Barry's Sluts Ch. 02: Emily

Ariadne eventually gave birth to Barry's second child, Anthony "Tony" Garrett. And of course, since she didn't want birth control and absolutely refused to go without Barry's cock, she only wound up pregnant yet again with almost no pause in between.

But she didn't mind. As she'd told Barry from the beginning, she'd be bred as often as he could seed her. She was over forty now, so she didn't know how many more she had in her, but she'd let him use her body as long as they both were able. For added benefit, she was hornier when she was pregnant, and both Suzanna and Barry found her sexier with a swollen belly, so it was win-win all around. Suzanna felt minor pangs of jealousy, not ready to have children of her own yet, but she was comforted by the knowledge that it was only a matter of time, and Barry eagerly reminded her that there were eggs inside her with his name on them.

******

"Good evening everybody and welcome to tonight's episode of Adult Entertainment News here on Late Night Erotic! We cover the latest headlines, gossip and trends in all of erotic entertainment and bring it right home to our viewers!

"Tonight, we've got a special treat for you. Our next guest is one of the most interesting newcomers in the sex industry today, and he's quickly beginning to make quite a name for himself. In a little over three years, he's gone from being an unknown to owner of Stallion Productions, quickly becoming one of the hottest adult film studios in Hollywood! He's suave, he's smart, he's handsome, and best of all, we've got him for an exclusive interview!

"So please, ladies and gentlemen, give a warm welcome for Barry Garrett!"

Applause broke through the studio audience, and the electricity only cranked higher once Barry appeared, dressed in his Sunday Best. Milking the attention for all it was worth, he began blowing kisses to the audience and waving with the friendliest grin he could muster.

Barry walked to the host, Chandra Burell, and shook her hand before then kissing it and Chandra motioned for him to take a seat on the couch beside her desk. Chandra then took her seat in her chair and waited for the audience to cool down a little before beginning to conduct her interview.

"Thank you for making it here tonight," Chandra said warmly.

"No, no," Barry said modestly. "I'm actually honored to be here and a little anxious. I have never been on TV before."

"Haha, says the man who owns a million-dollar production company. And don't get too excited . . . it's only late-night cable." She fumbled with her notes. "So. Barry Garrett. You label yourself as a 'sex professional'. Care to tell us what that means?"

Barry laughed. "It means I charge seventy-five for mouth and one-fifty for cock." The entire audience laughed and cheered. "No, just kidding. It means that I devote my entire professional—and personal—life toward the examination, advancement, and . . . naturally . . . enjoyment of all things sexual. Sex is one of the most amazing values we humans possess, and it factors, in some way, into everything we do . . . from religion to science to interpersonal relationships. My task . . . my purpose in life . . . is to explore that value and, hopefully, further define what it means to be a sexually free human being."

The audience once again burst into applause and Barry winked at them, keeping his hands folded on his lap as he awaited Chandra's response.

"Er . . . wow. Well, okay, I guess you've told us the philosophy of what you do, but what is it you actually do to pursue it?"

"Aside from lots of fucking?" Barry chuckled, and the audience hooted and cheered along with him. "Well, I'm the sole private owner of Stallion Productions, a rising adult media studio here on the west coast. In addition to that, I write articles on sex advice for young men, and I have an answer column in Adultmag. I attend a lot of lectures on sexual psychology and sexology, and I've recently earned a Masters in the field. Aside from that, I just do a lot of networking and meet-and-greets with plenty of people in the adult and sex entertainment industry. I have a 'you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours' rapport with lots of bigger names in the biz, and it's worked out pretty well so far."

"That's rather impressive. You must be incredibly busy."

"Yeah, but in a good way," Barry laughed. "My wife actually sets most of my schedules and appointments, and our mutual lover has sound business expertise. Both of them are real slave-drivers when it comes to their share of the family duties."

"Sounds like you've got a lot of support, Mr. Garrett."

Barry shook his finger and tisked. "No, no, no, no. You don't get to call me that. For you, it's just 'Barry'."

Chandra smiled and blushed. "Um, alright, 'Barry'."

"If I have to be honest, I said that because I'm getting an increasing urge to fuck you, Chandra. You really are a very ravishing woman."

Chandra grew even redder, especially as the audience continued to cheer and holler at Barry's flirtation. Of course, she knew this already—part of the reason AEN was so popular on late-night cable was because of Chandra's exceptionally sultry appearance. A honey brunette with average-sized, but exceptionally round tits, curvaceous hips, striking hazel eyes, and sultry red lips, Chandra had actually become quite accustomed to having her guests proposition her onstage. After all, the subject matter of her show was always sex, and it was easy for the mind to draw that connection when one was in the company of a gorgeous woman.

"Well . . . if I did that, who would do the show?" she teased.

"Your stage director over there is a pretty fun guy," Barry said, pointing toward a man standing just offstage, hidden in the darkness. "What do you say, brother? Wanna sit in the big chair for an episode? Or two?"

Again, the audience cheered, and the camera panned to the stage director, who just shrugged and shouted something unintelligible without a microphone.

"Sorry, it looks like we'll need to keep filming for the time being . . . Barry," Chandra shrugged.

"Oh that's alright. It's not like the offer has an expiration date," he stated knowingly.

"Well, while we're on the subject of your sex life," Chandra said, meekly shifting the cards in her hand. "Didn't you say that you're actually . . . married?"

"That's right," Barry said, showing off the wedding band on his left ring finger.

"Ah, and what if Mrs. Garrett decided to watch tonight's taping?"

Barry's grin widened. "Well, honestly, she'd probably be disappointed that I bothered asking and didn't just stand up, bend you over, and fuck you on your own desk."

The audience erupted once more and Barry's gaze pierce Chandra's eyes unwaveringly. Chandra herself had to break eye contact once or twice out of embarrassment as she tried to focus on completing her job. Barry waited patiently, his beam unflinching, ready to continue the conversation whenever she pulled herself together.

"Surely, you're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. My wife actually encourages my sexual appetite. In addition to her, and our mutual lover, I've had sex with about seven other people in the past week alone." More 'oooo's' from the crowd. "But I have a very gluttonous appetite. The more I fuck, the more I want to fuck."

"Well, ah, it . . . it certainly sounds like you're living one hell of an amazing life, Mr. Garr—I mean, Barry."

"I'd say so," he responded jubilantly. "I've learned that life is really about squeezing every ounce of fun that you can get out of it. Everything can breed excitement—love, professionalism, leisure—all you need to do is never settle for anything. Always know what you want and what makes you happy, and then never settle for anything less than that."

"Haha. Is that bit of your sex advice on the house, then?" Chandra joked.

"That's just lesson number one," Barry told her. "In your case, you'll learn lesson number two more privately."

Again, the audience was in uproar, and Chandra was forced to cover her face as ever centimeter of it slowly shaded to a tomato red.

******

Mmm. I see my boy is enjoying our first night back in the States.

Ariadne Garrett sat in the backstage area, watching her son's interview, marveling at how well-adjusted and calm he was on camera, knowing that he was being watched by hundreds . . . soon to be thousands when this recording aired or, if they were really lucky, even millions. Barry had the entire studio audience right in the palm of his hand. They were soaking up his charisma, intoxicated by it, and in turn, only bolstering his confidence further. Even Chandra, though she didn't seem to want to admit it, was firmly under Barry's spell. Ariadne could see the flushness in her face, the way she shifted excitedly in her seat. She had no doubt that the woman was insanely moist between her thighs just thinking about what Barry wanted to do with her, although she was doing an adequate—futile, but adequate—job of hiding her curiosity.

Ariadne doubted she'd survive the night without him dumping a load inside her.

She understood perfectly. She laid a hand on her gravid belly, even now eight months inflated with her son's third child. She felt the baby kick inside her, winced a little and then smiled in happiness. She doubted many would understand it, but it made her proud to no end to be the vessel which held her son's progeny. In a strange way, she felt as though it gave her body purpose—until about two or three years ago, she had only had one lover her entire life, and only one child from that union. The love of her life, Stewart Garrett, had been taken from her when Barry was only eight. At the time, it felt almost as if her entire life had come crashing to a halt, and her sex life fell into a decline which lasted for more than a decade.

Then one day, she felt all of her repressed urges beginning to arise all at once. Consumed by the flames of lust, she searched desperately for an outlet and, thankfully, found her son Barry. Though the first time they'd made love had been spontaneous, and somewhat awkward after the fact, the second time was deliberate, consensual and utterly amazing. From then on, it only felt natural, and Ariadne was all too eager to bend over or spread her legs for her son at every opportunity.

Even now, as she sat backstage with her obscenely large belly, she wore a form-fitting, skimpy black gown that left very little to the imagination. Her bulbous, full breasts were barely covered by a pair of folds which fell conveniently over her nipples, criss-crossing into an X shape just above her belly. Her back and shoulders were therefore completely exposed, and the wide, dark areolae around her nipples slightly peeked behind the narrow straps. Ariadne was well-aware that she looked more like a wanton whore than an expectant mother, especially with the thick leather collar that she constantly boasted around her neck, but that was exactly what she was: her son's full-time whore.

She lived only to be fucked by him, and the only thing she cared about anymore was pleasing him. Unless discretion was necessary, he always had her dress in a manner that showed she was ready to be fucked—hell, whenever he told her to, she went without clothing completely. If he came in right now and told her to strip naked and follow him around the studio, she'd do it without hesitation. The first thing, in fact, that he did when she became his slave was throw every single blouse, dress, skirt, and piece of lingerie into a trash compactor.

The two of them had become wealthy enough that she was able to tailor clothing for any specific occasion, but her wardrobe was completely bare aside from longcoats, stockings, heeled shoes and her normal latex slave gear, which she now considered to be her "real" clothing.

What little normal wear he allowed her to wear, she as the slutty ensemble she sported now, she and Barry had taken to call her "disguises". By her own choice, Ariadne had stopped being a person in the broadest sense of the term. Now, she was only a slut that only sometimes pretended to be human. When she went shopping, or took the kids to daycare, most people would look at her and see a normal woman. But it turned her n to know that she, Barry and Suzanna knew what she really was: property. Her son's personal tool for breeding.

Ariadne grinned devilishly—the thought alone made her pussy soaking wet.

Ariadne was happier than she'd ever been in her life, maybe save for the years she'd spent with her Stewart. At first, it made her feel a bit awkward, as she wondered what her late husband would think of what she had become, but Barry convinced her that his father would want both of them to be happy. On top of that, Ariadne was more than satisfied with the arrangement. The relationship between her and Barry was simply that of Master and Slut; she loved him both as a lover and a mother, but she still considered Stewart to be her one and only soulmate. With him gone, Ariadne gave her body to their son to use—put succinctly, she was merely the vessel for Barry's offspring.

Or to put it another way, she was helping make Stewart's grandchildren.

To emphasize this point, Ariadne that had insisted that Barry find his own "soulmate" . . . someone whom he could love as his foil and equal as she had once loved Stewart. It didn't surprise her to know that he'd chosen that Suzanna girl she'd heard him speak so highly of. Though Ariadne was initially upset to know that her son was intimately related to a pornographic actress, she quickly had no grounds for complaint. Though she hated to admit it, Suzanna had transformed Barry into a great man and an amazing lover. Ariadne actually couldn't help but feel a little jealous that another woman had managed to unlock a side of her son that she'd never even known existed. Barry, however, called that attitude silly—he insisted that it was his love, and his lust, for his mother that had enabled his evolution in the first place. That knowledge did help her feel a bit better.

Also, being married to a porn star seemed to make her son happy. Suzanna got to satisfy her needs on camera, and Barry was free to have the occasional lover of his choice. They maintained a wonderful open marriage, always communicating and taking the time to establish ground rules when situations turned a bit too gray.

At first, Barry had suggested he might find a lover or two for Ariadne so that she wouldn't be left out if he couldn't attend to her. She had never taken him up on that offer though, as she was more than satisfied having him plugging all of her holes whenever he could. As time went by, Barry eventually rescinded his offer, declaring that Ariadne's body and pussy belonged to him only, and that he would never let another man have her.

For some reason, that made her unbelievably happy.

And that aside, Ariadne wasn't exactly a promiscuous kind of woman. She'd, in fact, only had four lovers in the entirety of her life—her late husband Stewart, Barry, Suzanna . . . and Emily.

Emily. Now there's a name I haven't thought of in quite a while, Ariadne mused to herself.

Emily had been the young owner of a moderately-sized sex shop in the shopping mall close to Ariadne's home. After the first time she and Barry had made love, Ariadne had found herself visiting the sex shop regularly while he was schooling in Fresno. There, she'd found her first Sybian machine . . . and Emily.

Emily and Ariadne were mutual first-time "lesbians". In only a few short weeks, Ariadne had come to love the taste of Emily's body and the rush of feeling her hands and tongue moving all over her smooth feminine body. Emily, despite a hard, punkish appearance, was actually a very delicate and attentive lover. Ariadne had hoped that her trysts with Suzanna would satisfy those repressed bisexual urges, but Suzanna was more aggressive and her body was very different from Emily's. That wasn't to say that Suzanna was inferior, but Emily had been Ariadne's "first", and that made her special.

Ariadne barely recognized how excited the thought was making her—she didn't even register that her hands were rubbing on her tits and pussy through the thin material of her dress until the door swung open and one of the young female production assistants entered and paused, her mouth agape.

"Um, ah . . . I was wondering if there was something I could do for you, Mrs. Garrett," the young woman told her.

Yes, you sexy thing. You could come over here and lick my soaking wet pussy, was the first thought that came to Ariadne's mind. Though she came to her senses a second later, it was actually somewhat common for Ariadne to sometimes feel her 'slut side' take total control like that.

For a brief moment, Ariadne compared this young woman's features with those of Emily. She was slightly older than Emily had been, although they'd probably be roughly the same age now. Furthermore, her hair was dyed, just as Emily's had been. In this case, the change seemed to be from an reddish-brown to a yellow blonde, rather a raven black to a flaxen blonde, like Emily's had been.

Other than that, she looked almost nothing like Emily. Emily had a stark white complexion and delicate body, while this girl had a very freckled, peachy skin and quite a bit of meat on her.

"Would you like some coffee, or something to eat?" the woman asked.

"No, I'm just fine," Ariadne replied with a friendly smile.

The young woman nodded and glanced up at the monitor, watching Barry's interview continue.

"Well, I guess what your husband told Ms. Burell was true," she stated. "You don't seem that bothered about his flirting."

Ariadne's smile broadened. "Oh, he's not my husband. So no, it doesn't bother me a bit."

The woman's eyes widened and her head slowly turned back to Ariadne. Her vision glanced from Ariadne's smile to her swollen belly, and back to the monitor. She then cast an inquisitive glance at the pregnant "Mrs. Garrett", but Ariadne only smiled in response, offering no explanation. She let the young assistant exit the room, allowing her imagination fill in whatever blanks she wanted.

Ariadne was hardly ashamed of what she did with her son, but she knew well the risks if it became public knowledge. The two of them already skirted a number of lines, such as having their property in Chicagoland declared a 'clothes-optional' zone, constantly keeping her pregnant with child after child, and live streaming their incestuous liaisons with their faces blurred and distinguishing characteristics Photoshoped. Everything they did was completely private, with only a privileged few knowing the truth, but it would still be all too easy for some moderately nosy soul to eventually put two and two together and ruin everything.

They weren't entirely in hiding, but none of them wanted everything about their lives to be exposed. There were still lots of things they needed to do before they could dare allow the world to know their dark little secrets.

A short time later, the interview came to an end, and Barry exited the stage amidst thunderous applause. Less than a minute afterward, the door to Ariadne's room slammed open and Barry barged right in. She took one glance at the fire in his eyes and immediately knew what was on his mind.

"In front or behind, Master?" she asked him.

"Behind," Barry growled hungrily. He unbuttoned his jacket, slid it off of his shoulders and began unfastening his tie as Ariadne quickly turned around, bent over, and elevated her ass for him.

"Grab that," he told her, indicating a metal pipe in the corner of the room. Ariadne did as she was told, and Barry fished into his pockets for a pair of leather cuffs. Looping them around the pipe, he then snapped the cuffs around Ariadne's wrists, keeping her effectively shackled to the corner of the room. They weren't necessary—she'd never disobey her master's orders, after all—but taking her choice away helped drive home her status as "property".