casey disappeared to fetch the drinks.

"Though I don't think he's your biggest problem, I need to ask: you got any idea why your lawyer suddenly went turncoat on you?" Dillan asked, his eyes looking up from behind the laptop screen.

"None at all," Barry told him. "Pete had always been a good man. I never hid anything about my lifestyle from him. Although I never volunteered information unless it was strictly necessary, he never saw fit to ask."

"So you'd say he knew about your submissives? He approved of your lifestyle?"

"Hell, that's nothing. He even knew that I was fucking my mother and sister. When someone tried to break the story a bunch of years back, Pete was the one who quashed the story for us. I can't figure out why he'd betray us."

"Ah," Dillan nodded. "Boy, you rich folks. Always paying people to hide your dirty secrets for you."

Barry frowned at that, and Dillan sighed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to imply you were anything like Thornton. You're a good man, Barry, and I can't thank you enough for helping the two of us back when. Who knows what would've become of us if you hadn't found our seething rants on Thornton on that political website." He then turned to Ariadne and Imani. "And you two also. Thank you, Imani, for being the one who finally took that sonuvabitch down, and thank you, Aria, for bossing us around for those years."

Ariadne grinned, fondly remembering her time as Casey and Dillans' mistress.

Casey and Dillan had both been part of Ariadne's old online brothel a long while ago, moonlighting as a hooker and gigolo. As a gifted hacker, Casey could play her Johns for info, and pickpocket all the evidence she needed. She was even smooth enough to put items back before anyone knew they were missing. Afterward, she and Dillan would spend weeks or months figuring out what the figures meant.

Ariadne herself had been the one who'd trained Casey to be a whore, collaring the girl herself and setting up her "dates" through the internet. The two of them had done some swinging in the past, so while the adjustment was difficult, it was easier than it might be for some. Even so, both had retired from Ariadne's service the moment Thornton was locked away. The couple had spent the last three years getting on with their lives and reconnecting with each other.

"I'm glad to see you're both doing well," Ariadne nodded, just as Casey returned with four glasses of iced tea.

"I know you said you didn't want none," she said to Barry, "but I know a thirsty man when I see one."

Barry nodded in appreciation and took the glass in his hands. True to Casey's word, he consumed almost the entire glass in just a few gulps.

"Moving along," Imani spoke up, "can you tell us what you—"

"Wow, even you, huh?" Dillan said, his eyes focused on Imani's bulging belly.

Unbelievably, Imani blushed. It almost seemed impossible—not just due to her dark, mocha complexion, but also because her tomboyish, tough exterior—but sure enough, streaks of red had appeared on the federal agent's face as every eye in the room fell upon her.

"T-That's not the . . . can we just stay focused here?" She cried with embarrassed exasperation. "Anyway, a minute ago, you said you that MacAster wasn't our biggest problem. So can you tell us what you meant by that?"

Casey sighed. "Have any of you heard The Locksmith?"

As Barry was about to shake his head, Imani suddenly spoke. "The Locksmith!? The cyber criminal?"

Dillan nodded. "The very same."

When Barry turned to his sister inquisitively, she explained. "The 'Locksmith' is the most notorious information dealer the Bureau has ever chased. Whoever he or she is, they can hack into nearly any system, decrypt and decode information and exit before anyone knows what's going on. He . . . or she . . . has sold law enforcement investigation details to the criminals they were investigating. They've made an entire police force look like fools. They've made stacks of evidence, money, drugs and even people vanish into thin air. And hell, that's not the worst of it. Some of the shit this bastard pulls goes as far as threatening National Security. Do you any of you remember the incident in Thailand a year or so back? The bastard sold the information to the Thai and almost got our people killed. And that's only the tip of the iceberg of the number of crimes they've pulled. Whoever they are, they're extremely intelligent. No matter how much we encrypt or encode our information, it always, always finds its way into their hands."

Suzanna's eyes widened. "Are you saying that this person . . . whoever they are . . . are the ones that's making our lives miserable? That they're putting MacAster up to this?"

Dillan nodded again. "Positive, I'm afraid."

Imani grew steadily pale. "Barry . . . this is huge. The Locksmith has been at the top of the FBI Cyber Division's Most Wanted list for more than two years! This may be the single most dangerous criminal on the planet. The New York mob has nothing on this. This is a person that even Sabre Kilroy knows not to cross!"

"So what are you saying? That I should just walk away?"

"No, I don't think that. I just mean—oh God, I don't know what I mean. But . . . Barry, please understand . . . the last thing I want is to see you get hurt. To see everything you've built get destroyed. Because the Locksmith has that power."

"How . . . how can an information dealer have that sort of power?" Ariadne asked. "I always thought of information brokers as being like those WikiLinks jokers."

"Someone who knows where to find information, how to appraise it, and how to sell it to the right people? That person controls the world."