Barry's Sluts Ch. 03: Imani

"Incredible . . ." he breathed, moments before burying his face in them. There was no possible way he could avoid it. His mouth simply had to touch them; his nose needed their scent rubbed all over it. The feeling of her soft, supple bosom upon every inch of his face drove him absolutely wild. It made him abandon any traces of humanity. It made him just a stallion ready to mount a mare and breed her.

"Bite them," Imani growled. "Put your mark all over them!"

With that request, he understood now. She didn't want to make love. She didn't want to fuck. She wanted to be raped.

He turned her around and threw face-first her over the back of his couch. Without gentleness, he took hold of her jeans and slid them down before yanking them off with one fell swoop. She kicked helplessly, but sighed in lustful approval, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see him tossing his own shirt aside, exposing his rippling, flawless chest and abs.

"Talk about 'incredible'," she said breathlessly. "You're a god."

He fished his cock out. "Then worship me."

She immediately crawled on her knees and placed her obscenely plush and juicy lips over the head of his cock and pushed down to his throat in one go. Barry had been deep-throated before, but Imani's lips felt uniquely good around his shaft. At the same time her throat and tongue was massaging on the inside, her lips were massaging the outside.

Jesus Christ it felt fantastic.

He glanced down at her, this voluptuous ebony angel bouncing her head fiercely up and down on his pole. He loved seeing the contrast of colors between them. His peachy, Caucasian skin and her mahogany, Ebon tone drove him crazy with lust. It made him finally explode deeply into her throat, and he grabbed her head and pushed her down hard to accept it.

She choked hard, but her body shivered with orgasm. He held her like that until every drop had been ejected, and he stared in her eyes expectantly, silently saying Drink it all, Bitch. She accepted, although she didn't have a choice either way.

When he was done, he pulled away and stepped out of the rest of his clothes. Imani fell back, gasping for breath, but still eyeing him with a hopeful glint.

When he was totally nude, he picked her up from the floor by her arm. "Come on, slut. I'm ready for that black pussy now."

"Yes sir," she gasped as he threw her back on his couch and pushed her ankles back as far as he could. He didn't even know how flexible her body could be, and he didn't care. Right now, her body would do whatever the fuck he told it to. He pushed her ankles backward until she could grasp them and then ordered her to hold them there. She did so immediately, licking her lips and breathing faster still.

Barry spit on her pink pussy lips as if in contempt. In actuality, he was adding just a bit of extra lubricant. Just a touch more wetness in anticipation of what he was about to do. Imani was already plenty wet between her folds, but she'd need all the help she could get for what was about to come.

Barry placed the head of his immense girth at her entrance and slid it up and down along her clit twice. She moaned deeply, and he could see her entrance glistening with yet more juices. Finally feeling she was as ready as she'd ever be, he placed the head of his vanilla staff at the entrance to chocolate paradise.

Then he thrust in deep. Balls deep. Imani cried out in shock, the sudden friction making her insides instantly hot. She growled at him affectionately, the subtle pain actually deepening her desire. Not willing to let her come down from that wave of pleasure, Barry leaned into his black slut and began pounding her as fast and hard as he could. Harder than he'd ever fucked any slut in his entire life.

"God! Oh God! Yes! Just take it," Imani cried. "Just take that pussy from me!"

Barry sacrificed neither speed nor power as he fucked. He took his cock from hilt to tip each stroke, and yet continued with the same pace as a combustion engine. His marble ass clenched and bucked over and over as he pounded into her, and he leaned on her hard so that their contrasting skin could mash together.

"Yes, baby brother," Imani gasped. "Fuck this hot black pussy! Fuck your nigger slut sister!"

Barry grunted sharply, and she didn't fail to notice.

"You like that? You like me being your 'nigger slut sister'? That sounds so wrong doesn't it? But it feels so right!"

She wasn't lying. Barry had never said the 'N-word' in his entire life, but hearing it now, knowing that it was not only a black woman but his own sister he was driving his cock home into, took him off the deep end.

"Say it," Imani insisted. "Call me your 'nigger slut sister'!"

"God!" he gasped, "You are! You're my nigger slut sister", he said continuing to fuck unabated.

"That's right Barry, I'm your Colored Cunt." She smiled. "You're a Master, right? You like having slaves, Barry? You want me to call you 'massa'? Do you want to whip me?"

He slapped her, hard. "Shut your fucking coon mouth and let me fuck you!"

She smiled. She'd succeeded in what she wanted. Now he was letting everything out. Now, they could really enjoy this.

******

Barry fucked Imani all night and came in her a countless number of times. He fucked her until she was exhausted and weak, and kept going regardless. She wanted to taken. She wanted to be raped, so that's what he gave her. She passed out at least once, and he continued to fuck her limp body regardless until she woke up again. She couldn't believe it. He really was raping her.

And she fucking loved it.

She was sore the next morning, but was nonetheless sucking his cock to bring him to readiness. She said she didn't care how sore she was, she wanted his cock. Needed his cock. He fucked her twice that morning and whenever the hell else he felt like it, without warning. She let him have her every single time, and they shared racial slurs the entire time.

For both of them, it was their first time fucking both a sibling and a member of the opposite race. And they wanted to milk the experience for everything it was worth.

This continued regularly for three weeks, during which time Imani never slept in her own apartment again.

******

Thankfully, Barry's worst-case prediction didn't come to pass. Three whole weeks passed; the early days of March arrived with not a peep from Thornton or the Syndicate. Barry couldn't allow himself to feel any sort of relief about it, though. Maybe they were trying to get everyone to put their guard down, think everything was okay. Maybe they were trying to wait until things died down to avoid arousing the authorities. Whatever was going on, though, he got the feeling that something was coming, and the thought made his skin crawl.

Then one day, Barry got a call from Rod.

"Barry, man . . . listen. I've got some really shitty news."

Barry sat back and let out a deep sigh, bracing himself. "What's going on, Rod?"

"Dude, I don't know how to tell you this, but . . . I have proof that Suzanna's having an affair."

Barry's blood went completely cold. In its own way, this news was even worse than dealing with Thornton and the entire criminal underworld.

"What did you say? You have proof?"

"Yeah," Rod told him mournfully. "You know how you told me she's been taking a break from acting? Gone back to Chicago for a while?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Well, while she's been on this 'sabbatical' of hers, some of my boys have been following her around, seeing what she's up to. As you know, she usually ditches the security, but I had some of my own people spy on her for a bit, just to see."

Barry had had the same idea once or twice, but elected not to do it. He just couldn't bring himself to spy on the woman he loved like that. Maybe he was being sentimental. Maybe he was afraid of what he'd find. Either way, he'd wussed out. But now, things were different. The deed was already done. And if Rod had found out anything, he wanted to know what it was.

"What's been going on, Rod?"

"It's bad, Barry, real bad. Dude, I think she's been seeing people from the Syndicate."

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah, from what I can tell, she meets up with at least two Chicago bosses. All I can tell you is that she goes in, she's in there for two hours, and then she comes out. Her hair and clothes are a little different, and she's walkin' a little funny."

Barry rubbed his hands through his hair, fighting back the tears that threatened to flow. "And you have proof of this?"

"Sent the photos to you by FedEx," he said. "Would've scanned them or something, but I figured you'd want to see the originals with your own eyes."

"Yeah, thanks, um . . ." he was struggling to catch his breath, on the verge of hyperventilating. "You think . . . you think maybe these guys are blackmailing her? Maybe . . . maybe threatening me to make her do this?"

"I don't think so, from what I've seen and what the guys have told me. Every Thursday at four, she intentionally dresses up to meet them in the sluttiest attire possible, she's all smiles when she gets there, and they sometimes have friendly conversation before they . . . you know. If she's being blackmailed, man, she's doing a damn good job of playing along."

Barry hit his head on his desk and sobbed. This couldn't be his Suzanna Rod was talking about. Not the woman he'd spent eight years with. Not the woman who had once saved him from being an invalid all his life. Not the woman who'd sworn to bear his children.

Barry prayed. For the first time in many years, he prayed to every god he knew.

"Rod . . . please . . . ." His heartbreak was obvious, his voice weak. Barry could barely speak at all as he broke down to tears. "Please tell me that you might have something mixed up . . . that there's a mistake . . ."

Rod sighed. "I wish I could, man. But, I wanted to bring this to your attention because if she's been with the Syndicate for all this time, then she probably knows everything. She's probably told them everything about you, and that means big trouble for both of us. They know that you and I are tight, and anything they could do to you could affect me."

"Oh God . . ." Barry sobbed again. This was a nightmare. His worst fucking nightmare.

He forced to himself to sit up straight. No. No, get a grip.

He loved Suzanna to death, and this was killing him inside, but he needed to face facts. If she was really doing this, then she needed to be stopped. He had to think about this rationally, like the leader of a family and business is supposed to. What she was doing wasn't just a spite to him or his company, but to everyone else who was loyal to him. There were too many lives at stake to just wallow in heartbreak.

He glanced at the calendar on his desk. "You said that she meets every Thursday at 4pm in Chicago, right? Like today?"

"Um, yeah . . ." Rod said hesitantly.

"Where?"

"Barry, dude, don't tell me you're—"

"Where?!!"

"Barry, please man. Just li—"

"WHERE!!!!?!!?"

For a moment, Rod was silent as Barry's entire body shook with anger. When things had grown quiet again, Rod finally spoke up.

"Seabird Island. There's a film lot on Harvard there. Since she's an actress, it's not hard for her to—"

"Got it. Thanks."

"Hey, Barry! Barry, god dammit, don't--!"

But it was too late. Barry was out of the door within seconds, but not before making a call to the head of his security team.

******

By 4 o'clock, two black cars stopped in front of the film lot, allowing Barry and five other heavily armed men to exit the car. Barry stepped out and inspected this little dingy area in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere. If Suzanna was really in there . . . with God knows who . . . then she's picked a perfect remote location. Seabird Island actually was a one-square-mile island, separated by the Chicago River on all sides. There were no homes, no businesses, no traffic . . . absolutely nothing in this area to be seen by any prying eyes.

He leaned back against the car door for a moment, catching his breath and making another silent prayer. He let the biting, cold late-winter air clear his mind just a bit.

Please, God, let Rod be wrong about this one. Let him be the fuck-up I've always known him as. Just this once.

"Mr. Garrett," one of his guards said to him. "We're ready when you are."

"Lead the way, sir." Said another.

Barry took a deep breath and decided to get it over with. He headed toward the building, his heart slamming harder and harder in his chest with each step. The whole time, he prayed that wouldn't find what he expected. He pleaded that this was some mistake.

But as he approached, he could hear it. The sounds of sex. The grunt of a thrusting male, with his cock buried in some slut. The squeals of a bitch in heat being fucked to an inch of her life. They were loud and lewd, and getting louder which each step he took.

So loud in fact, that something was wrong. Barry stopped just short of the door and listened carefully. There was something . . . off. It took him several moments to realize what it was.

It's not her . . . Barry thought silently.

"Sir?" he security guards asked him. "Is something wrong?"

Long before they were even married, Barry had heard his wife's moans, her cries of passion, even her muffled orgasms dozens upon dozens of times. Before they'd ever even had sex themselves, Barry knew every sound she made. He'd seen her behind the camera, watching as she fucked her co-stars until she came in delight. And that had been eight years ago. Now, he was so good at it that he could even pick out the sound her pussy when fucking.

As he listened the sound beyond this door, he knew . . . this was not his wife inside.

But, someone had gone through the trouble of making him think it was. They had gone through this much trouble just to get him to walk inside.

It was a trap.

"Sir? If you just open the door, we'll follow you inside and—"

Suddenly, Barry spun and reached for his weapon. His security already had theirs nearly pointed his direction by the time he fired twice. The kick from the Magnum took them down instantly. One of the closer guards tried to punch at Barry, but he weaved, blocked, and gave a one-two combination to the bastard's chin.

But there were more stepping out of the cars, and he couldn't fight them all. Barry took off running, bowling past another of his assailants. He ran down the street as fast as his legs would take him, knowing that if he didn't escape fast, his doom was assured.

"Fuck!" the toppled security officer yelled. "He didn't bite! I repeat, target didn't bite! He's heading south on Harvard! South on Harvard!"

******

Why was this happening?! Why were his own security guards hunting him down!?! Why did they want him dead?!

Barry was racing for his life, hearing the screech of tires behind him as they gave pursuit. He darted to a fence and hoisted himself over as fast as he could, ripping his jacket to shreds in the process and not giving two shits about it.

He needed to stay off the streets. He ducked between two buildings and raced for the other end as fast as he could. He needed to stay ahead of the cars. If they cut him off at the other side, he was dead. If the men chasing him on foot got a clean shot, he was dead.

He ran as fast as he could for dear life.

And then, the phone rang.

Barry saw the name calling him. Despite knowing it would slow him down, he answered anyway.

"Yo yo yo yo, Barry, buddy . . . where the hell you off to?"

"Rod, you son of a bitch! When I get my hands on you I—"

"Barry, man, I know this doesn't exactly thrill you, but it doesn't thrill me, either. Okay, look, let me come clean. I really do like you. I do. But now that you've made me even more obscenely wealthy than I already was, I just don't need you anymore. It's nothing personal, you understand—you really did have an awesome business model . . . better than I could have come up with myself. But you just don't have the chops to make it in big business. You're too soft, too emotional. I gave you tons of chances to show you knew how to make real cash, and you blew it every time with your bleeding heart sentimental bullshit. That crap with the Sand Nigger a few weeks back was just the last straw.

"But why do you think I'm rich enough to buy my own country, Barry? It's because I let the guys like you . . . the ones with the ideas and the aspirations . . . do all the hard work. You build the model and collect the clientele. Then I take it and evolve it into a polished gem. I mean, hey, you relied on my money to get this little operation started in the first place, so it only makes sense that I could take it places that you never could."

Barry could hear the crack of gunfire, but too far for it to come anywhere close to hitting him. These guys weren't the greatest shots known to man, which made Barry feel twice as foolish for picking these jackasses to protect . . .

Oh God. Oh God, no . . . A dreadful realization entered his head.

Rod had hired them. He'd specifically picked these guys to protect his entire family and business. Everyone . . . his studios, his offices, his homes, his children, his mother, his wife . . .

They were ALL being watched over by these bastards!

"Dude, come on. What is all this shit? You're running? You're trying to run? Come on, man, you're just gonna embarrass yourself. At least die with some dignity."

No. Fuck that. He'd run. If these assholes wanted to off him, he'd make them work for it.

He darted around a corner, trying to find a place to duck into and lose them. Running on the open street wasn't helping his cause any. He needed to ditch them fast and break line of sight. He needed to get someplace with multiple possible exits, so they'd lose his trail fast.

But there was just one problem. . .

They'd led him to a goddamn island.

"Okay, if that doesn't appeal to you, then how about this: if you just die peacefully here and now, I promise nothing'll happen to your sister, your wife or your little nursery of incestuous bastard children. But let's assume you somehow get away today. That means we'd have to chase you down. That means we'd have to make sure you had nowhere to run. I'm afraid that if you don't stop being silly, we might just be forced to make an example out of your entire bloodline."

Barry broke back out into street, heading toward the drawbridge which led off the island. That was the only way out. He had to make it across before—

He heard the skid of tires several yards ahead. Both of the black cars criss-crossed on the street, creating a makeshift roadblock. Like him, they knew this was the only way off the island. They knew there was nowhere to go but here.

Barry had no choice but to stop and run back deeper onto the island. But, there was nowhere to go. It was late-winter/early-spring with an ice cold river surrounding him on every side. There was nothing on this entire island except abandoned factories and empty film lots.

He was completely, thoroughly, fucked.

But at least Rod was still talking. "Actually, now that I think of it, this offer does not extend to your mother or her little team of whores. For years, we've been trying to figure out who the fuck had been worming into our systems and swiping our books. Stalking and ambushing our guys like some Steven-Seagal-Batman-John-McClane shit. What's the world coming to when you can't even trust hookers these days? So, I hope you're proud of yourself, because all of them are dead. We have to set rules for this type of shit. You understand?