Suzanna's Darlings Ch. 02byLordOfHell©
Welcome readers, to the ninth installment of my Ariadne/Barry/Suzanna series. In case you're new, this is the order of the stories:
Ariadne's Dreams (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4)
Barry's Sluts (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3)
Suzanna's Darlings (Chapter 1)
If you don't wish to read all of that first, then that's no problem. You can enjoy this story on its own as well.
Thank you for reading, and leave a comment!
TWO YEARS AGO
"Mrs. Garrett, I'm sorry . . . I've run every test that I know of, and I'm afraid I can't come to any conclusive answer."
That was the worst possible thing Suzanna could have heard at that moment. When you know there's something wrong . . . when everything points to the inescapable fact that you are not physically well . . . the single most horrific thing a doctor can tell you is that they have no idea what's wrong with you.
She didn't know whether to burst into tears or scream with rage. Neither would help at this point, but either was fully appropriate.
"Are you certain that the problem isn't with your husband?" the doctor asked.
Suzanna shot him the coldest glare that she had ever given anyone in all her life. "Yes."
"Um . . . may I ask how you're certain, ma'am?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Because my husband fucks at least twenty women throughout a given month, and most of them have been pregnant since 'the problem' has begun."
The dumbstruck doctor stared in silence for nearly a full minute. "Oh . . . ." He adjusted his thick-framed glasses as he tried to regain his composure. "U-Um . . . well, I can attempt to defer this to more specialized medical experts—"
"Please do. Whatever it takes to fix me, I want it to happen."
"M-Mrs. Garrett, I don't think you, um, need fix—"
"Doctor, for more than a full year, I have FAILED to give the one man that I love more than any other a child. In whatever world you've come from, that may not be a problem, but in mine, it is a BIG one. So don't you DARE try to tell me that I DON'T NEED FIXING!"
Again, the doctor fixed his glasses and turned away. "Um . . . o-okay, Mrs. Garrett. I'll . . . I'll go and schedule an appointment for you. And . . . um . . . m-my deepest apologies."
When the door closed, and she was alone, Suzanna's face dropped into her hands, and she finally let it all out. Her palms were stained with tears as she thought about the possibility that she could be sterile. She had never thought about it before in her entire life. For years, she'd had her entire life figured out. For years, she'd thought she finally had everything she wanted.
But that was before she'd met . . . and married . . . Barry Garrett.
Suzanna had once thought she would never give up being a porn actress. She loved being fucked, she loved attention, and she loved money . . . so it all seemed like a no-brainer. And since her husband was both the owner of the studio and fully approved of her occupation, it seemed like nothing would stand in the way of her dream.
But then, the porn freeze started. Stallion Productions was locked out of filming due to an STD outbreak, so that meant she was out of a job for a while. And in that time, she had nothing to do but sit around, relax, and tend to her empty, lonely home in Beverly Hills.
Oh sure, her husband lived there with her—sometimes—but the rest of the time, he was traveling all over, visiting his other lovers . . . his submissives . . . and the children they'd borne for him. She always watched his eyes light up when he talked about his babies . . . how much they looked like him . . . how beautiful their mothers looked when pregnant . . . how they grew a little each time he saw them . . .
. . . And how badly he couldn't wait to see what the child his wife would give him would look like.
At first, she was perfectly fine with all of it. She loved Barry, and she loved making him happy. She would do anything in the world for him . . . anything that he asked. She would give him her body, her soul, her life, if she even thought he needed any of them. So after the freeze started, and she'd gotten her first taste of what life would be like without filming, she'd made up her mind.
She was going to bear her husband a child. She was going to surprise him with the baby he wanted. She would secretly go off of her birth control, stop filming, and fuck her husband like her life depended on it. She was going to let him use her body . . . let him collar her . . . let him breed her . . . and please him like no other.
It was the perfect plan. Completely and totally foolproof . . . except for the part where she couldn't get pregnant.
So here she was, in this doctor's office, sobbing her eyes out . . . while her dear husband thought she was working. She had lied to him . . . tried to spare him from this. But, he would figure it out eventually. And then what would she tell him?
Barry had dozens of submissives. Any one of them would give him a child whenever he demanded one. So what did he need her for?
It was like her own mother had hinted . . . if she and Barry couldn't have a baby . . . then what good was she to him?
"Hey, you really got good at this game, honey."
"Hehe. Tony and I have been playing online with Uncle Rick a lot," Lyrica said as she pressed feverishly on her controller. Onscreen, there was gunfire and explosions, and two players on the opposite team were tossed like ragdolls. "Yes!" she cheered with a fistpump. "I just got a double kill!"
Barry chuckled as he watched his nine-year-old daughter, seated in his lap, play some videogames. In truth, videogames were something of a passion of his own, having grown up playing them all his life. Only a decade ago, when he was in high school, he'd play them all day long like his kids did today. While he still managed to get twenty or thirty minutes of play every now and again, he had far less time with a business to run, an estate to tend to, children to raise, and subsmissives to command.
Currently, Barry's days were wall-to-wall with busywork, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Life was incredibly good, and to keep it that way, he needed to work at it. The days like today, when he could just kick back and watch his oldest child enjoy herself, were few and far between. But, watching Lyrica and her brothers playing without a care in the world made it all worthwhile.
"Daddy, Daddy! I finally did it!" called the voice of Donald, his seven-year-old third-born.
"Huh? What?" Barry begrudgingly peeled his eyes from the game screen to glance at his son. "What'd you do, buddy?"
"Watch!" Donnie said as he struck a pose, lifting his teeny arms into the air.
At the same time, Lyrica called to him. "Daddy! Look, look, I'm winning!"
"Watch me Daddy," Donald called. "I'm gonna do it!"
Barry's eyes flicked back to the screen once and then back to Donald. His eyes were doing their damndest to try turning in opposite directions at the same time. "O-Okay, kids. Daddy's watching!"
"I'm winning, Daddy! Look, I've got the highest score!" Lyrica shouted.
"I see it, honey!"
"Daddy, look! Look! I can cartwheel! See? Daddy, see?!"
"Yeah, I see it, Donnie! Good job, son!"
"Daddy, look at me!"
Barry blinked once, and then it was over. Despite the fact that he'd never stopped looking, somehow, he missed both of his babies' attempts at showing off. He saw them, but he didn't see them. His eyes were fully open, but his brain couldn't process all that information at once.
"Daddy, did you see? I won! I won my first game!"
"Daddy, did you see the cartwheel I did? Didja?!"
He had to lie to both of them. "Sure did, baby. Sure did, champ." He kissed them both on their cheeks. Fortunately, this was the good side to dealing with kids still this young: it would be a while before it would hit them that he couldn't possibly have been looking in both directions at once. Right now, they believed their Daddy could do just about anything, so if he said that he had two extra pairs of eyes for looking in two different directions, or that lightning shot out of his toes, they'd believe him.
But, boy oh boy . . . was he ever gonna have a rude awakening when they started getting old enough and wise enough to figure it all out . . .
That was some time away, though, and his main concern was making their childhoods as happy and joyous as possible. He wanted his children to grow up to be strong, and that meant knowing that they had a Daddy who loved them all equally—all sixteen of them.
Well, twenty-four if you counted the babies currently growing in his submissives' bellies and twenty-five if you counted the one he was trying to implant in Trena. And of course, since Barry never fucked any of his submissives with contraceptives, it was pretty much a given that there were far more children in his future, and he was perfectly fine with that. The twenty-eight-year-old had more love in his heart than he knew what to do with, and even if he had a thousand children in his lifetime, that still wouldn't be enough to cover it all.
And of course, a thousand children would be pretty damn fun to make.
Barry felt the phone in his hip vibrate, and Lyrica squirmed and giggled as she felt it as she sat upon his lap. Pausing just a moment to lovingly tickle his daughter, Barry leaned to his side, fished his earpiece from his pocket and then pressed the answer button.
"'Ello," he said, gently pushing his daughter off so that he could stand.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Garrett," said Phyllis Ortega, Barry's newly-promoted CEO of Stallion Productions.
While Barry himself was still the sole owner and proprietor of Stallion, the business was currently creating several subsidiaries and child companies which would be run by executives appointed by Mr. Garrett himself. Barry would remain involved as the owner and president of a parent company called Garrett Living. This was yet another idea Barry had gotten from his former associate, Rod Styles. In fact, it was Styles's former assets that Barry wanted to acquire and absorb into the Garrett business, especially his chain of hotels, casinos and health clubs. All of them were worth billions, and Barry had borrowed vast amounts of money in order to make the purchases. With Rod's criminal empire broken up, Barry intended to step in and pick up the pieces for his former friend.
Of course, Rod had also tried to kill Barry and his family, so he had to admit that buying all of his businesses was some measure of revenge against the son of a bitch.
"Hey, Phyllis," Barry answered. "Since promoting you, what have I told you about the 'last name basis' thing?"
"Sorry, sir. Old habits die hard," Phyllis answered sweetly. She was only six years older than his own mother, but she treated him like the grandmother he'd never had. She also wasn't bad-looking for a 54-year-old lady. Barry wasn't all that discriminate when it came to women, but he knew beauty when he saw it and Phyllis was a gorgeous quinquagenarian. If she weren't happily married and, to use her own words, "too old for those sorts of games", he would have tried to collar her a long time ago.
But, he supposed this was for the best, too. Better to have someone completely unconnected to his 'harem' running his operations.
"What's the word on acquiring the Stylez Suites? Have we heard anything?"
"As a matter of fact, sir, we did. Our attorneys have said that the negotiations went swimmingly, and within the next several months, Garrett Living will own the hotel chain, casinos and health clubs."
"Good job, my love."
"Oh stop," she giggled.
"How much did it set us back?"
"About 3.8 billion."
"Wow. That . . . that's lower than I expected."
"Yeah, well, our people are good at haggling. And when your hotels are going up in smoke because the owner was a tremendous dickasaurus . . ."
Barry smirked. Phyllis had not been happy to hear about Rod's betrayal his attempted murder of Barry and his family. "Granny Phyllis" was protective of the Garretts, and she took any threat to the family itself or their company to be very, very personal. Attacking Barry was like attacking her own son. Attacking his children was like attacking her own grandchildren.
"Well, I see that I left the right person in charge, darling. I appreciate the news. Let me know if anything else comes up."
"Will do, Mr. Garrett."
"Yes, yes . . . I'll work on it, sir."
Tonight was a special night for Ariadne Garrett. It was the anniversary of the day she'd first met her favorite submissive, Emily. On this date, every year, Ariadne's own Master excused her from service so that she could spend the day with her lover, and the two of them could renew their service contract for another extended amount of time. At first, Emily had been contracted as a part-time submissive, just so that she could get a taste of the life. Since then, however, Emily had gone into full service, and her contracts tended to last for years, rather than months. Tonight just happened to be one of the nights where the two would have to discuss such a renewal.
Ariadne always preferred to do this after some great, mind-blowing sex, so she eagerly had one of the spare bedrooms in the Garrett Villa made up for the two of them, complete with candlelight, potpourri fragrances, and electronic jazz—the sole form of music that the two of them completely agreed upon.
When Emily arrived for their late-night rendezvous, she of course looked absolutely breathtaking. Rather than her usual messy, razor-cut hairstyle, Emily's bleached-blonde hair was layered and neat, with the bangs swept across her brow. The layers did wonders to play with her natural hair color, as several strands of her natural black hair were left unaltered in order to give it much greater depth.
Emily's makeup had been applied masterfully, making Ariadne proud that she'd taken the time and forced her slave to learn how to do so. Emily was ordinarily tomboyish and unladylike, but after becoming Ariadne's submissive . . . and then, her professional whore . . . she had learned to behave and look like a proper lady. It made Emily far more valuable and better able to draw in twice the number of johns, something that turned the young woman on immensely. Emily loved the kink of being a sex worker . . . of having her body and modesty reduced to mere merchandise. Ariadne thus worked as both Emily's Mistress and her Madame, and she was sure to keep her favorite whore safe, secure, and always well-fucked.
Tonight, Emily was dressed in a backless cocktail dress, with a neckline that plunged so deeply that her breasts were almost on full display, allowing the chains from her pierced nipples to be visible across her chest. The dress showed off much of Emily's legs . . . very long, sleek and soft now that Emily was at the proper weight that Ariadne desired. When she'd first been collared, Emily had been so thin . . . but with her Mistress constantly micromanaging her diet, that had changed.
Ariadne herself was merely dressed in a loose-fitting, almost transparent robe. She was quite horny and impatient to have her submissive in bed, so she wore something that wouldn't take more than a second to fling to the floor when it was time to fuck. Glancing at Emily now, Ariadne was almost eager to toss the damn thing aside immediately, but that was a job more suited for a slave to do.
"Come here, Pet," Ariadne purred, as she lay reclined on the bed. "I need you now."
Emily obeyed immediately and began walking toward the side of the bed, pulling the straps of her dress off of her shoulders as she moved, and intentionally wriggling her hips in the most hypnotic fashion possible. Her eyes remain locked on her Mistress's the whole time, reading her expressions to be sure that her actions pleased her. In moments, Emily's dress fell to the bedroom floor, allowing a full view of her beautiful pale and tattooed skin.
Emily knelt on the side of the bed, leaning toward Ariadne. Her beautiful, B-cup breasts swayed enticingly, their volume accentuated by the number of silver chains Ariadne'd had pierced into her slave's skin. Emily's fingers untied the knot of Ariadne's robe and slipped it open. The young woman could not help but lick her lips at the sight of her Mistress's exquisite Double-D tits, swollen bulbously with breast milk.
Although Ariadne hadn't had a child for over a year and a half, her body had been perpetually transformed in a state that was perfect for nursing. Her breasts were always swollen and full, and her hips and thighs were meaty and stout. It was a natural consequence of doing almost nothing but giving birth continuously for close to a decade, allowing her own Master to use her body exclusively to breed his children.
Ariadne was often insecure about the transformations to her body, but both her Master and Emily loved them. She had to admit, it put a smile on her face to see how voluminous her 48-year-old breasts were after being bred by her own son for years and years. They were certainly far more tender and sensitive than before, and Emily immediately took full advantage by placing her petite hands upon her Mistress's breasts and massaging them.
"How can I please you tonight, Mistress?" Emily asked her lover.
"It's our special night, Pet," Ariadne said. "I only want you."
Emily smiled. "As you command, Mistress." As much as she loved playing games with the Mistress, as much as she loved their play with the machines . . . the toys . . . playing the role of a naughty schoolgirl to the Mistress's strict teacher . . . or being the Mistress's discipline-starved initiate to their imaginary nunnery . . . she also loved the times like these. The times when they were just Emily Swanbeck and Ariadne Garrett . . . two women in love with each others' bodies.
Emily leaned closer and her hands reached down with a feathery touch to her Mistress's thighs. Ariadne shivered, and instinctively spread her legs wider to provide her lover with greater access. Emily picked up on that and immediately lowered her lips to her Mistress's wet, pink pussy lips, locking her lips on her Mistress's clit and suckling upon it gently.
Ariadne gasped and had to stop herself from almost crying out. It'd been so long since she and Emily had done anything vanilla, she'd almost forgotten how good her slave was at this . . . how much better she was getting all the time. Ariadne leaned her head back on her soft feather pillow and allowed her servant to please her. Her hands fell to the side as she let herself be properly serviced.
After flicking her tongue over his Mistress's clit, and then gently kissing her thighs, Emily slipped one of her slender fingers into her lover's pussy and began to lightly stroke, even as her thumb glided over the sensitive fold of her Mistress's sex. Emily glanced up and watched Ariadne writhe with pleasure, her own breathing and palpations quickening as she did what her Mistress wanted.