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.