Barry's Queens Ch. 01


Steadily, he picked up the pace. She screamed and howled and begged her Master . . . her Lord . . . to fuck her as hard as he could. She begged him to cum inside her and make her pregnant with his holy child.

And Barry complied. With beastly authority, Barry shot hot jets into his Slut wife's womb, letting his cum settle inside her, seeking to impregnate her with their second child.



"Good afternoon, ladies. I'm glad to see you all here today."

The 'Sister Sluts' all responded to the greeting with very friendly "Thank Yous" and "Hellos", some of them nervous and hesitant about their first public television appearances. Still, a few appeared relaxed, perhaps even relishing the spotlight.

"In case you don't realize, my name is Rebecca Swaim, and I'm the hostess of 'Late Night Erotic'."

The first Slut, a red-haired woman about four months pregnant, responded to that. "Aaaaah, so you're the one they replaced me with?"

Rebecca turned to look for a moment, and realization flashed in her eyes. "You're Chandra Burrell!"

Chandra smiled. "Yes, or at least, I used to be. I'm 'Cum Bucket' now," she said without a hint of shame or embarrassment.

"That is what your master calls you, correct?" Rebecca replied.

"Yes, as well as my Sister Sluts. And now, I actually prefer it to the name I was born with. It excites me every time I hear it." She pulled down the strap of her panties to show the tattoo with her name just above her pussy.

The woman next to her smiled and patted Chandra's thigh, as if to confirm a similar feeling.

An astonished Rebecca shook her head. "He doesn't use your names? And it doesn't embarrass any of you at all? To be objectified like that?"

"Why would it?" another woman said. Rebecca's notes recognized her as 'Susan'. "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."

"The highest honor for any of us is for our bodies to be used in service to our Master," Chandra said, holding her large, round belly. "To us, he is the single man worthy of the privilege."

Each girl nodded her head in agreement, and proudly touched their own bellies.

"That's interesting," Rebecca chuckled. "I haven't even begun the formal questions yet and already, we're getting to the juicy bits. I'm very happy to see such candid and honest answers from each of you girls."

"Of course," Chandra said. "We plan on being as straightforward as we can be."

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

"Of course," Susan answered. "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."

"Ouch," Rebecca scoffed. "Isn't that . . . harsh?!"

Chandra shrugged. "Our pain is not important. What matters is the Master's satisfaction."

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

"I . . . see." She readjusted her notes in her lap. "So, who amongst you was the first to submit to your master?"

The girls looked amongst themselves and then Chandra once again rose her hand. "Well, technically, the first and second of the Master's Sluts are the Beta and Alpha Sluts now. However, they're not present, so I suppose that I was the first among those present to be collared by him."

"Yes, but I had known him before you," said Alani, who spoke with a noticeable German accent. "He only met you after he returned from Germany, where I met him."

"Yes, yes, met. But she asked who was collared first."

"Well fuck, if we're talking about who met him first, then I have everyone beat. I knew Master Barry in freshman year of college, even before he'd met his wife in fact," said the Chinese Trena Lin.

Another girl, Ryann, then responded: "Yes, but you didn't even give him any pussy back then, so that doesn't count!"

Trena scowled at Ryann, who flaunted her tongue in response. The two girls giggled, letting everyone know that their bickering was all just in good fun.

"We joke about this sometimes, you know," Chandra replied again. "Stuff like who's been fucked more by the Master or who's known him longer. But, we don't mean anything by it. We're all the Master's property in the end. He likes watching us compete over him, but he does NOT like it when we fight over him for real."

Again, all of the girls nodded.

"And of course, we're always nice to the new girls," Susan said, looking at a quartet of beautiful, tanned Latinas.

"Oh, are all four of you new? And what are your names? Um . . . your birth names, I mean."

"My name is Carla. I was collared along with Claudia, Sasha, Abelina, and Mariana, who isn't here. The Master collared all of us roughly a year ago in Venezuela."

"Oh wow! So is it difficult being away from home so suddenly?"

Carla shrugged. "No, not really. I had always wanted three things: a handsome lover, children, and to visit America. Now, I have all three."

"So the Master actually gives you everything you want?"

"And then some," the girls answered. "We are allowed to do almost anything we want, so long as it pleases him. And sometimes pleasing ourselves pleases him."

"And when Master is pleased, he fucks us a lot."

Rebecca nodded once again. "Well, let's talk about something you mentioned briefly a few minutes ago, shall we?" Rebecca asked eagerly. "So, amongst you, who's been fucked more?"

Immediately, the answers came.



"Trena for sure."

"Definitely Trena."

Rebecca's mouth hung with astonishment. "Wow . . . it sure seems that it's unanimous, huh, Trena?"

Trena smiled evilly. "Yes, but I'm kind of a special case."

"How so?"

"Well, I'm Asian, of course. Asian women are always either innocent flowers or total wanton whores."

Rebecca rose an eyebrow. "Isn't that a bit . . . racist?"

"Yeah, but I like it. Stereotypes can be wicked and fun," she answered gleefully. "Master loves to fuck his horny little sex toy. Some of us like to embrace stereotypes. Like, haven't you ever wanted to be fucked by a big black cock, Becky? Sure, we all know that's just a stereotype, but haven't you ever wanted to indulge yourself? Just to see what it was like?"

Rebecca chuckled. "Actually, my boyfriend is . . ."

After licking her lips, Trena casually unzipped the crotch of her slave suit and stuck a finger into her pussy to the knuckle.

"Oh God . . . I'm sorry. I just couldn't talk about it anymore without doing something about it!"

"Oh well, don't mind us at all. We are a late cable show."

Trena barely seemed to hear Rebecca's words. She was already enveloped in a torrent of euphoria. She moaned and gasped as her thighs widened ever further to invite her pussy into her pussy. The other girls watched Trena finger herself to an immediate climax, their eyes sparkled with lust.

"Well, I suppose now is a good time to go to our next topic," Rebecca said, continuing the conversation over Trena's continuous moaning orgasms. "I would like each of you ladies to regale the audience with the tales of how you were first collared by your master. What was said when he collared you? How did you feel at that exact moment?"

The girls looked amongst each other, no one objecting to such an idea.

"Which of us would you like to go first?" Chandra asked.

"I'll go!" the enthusiastic Carla said. "It's actually a very funny story . . . "



Barry had finally hit a breakthrough. After more than two years searching for a lead, he'd finally found someone who might have information about the slave ring that had forced Hasana to his doorstep.

"Mr. Garrett, Ms. Al-Hasan is here to see you."

Barry pressed a button his earpiece. "Thank you, Mariana. Please send her in."

The doors to his office opened, welcoming the beautiful Arabian woman that crossed the threshold. As she came into view, the world slowed, just so he could fully appreciate the heavenly creature.

Though small, her body was a nearly perfect hourglass. Though she was Arab, as Hasana had been, this woman was a marked difference. Her outfit showed off all the finer points of her body: a tube top pulled low enough that a tantalizing amount of cleavage was inevitable, a skirt that left nothing of her smooth, feminine legs to the imagination. Heels that no sane woman would ever wear, unless waiting for a man to crawl between them and watch them dangle helplessly.

Normally, a girl like this Barry would give his right leg to collar. He still yearned to find his Arab Slut. Just look at her, this woman was simply waiting for a slave leash. She was begging to walk through his estate with a baby in her belly . . .

But unfortunately, it was not likely to be. This particularly beauty was another man's property.

"Ms. Al-Hasan, I'm so pleased to meet you," he said, stepping from behind his desk and reaching for her hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Garrett. I'm so pleased that you are able to see me on such short notice." Smiling, she allowed him to take her hand and press it to his lips. A scent reminiscent of lilacs accompanied her, and her skin bore the subtle taste of cinnamon.

"Well, it's Doctor Garrett," he corrected her as he directed her a chair. "But beautiful woman may always call me Barry."

"And please, call me Katy," she said as she sat. "And I really hope you're the good man everyone says you are. I desperately need your help."

Barry nodded. "I try. If you tell me what the trouble is, Ms. Al-Hasan, I will do my absolute best to see that justice is done for you."



"Buenos tardes, mi amo," said Mariana Velasquez, just as Barry emerged from his private gym. Trena was on him immediately, wiping the sweat from Barry's hair and forehead. As usual, she left his naked body alone to sweat, allowing it to shine spectacularly. Mariana, like most women might, greatly appreciated this gesture.

"Are you ready for your afternoon updates?"

Though only part of this household for little more than two years, Mariana was vital to his everyday function. Ever since she'd met him in Caracas, she had acted as Barry's liaison, record-keeper, scheduler, and accountant. And, as her round belly currently indicated, she had other important duties.

"Master, there is one order of business that I think you'd like to address immediately."

"Oh?" Barry acknowledged, reaching for large glass of lemon-water offered by Trena.

"Ariadne—I mean, the First Slut—informed me that she received a call from Carver High. They've asked someone to come pick up Lyrica, as she's gotten in trouble again."

Barry sighed, much color draining from his eyes. Mariana sympathized.

For as long as the Venezuelan had been collared, the Master's first-born, Lyrica, had been quite a problem child. Problems with authority, disregard for any rules or regulation, and a massive chip on her shoulder. The girl didn't fear anyone save for her father.

She was also a consummate liar; her word never meant a thing, so long as she fulfilled her immediate desires. That wasn't even getting to the contempt she had for her brothers and sisters, or for her father's Sluts. It was always there, bubbling just below the surface.

And the crazy thing was, everyone always insisted that this wasn't the "real" Lyrica. They always promised that Mariana had only ever seen the dark side. That Lyrica was really a very sweet and nice girl.

But "sweet" girls didn't throw their siblings' toys into a blender out of spite.

"Sweet" girls didn't toss garbage on a Slut just because she'd had a bad day.

"Sweet" girls didn't try to flush other peoples' pets down the toilet.

The Master had been desperately trying to figure out his first child for more than a year now. Somewhere along the way, he may have convinced himself that her attitude was his fault. Or maybe there was something about Lyrica that only reminded him of himself. Either way, the anguish on his face as Mariana broke the news told her his next decision well in advance.

"Call for a car," he told her, setting his finished drink upon Trena's tray. "I'll handle this myself."

"Yes Master," Mariana nodded obediently.


Barry actually found his daughter difficult to recognize at first sight. Lyrica had always possessed a head of honey-brown hair like both her parents. Ironically, Barry had inherited his hair color from his mother, and the two of them passed those genes along to their first baby, Lyrica. Brown hair was a proud Garrett trait, as all but one of Barry and Ariadne's children had similar colors.

But Lyrica's hair was now bleached blonde, with a few orangish highlights here and there. For whatever reason, Lyrica seemed determined to renounce everything that made her a Garrett. At age 13, she had suddenly grown desperate to hate everything: her hair color, her family, and everything in between.

But that was a thought for another time. Barry needed to stay focused on the here and now.

"D-Dad?" Lyrica cried as she noticed him, "what are you doing here? Where's grandma?"

Barry slowly entered the room, keeping his hands locked inside his pockets, taking a non-threatening posture. "Someone happened to be listening when Ariadne got the call to pick you up," he lied. Ariadne was one of the few people Lyrica still spoke to. If she'd thought that Ariadne had betrayed her, it was almost certain that she'd start hiding things from her (grand)mother too.

"So, it's just me," he continued. "And, I want to hear from your own mouth what happened. What did you get in trouble for this time?"

Her eyes went everywhere, except to meet his. He could already sense the lie before she spoke a word.

"I didn't do anything . . ."

"Lyrie . . . your teachers aren't constantly picking on you for no reason. This is the fifth time you've gotten in trouble this school year, and I want to know what's going on. Now, come on—you know you can talk to me. Have I ever not listened to you?"

It was like pulling teeth. Who was this man, who could command an army of Sluts with complete authority, but could hardly get a 13-year-old to cooperate even when he begged?

"I didn't . . . I didn't do anything!" Lyrica insisted. "There's this guy in school who makes fun of how pale my skin is. He's always calling me 'chalk' or something even more stupid. So, today I got tired of it. I just called him names right back."

Barry was unflinching, unchanged. "And what did you call him?"

Slowly, Lyrica's eyes travelled from one side of the room to the other. "I called him a 'clit-licker'."

Barry sighed and reached for the bridge of his nose. Already, here came the headache.

"I-It's just because he has this really long tongue . . . and . . . well . . ."

"Lyrie . . . ." He cut her off. "We've talked about this before, haven't we?"

Again, her eyes lowered. "Yeah . . ."

"I can't keep telling you this, honey. That sort of language . . . . You have to behave yourself when you're with—"

"Yeah, yeah, the 'lames', I know."

Barry sighed. "No, that's not what we call them, Lyrica. What do we call the people who don't think like our family does?"

"The 'Accepted'," she corrected herself, with air-quotes. "Whatever. They're just lame."

"Lyrie . . . We live our lives our way, and they live theirs. There's nothing wrong with them. You can't look down on people just because they don't like the same things we do."

"Why not?!" she huffed. "They do it to us."

"And then you do it back. What does that accomplish?"

She didn't answer, simply locking herself in an arms-folded pout.

"Lyrica, I warned you what would happen if we had to have this talk again, didn't I?"

That brought her interest back. "Oh please, Daddy! I won't get in trouble again, I promise! Please don't do it!"

"Oh so now we're all 'Please Daddy', are we? Sorry, Lyrie . . . you knew this when you disobeyed me, so you have to pay for it. The World Finals are off the table from here on."

"No, you can't do that!" she protested desperately, standing on her feet to yell up at her father.

Lyrica Garrett had become a videogame champion. Hours upon hours in a given week, the girl buried herself behind a television, barely moving except to touch a controller. Shooter games, fighting games, strategy games, even puzzlers and role-playing games—these had become not just her pastime, but her calling. She'd inherited the hobby from her Dad. . . but Lyrica was far, far better than Barry could ever hope to be. The middle-schooler had actually entered statewide competitions . . . and won them. Her bedroom was a trophy closet of more than three dozen different prizes as testaments to her skill. In her bedroom, she even had a working arcade cabinet that ran the latest edition of her favorite game.

Barry had, of course, completely indulged this. After winning three local tournaments, Lyrica was now invited to defend her titles against other competitors at the annual World Finals. This was something she'd been working hard at, practicing like crazy for nearly all of the past year.

But given the other problems surrounding the troubled girl, her dream just had one stipulation.

"You did it to yourself," Barry chastised. "I warned you what would happen if you didn't get your act together."

Fury burned across her cheeks, her tiny fists shaking and her teeth crackling. "This isn't fair! Why am I in trouble because I'm getting picked on?! Why do I have to deal with it when everybody calls me pale and skinny and ugly and nerdy and inbred!??"

That last one rose Barry's eyebrow. "What?! Inbred . . .? Lyrie, who calls you th—"

"Nevermind . . . It doesn't matter. Leave me alone."

Without another word, teenager stormed out, slamming the door behind her, charging out to Barry's waiting car.

Barry inhaled deep. Just three years ago, his daughter always smiled when she saw him . . . he still remembered her happy and innocent eyes. Just three years ago, she called him "Daddy" not just when she wanted something. Just three years ago, not every conversation between them ended in a slammed door and silent car ride

But alarmingly sudden, the changes had come. First, her attitude had changed, then her habits, and now, even her hair. The blond highlights she now sported were only a symptom of the plague that was slowly consuming his daughter.

Just why had he even spent the last decade of his life studying the human mind, as well as psychology? He now had a Ph. D in Counseling Psychology, and he specialized in helping people overcome their problem and most intimate relationships.

But it was all good for nothing when it came to his own daughter.



Like an obedient slave, Ariadne minded her chains as she climbed aboard her bed and turned over onto her back. She made sure both the chain of her collar and the ones snapped to each of her ankles were clearly out of the way, to provide as little hindrance as possible. Once finished, she laid herself back onto the large, comfortable pillow and waited, eager for what was to follow.

Mere inches away, the Master was slowly shifting his hips back and forth, getting every inch of his hard cock down Trena's throat. As always, Cum Guzzler worked wonders on her Master's cock.

But he was done with that fornow. "That's enough," Barry commanded. The disappointed Asian released her mouth from his manhood, her eyes flush with hope to repeat later.

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