Barry's Sluts Ch. 02: Emily

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LordOfHell
LordOfHell
1,191 Followers

A woman noticed Ariadne approaching, and kept an eye on her until it became clear that her intention was to enter the sex shop. Immediately, the woman stood and stepped in Ariadne's way, showing a friendly smile.

"Hello, Sister. Are you here to join our cause?"

Ariadne cast a sidelong glance. "Ex . . . cuse me?"

"No doubt you must have seen or read one of the news reports regarding this vile place and the foul abominations they had been allowed to sell."

Ariadne frowned. "No, I haven't."

The woman's expression wilted. Her eyes glance downward at Ariadne's belly and then back into full eye contact. "Well, pardon my rudeness, but I simply can't imagine what a responsible woman in your condition could ever want with such a distasteful place."

Ariadne's first mind was to tell her it was none of her business, but she thought better of it, deciding there was no reason to combat rudeness with rudeness.

"I'm only here to see a friend," she said, attempting to push past. "Please excuse me."

As Ariadne started to walk through, she heard the woman suddenly shout, "You hear that everyone!? This confused woman thinks those monsters inside are her 'friends'! Even as she carries an innocent life inside her, she marches foolishly into a den of sin and evil!"

The other squatters soon came to life, jeering angrily at Ariadne. Several of them picked up picket signs with various crude, hand-written messages, like "No Smut In Our Town" and "No License To Sell Sin". The mob quickly grew louder and more ferocious, making Ariadne steadily more uncomfortable. They began to crowd in front of the door, forming a line that effectively blocked her way in.

"Hey, let me in, please!" Ariadne shouted, although it was impossible to even hear her own voice over the commotion. "I said, let me in!"

She had no doubt that the protesters knew what she was asking, but they refused to move aside. In her condition, Ariadne was really not in the mood to fight her way through. The protesters simply continued to shout at her, calling out words like "Sinner" and "Whore" while pointing at her stomach and shouting, "You don't deserve to be a mother!"

Finally, though, the crowd was forced to disperse when the overhead door descended, making them all dash away from the entrance nervously. Taking the opportunity, Ariadne dashed underneath, finally making her way back into the shop even as the door closed slammed to the floor behind her. Unfortunately, while the metal door muffled the sound of their voices, they quickly took to banging on the outside, causing even more commotion than before.

Ariadne didn't let that deter her, though. She was here for a purpose.

Ariadne made her way to the register, where a familiar face greeted her.

"Welcome to Clitacasm. Can I help . . . YOU!?!"

Ariadne smiled as she saw Emily, even as the younger woman's eyes went wide. "Hi, Emily. Long time no see."

Emily's expression quickly transformed from surprise to anger. As she placed a lit cigarette in her mouth and inhaled, her nose turned up at her former friend.

"Well look what crawled out of three years ago," she said bitterly. "I hope you came here to shop, cuz like I told you then, I'm done with you otherwise."

Ariadne's heart sank. She was no good at dealing with conflict or smoothing over rough patches, so she was really hoping that Emily might have forgiven her somewhere along the last three years. But, it seemed that was only wishful thinking. Emily was still bitter, and worse, it looked like time hadn't been kind to her.

Her eyes were sunken and red, whether from a lack of sleep or drug abuse, Ariadne couldn't tell. She hoped it wasn't the latter . . . Emily was far too smart and talented to get mixed up in that. Emily also looked a lot thinner than she had been before, and that was saying something, considering how slight she was to begin with. Her wrists seemed thin enough for Ariadne to wrap her thumb and index finger around entirely, and her skeleton was clearly visible under her forearms.

And those weren't the only changes. Emily had not only stopped dying her hair, but apparently grooming it altogether. While Emily had always been grungy, her hair was matted and messy beyond what should have even been fashion. Ariadne had always been fond of the way Emily had expressed herself, and it broke her heart to see how much the pretty young woman had let herself go.

Two things went across Ariadne's mind as she laid eyes on Emily for the first time in years. First, she thought about how much of a good friend she'd lost because of her own stupidity. And second, she realized that she could recognize a cry for help when she saw one.

"Emily . . . what happened to you?!"

Emily chuckled and blew a cloud of smoke. "I told you, if you're not here to buy, then get out. I don't need phony friends."

"I'm not being phony," Ariadne said. "I realize that I messed up with you a few years back, and I want to make things right."

Emily glanced down at Ariadne's belly. "Why? You seem to have made a pretty good friend in the meantime." She then pointed at Ariadne's collar. "He the one who gave you that, too?"

It made sense that Emily would recognize what that was—after all, she sold about a dozen cheaper versions on the rack behind her. Ariadne's was unique in that it had been carefully disguised as jewelry, but anyone familiar with BDSM could instantly recognize it for what it was. Thus, she had no doubt that Emily knew what the collar signified . . . that Ariadne was the property of another person and that he was probably the father of her unborn child.

"Yes, everything you're saying is true, but that's not really important," she responded, taking a look around and noting that half-stocked shelves and inventory. "What the hell happened around here?"

Emily motioned toward the metal gate, where there was still loud banging and shouting just outside. "You saw the adoring public out front, right? Well, there's your answer. Turns out, when you piss off random people, you should really know who their friends are."

"What do you mean?" Ariadne asked.

Emily merely stared as she snuffed out her cigarette. "Why are you here, Aria?"

"Like I told you, I fucked up and I want to make things up to you."

"Well, unless you have a Wayback Machine hidden in that belly of yours, there ain't a damn thing you can do for me right now. Everything's gone to shit since you've been away, and I sure as hell don't have the time or the disposition to be playing around with you anymore."

"Please, Emily. Just tell me straight. What's been happening over the past three years?"

Emily sighed, understanding that Ariadne wasn't going to let things go. "Well first off, everything started when my brother found himself expelled from school because his dumb ass cheated on a final exam that he didn't even need to cheat on in order to pass."

Ariadne gasped. She had known Rick as well, some years back. In fact, he had been the first person she'd met here, and it was his friendly demeanor that had given her the courage to come back and visit the shop a second time, where she met Emily. She considered Rick a friend just as well, and it saddened her to know that he'd done something so foolish and ruined what future he could have had.

"So, he started working at the shop full time for a while and we were seriously considering trying to sell some of the machines we had stashed in the basement. At the time, though, I wasn't feeling all that inspired, on account of some brown-haired bimbo who'd decided to stomp all over my feelings."

Ariadne winced at those words. At the time, she'd told herself that it would be okay to break things off with Emily because there were no 'real feelings' involved. She and Emily only had a casual, sexual relationship. She honestly didn't believe that Emily would have had a problem with ending things.

"I was having trouble drawing up some designs, but Rick kept pushing me to make something. So, I scribbled out some ideas and handed them over for him to build. I had a really bad feeling about it, because I usually take my time and try and consider every possible angle and possible scenario. But Rick was in a rush, and I didn't half-care, so I let him do whatever. Turns out, he sold one of them to some guy he met online, and the machine had a design oversight that would have never made it past safety regulations, if—you know—Rick and I actually had proper licenses and money and shit.

"So, the guy's girlfriend got injured trying to use my machine, and he decided to sue us. I knew the store couldn't really afford a lawsuit like that, but I was prepared to pay. I just wanted the problem to go away so I could pick up the pieces and try to move on with my life. But Rick told me to 'let him handle it'. Turned out that 'letting him handle it' meant harassing the guy and making threats against him and his chick."

Ariadne's mouth hit the floor. "You're kidding. I'm surprised at Rick for making horrible decision after horrible decision like that!"

Emily shrugged. "Yeah, well, it is what it is. Anyway, the next thing I know, Rick's buddy ran to the papers, and he knew somebody who knew somebody that was good friends with Bill Thornton."

"Wait, Bill Thornton?! Mayor of Chicago, Bill Thornton!?"

"You got it, sweetie. Turns out that cracking down on a modest sex shop selling 'high-priced death machines' was exactly the headline Mr. Thornton needed in order to give himself a nice boost in the polls. He rode our bad press all the way to voting day. Promised to 'clean the filth out of Chicagoland'. So, ever since then, in addition to being sued out of our asses, we've been levied with fines and boycotts that we just can't stand up against."

"But . . . but the shop's still open," Ariadne cried, "so you guys are sticking it out, right?"

Emily chuckled. "Oh God, you always were a little naïve. No, hon. My little shop is all but doomed. In all honesty, I don't even have the money to keep us open another three or four months, and I've barely even had enough to keep myself afloat. Hell . . . I can't even afford fucking hair dye."

She lit yet another cigarette. "So like I said, if you're here to buy something, then wonderful. I'll take any customers I can get. But keep in mind that we're not allowed to sell machines anymore, so if you're looking to spend big, just pick out a few dozen vibrators or some handcuffs or some edible panties or something. If you're looking for another fuck buddy, though, don't waste my goddamn time. I have better things to do than you."

Emily's words were demoralizing. Ariadne had no idea that one of her closest friends was suffering this much. The last three years had been good to her . . . better than good, in fact . . . but she had really been too blinded by her own happiness. Rick and Emily were two of the nicest, most talented young people that she had ever known—much like Barry and Suzanna in a way. They didn't deserve to have this happen to them.

"Emily, I . . . I want to help you,"Ariadne told her. "What if I made a donation to your store?"

"I'm not asking for fucking handouts, Aria," Emily protested.

"I know. I'm offering," Ariadne insisted. "Or better yet, why don't I just buy the store from you? I've . . . I've recently come into some money and . . ."

"Forget it," Emily cut her off. "It's a waste of time. Just let the damn place die. It's just a fucking shack. I'll survive. I'll move on."

"It can't be just a store to you," Ariadne retorted. "You've suffered too much just to keep it open."

"Mostly out of spite," Emily stated bitterly. "I like fucking with those assholes out front. There used to be over a hundred of them protesting out there, but at least now I've got it down to . . . what was it? A dozen or so now? Yeah, if I close up shop early, they go home, pat themselves on the back and say 'Mission Accomplished'. I drag this out another four to six months, maybe I make them as miserable as me."

"I don't believe you," Ariadne defied. "You and your brother ran this shop together. The two of you put years of your lives into it. It has to mean something to you."

Emily sighed once more. "My Dad used to own this shop. And his dad before him. My grandparents were hippies into the whole 'free love' shit, and my parents were swingers. Our family's always liked a lotta sexual freedom, and we were proud to have a little shop like this so we could do our naughty habits and pay our bills at the same time."

Ariadne nodded. "I understand, better than you think."

"I bet," Emily said, grinning for the first time all visit. "I remember how much of a slut you were."

"Still am," Ariadne corrected her, holding her belly and pointing toward her collar. And she made no mention of the plug Barry had made her keep in her ass, to remind her that she was only his property 'in disguise'.


Ironically, a plug Emily had once sold her.

"And this place means a lot to me, too," she told Emily. "I'm not going to let you lose it just because of some dumb political crusade."

Emily stared at Ariadne long and hard, apparently measuring the sincerity of her words. "Bullshit. You talk a good talk sweetheart, but sooner or later, you'll run out on me again and leave me looking an absolute fool. Thanks but no thanks."

"No, I'm completely serious," Ariadne told her. "I want to help. It's just . . ."

In truth, Ariadne had jumped the gun just a bit. Technically, the money she claimed to have wasn't hers—it belonged to Barry and Suzanna. Both of them were the real breadwinners in the family, while Ariadne only had her small-time décor business on the side. Suzanna's fame was growing all the time, and after Barry acquired his studio and became a writer, their combined net worth was measured in the millions these days. While the Garrett family had never really been poor, over the past three years, they had enjoyed a measure of success that Ariadne never would have expected in her wildest of dreams.

Still, Ariadne had an education in business, and she knew how to play the stock market—it was investing the millions she'd won from Stewart's wrongful death suit that started their chain of success—but she had always intended that money to belong to her son alone, even before he became her Master.

"I just . . . I just need a bit of time to square a few things."

"Whatever. I won't be holding my breath or anything," Emily told her, pressing the button behind her and reopening the metal gate. "Now buy something or get the hell out. I need to open my store back up for paying customers. All none of them."

******

Barry glanced at the timestamp on the lower right-hand section of his laptop monitor: six forty-eight. Clicking the "Close" button on his word processor, he opened an internet browser and a list of Favorites. He pulled up the site he was looking for and allowed it to load while he went to the closet and fetched a tripod. Just as he had set it up, he heard the front doorbell ringing. The computer left his lap, exposing his naked body to the empty room as he stood to answer.

By now, everybody who lived in the area should have been well aware that Garrett-owned property was clothes-free, so Barry didn't even bother to search for a robe or any other form of covering before he pulled the door open. Besides, if it was who he thought ringing his bell, that wouldn't matter anyway.

"Hiiiiii!" said a familiar voice as the door swung open.

"Hi Trena," Barry greeted with a smile. The attractive Chinese girl beamed at him and took a short glance down at his waist before throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "Oh Barry, it's been quite a while! I'm so happy to see you."

Her voice lowered into the sultriest whisper possible. "All of you."

"Yeah, likewise," Barry said, feeling Trena's recently artificially-enhanced bust pressing firm against his chest.

"Like 'em?" she giddly asked, ending the hug and stepping back to give him a better look. "The studio paid for them."

"Yeah, I know," Barry told her. "I am the studio, remember?"

She merely blew him a kiss in response before trotting inside. Immediately behind her, another familiar face followed.

"Hey Barry," said Simon, one of Barry's former roommates.

Simon boasted an even more startling physical transformation than Trena. Simon had always been tall . . . well over six-foot-ten by Barry's estimations, but he had always been thin and lanky. Combined with extremely thick, "coke-bottle" glasses, and Simon had always seemed like the meekest of Barry's three roommates. And that was true to an extent. Simon was slow-witted. While he had his clever moments, Simon never really had good sense and always had trouble standing on his own two feet. When he was roommates with Barry, Dominic and Andre, he usually just followed what Dom and Andre said and did to try and fit in. He had never really done anything of his own merit that made him stand out.

But things had changed in the last few years.

From what Barry had been told, about two years ago, Suzanna had approached Trena and told her the truth about what she did for a living. Apparently, Suzanna had noticed that just how much Trena enjoyed being an absolute slut . . . which was true, considering that Trena loved being gangbanged, double penetrated, triple penetrated, and more besides. Suzanna explained to her that as pretty as she was, Trena could do well for herself and get all of the cock she pleased by getting an agent and doing porn. Trena was immediately intrigued, but surprisingly bashful, so she asked Barry's three former roommates to help her audition.

To Barry's utter surprise, almost all of them refused. Dom and Andre both stated that they didn't want to do porn, because they were afraid of someone they knew finding out. Dominic was interested in practicing law, and Andre wanted to hold public office some day. While they liked to fuck Trena for fun, they basically had the mentality that "whatever happened in college, stayed in college". Neither of them truly wanted to explore the sex industry.

So that just left Simon. Shockingly, Simon was actually eager to accept Trena's offer, and the two of them auditioned together. And now, a year later, both were bona fide porn stars, and had even starred in several roles together. And of course, since Barry now owned Stallion Productions, that meant he was their boss as well as his own wife's.

"Nice pad, man," Simon said, his cool blue eyes scanning through the accomodations. The studio had paid for him to get contacts, but Simon had gone the extra mile with the money he'd earned and gotten full corrective surgery. Then he got a gym membership and personal training in order to make himself ripped. When comparing the two of them, Barry still had the greater musculature and build, but Simon was still so towering that he just seemed much more massive by nature.

Trena mostly looked the same, aside from the major cosmetic enhancements and professional hair care she'd been pampering herself with . . . her new ginormous rack, of course. Trena's A-cup tits had never really been anything to write home about, but she was extraordinarily cute, with a slender build, and with asian exoticism. But the most enticing about her was that she was more exuberant about fucking than anyone Barry had ever met. Her sex drive even put Suzanna's to shame. Trena was gaining a reputation in the studio for trying to fuck anybody on the set—even her camera and makeup crew—if she felt she wasn't getting enough action. Trena was a borderline nymphomaniac, and once she was hot for cock, it would take a lot of it to extinguish her fire.

Which brings us back to why they were here tonight.

"Make yourselves at home," Barry said. He gave them an eye that told him what that really meant:

LordOfHell
LordOfHell
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