Barry's Sluts Ch. 01: Suzanna

Barry thought for a sec. "Wait. Suzanna . . . one of my teachers is female."

Her grin widened. "I can be very persuasive."

******

They pulled up in front of a gated apartment complex in an upscale neighborhood, near the heart of Fresno. Barry admired the lavish, Beverly Hills-like décor of the place, but couldn't quite help but wonder exactly where the hell they were.

Even more surprising was when they pulled up in front of one of the apartment buildings, Barry could see Dominic, Andre, Simon and Trena waiting.

"What the heck's going on?" he asked.

Suzanna just smiled at him, parked her car and stepped outside.

Trena and Simon came to the passenger side to try and help Barry out, but Suzanna halted them immediately. "Leave him," she said. "Big Boy can take care of himself."

Barry groaned as he finally stumbled out of his seat and retrieved his crutches. "Thanks, Suzanna. You're all heart."

"You'll thank me later," she said coldly, turning toward Dominic and Andre. "My keys?"

They handed Suzanna a set of keys and she strutted past them, doing that sexy waggle that she tended to emphasize whenever she knew someone was watching. Andre and Dominic watched her as she walked to the apartment entrance and then turned their gaze back to Barry with a look that said, 'You lucky bastard.'

Barry shot them another look that replied, 'Yeah, says the guys that can walk.'

"Barry, if you don't get inside in two minutes, you're sleeping in the damn car!" Suzanna sniped.

Barry hobbled his way to the front door, and all four of his 'friends' retained their distance, as per Suzanna's orders. Barry made it in under the time limit, not eager to test her threat. Sleeping in a car hardly sounded conducive to rehabilitating his injuries. He had no idea what the hell Suzanna was playing at, but he guessed that she'd taken him to her own apartment for whatever reason.

Once he was in, she called for an elevator and they began riding it up to the 21^st floor.

"So here's the lowdown," she told him. Her tone made it clear that she was telling him the following information and not asking him for input. "You're staying with me for a month or two, at least until you can walk as well as you could before. I'm personally going to be overseeing your rehabilitation as well as your assignments, and you will follow all of the steps I give you. Any back-talk or insubordination from you, and I will make things very unpleasant. I'm not trying to hear any fucking whining or excuses from you."

She lit a cigarette and deeply inhaled before adding, "If you have any questions, do it now, because it might be the last time I'll allow them for a while."

Barry stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. "What the hell kind of game is this, Suzanna?"

"This is no game. You heard the doctor: if you want to walk normally again, you'll have to work hard at it every single day. I don't trust those idiot roommates of yours to keep you properly motivated or disciplined, and I trust home care even less, so I'm going to do it myself." With a slow exhale, she added, "And believe me, failure is NOT an option with me."

Barry chuckled and shook his head. "Suzanna, seriously. You're weirding me out. I'm pretty sure, as an adult, I can take care of myself."

"Oh? Then surely you're not whining just because I made you walk a few meters to and from a car, are you? The doctor warned you that getting back to one-hundred percent is going to be difficult, and yet you're complaining al-fucking-ready. If you really want to prove that you're a grown man, then why not give my little rehab a try and see how well you can do before you quit?"

Barry hesitated to answer. She was trying to appeal to his ego, make him feel the need to prove himself to her. But the problem was, she had a point. He had never needed to rehabilitate himself for anything more than a sprained ankle and a fractured wrist before, and this was infinitely more difficult and exhausting. Hell, during those last times, his mother was almost as much as a slave-driver, and he was only 9 and 12 at the time, respectively.

God, his Mom! She still didn't know what had happened. He came here to gain confidence, so how the fuck could he face her with a goddamn limp? The last thing he wanted was to go home and allow her to see him as her 'precious little baby' again. That was hardly the attitude that would let him fuck her like he wanted.

"Okay, Suzanna," he told her, "I'll give it a shot."

"Good," she said. "Then from this moment on, when I am teaching, you will only refer to me as 'Madame Zanna' or 'Teacher', is that clear?"

Barry responded only with a blink and one word.

"What."

******

Suzanna's apartment was surprisingly spacious—just as spacious as the home Barry and his mother shared, in fact. Barry could see that half of the place was empty, though—likely because Suzanna had removed most of Victor's things after the douchebag got sent off to prison. The result was a very lavish and posh living space that still seemed half-finished.

"Look around if you like," she told him. "I need to get changed. Be back in a few minutes."

Barry took the opportunity to look around and learn a little bit more about Suzanna. Even after about a month and some change, he still really knew little about her. She was a wonderful person and all, but he really understood little about what made her tick. She'd never talked about her family, her history, or anything. He got the impression that she was native to Fresno, but that was just a guess based on random tidbits of information. He had no solid facts to back it up.

Barry noticed something on the wall—a framed document, like a certificate. He hobbled closer and decided to take a look.

"The University of Central California at Fresno does certify that, with the verification of the President, Staff, and Faculty, SUZANNA MENDEZ has duly earned a double degree in the fields of INTERDISCIPLINARY STUDIES, KINESIOLOGY, and all of the rights and privileges thereof."

What the hell? Barry thought. Suzanna already had a Bachelor's degree? No . . . two of them!? She was a Graduate student!?

But . . . she was hardly any older than he was! Twenty-one at the most by his estimates. What, had she gotten an interdisciplinary degree in two years and returned to school with no break in between? But that would mean that she had been going to school full time through the fall, spring AND summer, in addition to working at the Student Employment office AND doing porn shoots. That was simply ridiculous! The required level of multitasking would have been insane!

He had only snooped for one second, and Barry had learned next to nothing about the girl. In fact, he actually had more questions than before.

"Alright, let's get started," he heard Suzanna say behind him.

Barry turned and found himself standing face-to-face with something he never thought he'd gaze upon in his entire life. Suzanna was standing before him with a tight, lithe latex outfit, naturally hugging the curves of her entire body. Her torso was covered with a black corset that was stitched together at the sides, showing off the smooth curvature of her cream skin in contrast to the shiny obsidian of the corset. Her bosom was pressed together by the cups of the corset, leaving a very pronounced curve between her tits that only made her cleavage that much more pronounced and obscene. Her arms and hands were covered by sleek gloves which went almost to her shoulders, requiring a very long zipper.

Her lower body was covered by a latex skirt slit down the side so that subtle peeks of her milky thighs could be viewed every now and again. On her feet were a pair of extremely thin stiletto heels, pointed almost invisibly-thin at the bottom.

Completing the ensemble, wore a latex domino mask over her face and a black commissar's cap. Although the mask did an absolutely piss-poor job of hiding her identity, it was pretty effective at making her look like a more threatening person. He supposed that was the point, and he also noted that in a way, the mask enhanced her beauty by making her eyes and red lips the most substantial things about her facial appearance.

"Suzanna," he said, bug-eyed. "What the hell is THAT?"

Suzanna cocked her head toward him, and then there was a loud crack. At first, Barry didn't know what had just happened—but his right arm suddenly exploded in such searing pain that it caused him to drop his right crutch and teeter precariously on the left one. As he tended to his agony, he noticed something in Suzanna's left arm . . .

Some sort of weapon, sort of like a cat o' nine tails with knotted ends.

"Suzanna! What the fuck!" Barry cried out a second time as another hit struck his arm.

"We're going to try this again," she told him sternly, "only because I tire of repeating the same lesson. The first rule—one which you must absolutely not break—is to address me only as 'Madame Zanna' or 'Teacher' when I am instructing from now on. Every time you forget this rule, my friend the Stinger here will remind you. Is that clear?"

Barry glared, all but questioning her sanity. "Wait a second. This . . . This isn't what I came here for," he told her. "Look . . . 'Teacher' . . . I agreed to let you train me to get my strength back. I didn't agree to . . . whatever the hell the rest of this is."

Suzanna stared at him for a moment, and then her shoulders drooped as she placed the Stinger on a nearby chair. "Okay, Barry," she said as she lifted her mask. "Let's talk plainly." She stepped a breath away from him and stared into his eyes.

"There are two things I know extremely well: health and discipline.

"My parents were insanely strict. Since I was a child, I was taught to wake up at the same time every day, get to work at the exact same minute, finish my exercises and my studying and my housework at the same time each and every day, week in and week out. I know how to prioritize my time so that I get everything that's most important done, and believe me when I say this: YOU are my top priority as of this minute. Nothing is more important to me than getting you back to one-hundred-percent. And if you want to recover fully, you'll need that kind discipline yourself, and I can teach you how.

"Barry, if you let me help you, I will not only get you walking again, but make you better than when you started. By the time we're done, the pain you feel now will seem like a petty foible and you'll laugh at the idea that you were endangered of being permanently hobbled. I won't be gentle, and this will not be easy, but I promise that I can do it. All I need you to do is trust me, the same way I trusted you when you rescued me from that club—my dashing hero."

Barry read her body language as she spoke, and he could see a sincerity, a candidness in her that he hadn't seen much of before. Suzanna always tried to use some sort of leverage—usually through her sexuality—to get people to bend to what she wanted. But there was none of that here. As he stared into her blue eyes, he could tell she was being as open and honest as she possibly could be, exposing her true self to him for the briefest of times.

Again, this was the Suzanna he had always wanted to see.

Honestly, the thought of not regaining his ability to walk normally terrified him, and he wasn't sure how he'd be able to do it without her. He believed Suzanna when she spoke about her discipline. Ever since he'd known her, she'd always been exactly on time for every appointment they'd made. Suzanna always arranged things so that she was never too late or too early; if in doubt, she set things in motion early to be able to adjust for the unknown, but she never made a start or an entrance until it was exactly the right time to do so. He had always thought it peculiar, but now she'd finally explained the reason.

Furthermore, he had always seen her be extremely careful about what she ate and drank—he had always figured it was because she wanted to maintain her health for her porn career. But now, he was suspecting there was something else—some other underlying reason for her obsession with promptness, discipline and self-control.

And he couldn't believe that her strong disdain for tardiness and unpunctual behavior was just because she had been raised that way. There was still something she wasn't telling him. Something that drove her beyond what she'd been taught as a child. Could it have been the same thing that made her always strive for control? That made her want to manipulate everyone she met with her over-sexualized behavior?

He wanted to believe she could help him. But there was just the matter of the BDSM getup.

"Why the latex?" he asked. "Couldn't we do this without it?"

She smiled. "This is just something to help keep you motivated and focused." Her eyes pierced his with a lustful, ravenous gaze. "You must know that I'm single now, Barry. If I wanted to, I could fuck the pants off of you right this second. Unfortunately, there's no chance in hell that I'm going to fuck you while you're in this sort of shape. I don't want you while you're at less than your peak. If I would even consider fucking you, I want you in your prime."

Those words drove Barry practically crazy with lust. He had dreamt of fucking Suzanna since he'd met her. Even before knowing about Victor, she had intrigued him as a person, and Barry would have been satisfied just keeping her as a friend. But now, a month and a half later, he trusted her and there was no denying the lust he felt. In both regards, emotionally and sexually, she was the second-most important person in his life.

But of course, there was still the first-most.

"Suzanna," he said quietly, "I've wanted you so badly . . ."

"Oh, I could tell," she replied with a grin. "But what about your lady friend?"

The sudden question took Barry off-guard. Deep in the pits of his mind, Barry still wanted his mother. He dreaded returning to Chicago and not being able to have her again. He was drawn to her . . . to incest . . . like a moth to a burning flame. But at the same time, he wasn't there now. Here was Suzanna right in front of him, her body practically begging him to fuck her.

"Well, do you think she'd approve of you now?" she asked him. "Your girlfriend, I mean. Hell, I can barely stand to see you like this. What do you think she'll think?"

'Oh my poor little boy!' Barry thought to himself glumly.

He knew his mother . . . she loved to overreact. Even if she didn't regret what they'd done before, just one look at him now would ruin any chance he had at fucking. It would undermine every ounce of confidence he had, and he would lose his only chance at those gorgeous lips, that supple bosom, that round behind . . .

Suzanna saw that he understood her point. "So, to be clear: there won't be any fucking—at least not for a while. I'll be sure to keep you . . . motivated . . . but my pussy'll be off-limits until you decide you want it."

Placing her hands upon her hips, she added, "Of course, that's moot if you can't get yourself back to the point where I'd even consider it. And that said, I think it might be a good suggestion to 'practice up' a little before you go back home. You know, to make things a little less awkward with your girlfriend."

That was fair enough, Barry supposed. Suzanna had also raised a good point: he had come all of this way and learned a lot about stuff about the mechanics of sex, but he really didn't know anything about the act of it. He'd only fucked once, and that had gone by so fast and so passionately that he barely remembered the details. Now, he knew a lot of technical information about it, and he'd seen it done in person more times than he could count, but he hadn't put any of it to practice himself.

"If you want me to help you . . . learn how to better please a woman, I'll add that to your curriculum when the time comes," she told him. "We'll consider it 'Phase Two' of your training. Until then, however, I suggest you speak with a few of the other girls on the set this Tuesday. I'm taking you back up there with me again and putting you back to work. Ask around—the actresses, the makeup girls, the coordinators—no two women are the same, but I'm pretty sure they'll be able to give you some tips that'll help you please your cougar."

Barry had heard all he needed to. "Alright. Let's do it, then."

Suzanna reached up and grasped her mask. "When this comes down again, I will be 'Madame Zanna' once more. You understand this, yes?"

Barry nodded. "Yeah."

Suzanna locked the mask back into place. "Then strip, Pet."

******

Barry eyed her suspiciously, but Madame Zanna merely arched an eyebrow. He obeyed her and began to take off his clothes, moving deliberately due to his injuries.

"Faster," she demanded.

Barry made a modest effort to improve, but getting his pants and briefs down was easier said than done. More than once, he cried out loudly when he moved the wrong muscle or stretched the wrong way. Madame Zanna didn't show any concern or sympathy. She just stood there, tapping the handle of the Stinger in her palm.

When he finally finished, she pulled up a timber chair and removed the back from it.

"Sit."

Barry sat as he was told, with his ass cheeks hanging out from the bottom of the chair. He felt ridiculously foolish, but he made himself honor Suzanna's request to trust her.

"This is your first exercise, pet," she told him as she circled, her heels making slow, deliberate taps on her marble floor.

"You will stretch your left leg—and ONLY your left leg—and hold it for ten seconds. I will help keep it straightened, but you're going to do the hard work of lifting it. Furthermore, you may use your arms to hold onto the chair for support, but you will NOT move any other part of your body to help lift that leg. If I see anything else move, there WILL be consequences. Understood?"

"Yes."

She stopped and eyed him wolfishly.

"Yes . . . 'Madame Zanna'."

"I'm going to ignore that little slip, Pet. Now, begin."

Barry gripped the rear legs of the chair and started moving his left leg. Though he tried to muster a brave attitude, the pain hit him like a tidal wave, and his features shriveled in agony. After six long, grueling seconds of torture, he finally managed to get his leg erect and Madame Zanna gently held the joint straight. He then tried to count in his head.

One-one-thousand. Two-two-thousand. Three-three-thousand.

After that, though, the seconds seemed to drag on for-fucking-ever.

Fooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooour-foooooooooooooooooooooooooour-thouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuusand.

It was absolutely ridiculous. There was no way he was going to be make it to ten seconds. Defeated, Barry let his leg drop and gasped as he let the throbbing in his leg ebb away.

"Aaaaargh! God-DAMMIT!" Barry screamed.

"You failed," Madame Zanna told him. "Do it again."

Barry gave her the meanest look that he'd ever given anyone in his life, and she only stared back at him with equal intensity. Determined not to let her beat him, Barry went at it again. His hands shaky, his breathing uneven, he concentrated on straightening the left leg. He held his breath, trying to block out the pain, trying to—CRACK!

"Arrrrrrrrrrgh! Dammit, Suzanna, what the HELL did I do THAT time!?"

CRACK!

"That last time, you broke Rule Number One—AGAIN," she said bitterly. "The time before that, your right foot left the floor. Pet, it greatly displeases me to see you disobey my instructions."

"Oh give me a break. Er . . . Madame Zanna."