Barry's Sluts Ch. 01: Suzanna

She smiled. "Hmmm. Maybe you ARE learning, Pet."

"But . . . Teacher? Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, you may. A short one."

"I was just wondering . . . how is whipping my ass going to help?"

Surprisingly, she actually smiled at that one. "Simple, Pet. You have to choose." She grabbed the Stinger and pulled both ends with a loud snap. "Which form of pain do you prefer?"

He hated to say it, but Barry could see the goal she was going for—sadistic as it were. The pain from the stretching was nothing compared to the Stinger, as he could certainly feel streaks of broken skin on the cheeks of his ass. The stretching was intense while he did it, but the Stinger pain throbbed and lingered long after the initial sting.

If he choice was between bad and worse, then 'bad' seemed like the only sane answer.

"Again," Madame Zanna instructed. "And try to keep the noise down. I'd really hate to gag a pup like you, when you're probably going to have so many questions."

******

When the first test was finished, Barry had a very sore leg and an ass that felt like it'd been mauled by Simba. He could feel the rawness on his underside, but he dared not to think about it. The pain was acute, and near the end, it actually DID help to keep his mind off of the stretching. Not that it mattered much, though. His leg muscles just couldn't keep up very well, which prompted Madame Zanna to tenderize his rear that much more.

After she declared them finished for the day, she walked out of the room and went into her bathroom. There was a lot of noise in there, including loud rattling and the running of water. She returned about five minutes later and directed him to the tub.

Which was filled to the brim with not just water, but ice.

Barry shot her an inquisitive look, but she merely folded her arms and glared. Remembering his promise to give her a chance, Barry swallowed his fear and took a plunge in the bathroom Arctic.

It was sheer fucking torture. But on the plus side, it made him forget about his sore ass.

Then, right before bed, Suzanna did something else that felt a bit weird. She had a cot set up for Barry to sleep in within her living room, but she forced him to stay nude. After he lay down, she took some sort of silk scarf and tied it, very loosely and carefully, around his cock and balls. The soft touch of the silk brought Barry to instant arousal—at least letting him know that his body wasn't defunctive in that respect—and it kept him that way, far into the night. She also forced him to keep his foot elevated all night and constantly came back to check on him to see whether or not it still was, dressed in a thin, translucent set of sleepwear.

So his leg was hardly the only thing that remained elevated all night long.

******

Erotic dreams persisted the entire night. He had at least three. One with him fucking his mother, then one about fucking Suzanna, and then one weird one where he was fucking a composite woman that was both of them and neither of them at the same time. He came in his sleep after each dream, and was in the throes of a fourth time when Suzanna woke him.

"I know you had a rough night, sweetie," she said, lovingly caressing his face while her other hand toyed lovingly with his genitals. "So don't worry. I've made a nice, big breakfast for you."

She wasn't kidding. Toast. Eggs. Waffles. Fresh fruit. Suzanna really outdid herself. Of course, the toast and the waffles took all of about 3 minutes to make in the toaster, but it was still pretty impressive. Barry limped to the kitchen chair, beginning to feast as soon as his sore ass touched the seat. Surprisingly, the pain wasn't as bad he had expected.

Suzanna sat down and ate with him, though all she ate were a few nutrition bars. In the meantime, she thumbed through a textbook. The title read "Study of Something-or-other-ology", and Barry didn't have the slightest clue what the hell it could be about. Regardless, Suzanna seemed to be getting through it pretty well. The textbook was about 11 by 9 inches big, but she was still flipping pages once about every 2 -- 4 seconds.

He was becoming curious about her again, so he spoke up and dared to ask, "So . . . you're back to being 'Suzanna' now, right?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said without glancing up.

"So can I ask you something? Are you really a grad student?"

"Yup," she told him as she flipped another page. "Going for my double Masters, in fact."

Barry took a swig of orange juice before he asked: "Suzanna, how old are you?"

She glanced up and smiled. "Twenty, hun."

Barry's mind was blown. "Twenty and you've already got TWO Bachelor's?"

She giggled. "Like I told you, my parents taught me to make very efficient use of my time. Also, it helps that I'm quite good at math and physical sciences."

Barry couldn't believe it. "So . . . why porn?!"

She sighed. "We've been over this, haven't we? Because I love it."

"Yeah, but . . . I mean what is all the rest of this for, then? Why the double Bachelor's and the Master's and all that?"

"Because the next time some asshole ex-boyfriend runs my car offroad, my face could easily go through the windshield and leave me with a mug like Igor," she told him. "I love doing porn, but I'm not going to bank my whole future around it."

That made sense, he admit. Porn, like every other form of show business, required that you look bankable, first and foremost. Suzanna certainly had the looks, but there was no guarantee she'd have them forever. Even barring some catastrophic accident, age could do any number of things to a wonderful body like hers.

When she looked up and saw him staring, she smiled and asked, "What?"

"I just never pegged you as a geek, is all."

"Yeah, well, the best geeks are the ones you can't," she said, beaming.

Barry finally seemed to be getting somewhere in his mission to figure Suzanna out. She still had tons of layers, but he was starting to peel the surface. Of course, since he still had several weeks of her 'therapy' left to go, there was really no need to rush.

"So, your last name . . . Mendez . . . it's . . .?"

"Argentinian," she responded. "My entire family ancestry is from Spain, though, so I'm fundamentally European and white as Wonder Bread. I'm still working on choosing a full stage name, so right now, I just go by my first name alone."

"I get it," Barry replied, "so why be a work study on top of everything else?"

"There's good perks for work studies at the U. Nice Federal benefits as well as certain privileges for working directly in the Administration building. For example, I get to find out about projects for earning extra credit hours faster than most. It helps me shave off a few hours so that I can get my degree a little faster."

"Oh, okay. So why 'Interdisciplinary Studies' and 'Kaneezi . . .Konesy . . . '?"

"Kinesiology. My general interest is mostly in nutrition, health, and body chemistry. I like knowing everything about my body. Essentially, I can break it down something like a machine . . . what foods I should eat, how much exercise is right for a woman my size, etc, etc. My degrees are a blend of fields which basically help me break the human body down to a chemistry."

After hearing about her interest in nutrition, she saw Barry's eyes turn inquisitively to the pack of cigarettes sitting on the table.

"Oh yes, that," she giggled. "Well, we all have our weaknesses, don't we?"

Barry was amazed at how well she'd thought this through. She really knew what she was doing, and it stood in stark contrast with Barry's mostly unfocused college endeavors. He now only had a vague idea of what he wanted to do, but no way to know how to actually do it.

"Hey Suze, can I ask one more thing?"

"Sure, hon. But we're going to get to your morning exercises in a bit, so keep it short."

"Listen . . . Talking to you, I'm kind of getting a plan for what I wanna do with my life. But, I never really thought about any of the stuff you said. You know, extra projects to shave off time. Things like that. If I give you a general idea of what I want to do when I graduate, could you help me figure out how to get it done?"

Her eyes shone as she understood his request. With the brightest smile Barry had seen yet, she responded, "For you, Barry, honey . . . I'll do anything."

******

It was only a short while before Barry began to see definite progress. Though his body ached everywhere, he could plainly see that his leg was growing stronger. In addition to the constant stretching and exercise, Suzanna forced Barry to walk as often as she could afford to. Sometimes, she sent him to nearby grocers or shops for insignificant shit, like a loaf of bread, and then send him right back saying he'd got "the wrong kind". In addition, she made him perform other routines to keep the rest of his body in good condition. His legs may have been her focus, but she wouldn't allow the rest of his body to wither, either.

It was tough as hell; he hadn't even been worked THIS hard in high school football. Many times, he could barely finish anything she made him do, but she refused to allow him to quit. She made Barry finish every rep of every set, even if it took longer than the time she'd set. She hadn't been kidding when she said Barry was her top priority. She revolved her entire schedule around meeting the rigors of his training, and she never backed off even slightly.

More than once, when things got their worst, Barry cursed, yelled and flashed fanciful images of way to murder Suzanna and end his suffering.

But Madame Zanna was good at keeping him motivated. Barry quickly learned why she kept his cock and balls tied with silk at night: it had the strange effect of making him ravenously horny all night long and well into the next day. He would have an adamantine erection every morning and, every second of the day, Suzanna only worked to make it even worse. As slutty as she'd behaved before, that was nothing compared to how she acted now.

Suzanna barely wore anything around the house. When she could get away with it, she let her bare tits and ass show, just to give Barry a peak. But she greatly preferred to dress in provocative attire which only arbitrarily hid her naughtiest bits. That was by far worse. As much as Suzanna's naked body drove him crazy, nothing was worse than the thongs, the bodystockings, the ripped t-shirts which only barely contained the goodies they hid underneath.

But the worst was when she "transformed" into Madame Zanna and donned that shameless latex outfit. More than once, his dreams involved tearing that costume to shreds and brutally fucking her.

The insane part was that she had commanded him NOT to masturbate, under any circumstances. As he wondered why she would do this to him, he got his answer as soon as the second day of training—whenever he did well in his exercises, Suzanna would purr "Good Pet" and give him one of her devilishly satisfying handjobs, using her hand to work every tense vein of his cock.

As before, Barry quickly became convinced that Suzanna's hands were better than any pussy could possibly be. No pussy could massage both his shaft and his testicles with such delicate, yet firm precision. No pussy could toy with the hole at the tip of his cock, gently tickling it, digging the tip of a fingernail to stimulate it. No pussy could tighten so hard around his cock when it exploded, and suction every single drop of cum from his ball sack.

Barry had never thought that he'd be so happy to cum in his life, but hearing the words "Good Pet" and watching Suzanna kneel before him quickly became the highlight of his day. He lived for it, and it wasn't long until he became a complete slave willing to do anything to get it. He found himself urging to find out what her mouth was like . . . what her cunt was like . . . but while he still had the limp, Suzanna refused.

Slowly, she shifted from using pain to pleasure as a reward system, although she'd still use the stinger on occasion. Mostly, she started using it to tease his flesh, bringing every nerve bundle in his body alive with soft rapts of the tails. His skin reddened and Barry could feel his blood tensing just under the skin. It wasn't a sensation he'd ever felt before—not quite pain, and not quite pleasure. It bordered between, but stimulated him in every fashion. She knew how to make every inch of his body feel good, to bring Barry to heights he'd never even known existed.

And curiously, he noticed that ice was central to everything. Suzanna had an electric ice chest that she used to store as much as she possible could, and there were fresh deliveries every two or three days. Barry's injury required that his leg remain iced whenever possible. They almost never used ice packs or cold compresses—she always forced Barry to use naked bits of ice, and didn't seem to mind having it melt across her floor. Of course, there were also the constant ice baths she made him take. He was forced to sit in that unbearably cold water once every single day, from 10 to 15 minutes at a time, depending on how intense the workout was.

The ice therapy was utterly amazing—holding the searing cold blocks helped take his mind off of the agony of physical training while the ice baths helped remove the lactic acids and fatigue poisons that built up during the workout and enabled Barry to train each day without breaks. Sitting in the numbing water was pure hell, of course, but Suzanna made sure he stayed. More than once, she would dunk herself in the water and sit on Barry's lap, sharing in his suffering, without whining or bitching of any kind.

It sharply rose the amount of respect he held for her, and eventually Barry never made a single complaint again.

And of course, Barry was still working at the studio in Los Angeles. Suzanna had told everyone to not feel an ounce of pity for Barry. Though they were to be mindful of his injury, she still expected him to work. At first, it was difficult because the crutches limited what he was capable of, but after a few weeks, he didn't even need them and things improved significantly. He was beginning to have more energy than he'd ever felt in his life, and he began to willingly, eagerly, train without 'Madame Zanna's' supervision. Barry had developed complete and utter trust in his mistress, and he started to do exactly as she asked whether or not she was even present.

******

MONTHS LATER

Suzanna could hardly contain her pride: her physical therapy was a greater success than she'd ever hoped. By March, Barry was fully ambulatory, and any trace of a limp was undetectable. Once the pain in his leg had ceased, Barry had—under his own volition—taken to looking at himself in mirrors as he walked. At first, he consciously corrected any visible lethargy, but after a while, it didn't seem to take him any effort at all. He was walking, running, and even jumping with the same ability he'd shown the night he saved her from Victor.

She'd only seen it for an instant, but she remembered every detail well. She had been helpless, staring at the gun as Victor started to point it at her. She screamed and begged . . . weak . . . pathetic . . . but she couldn't find a trace of sanity in Victor's eye. Only murderous fury. Her heart beat violently at her chest, and her breath all but stopped. Time slowed, and Suzanna almost started to feel her soul wafting away. It was like she was watching all of this from someone else's point-of-view, her mind refusing to accept it as real.

Almost all hope had left her except prayer. She hadn't spoken to God in ages, but that night she begged him, implored him to not let her die.

And that was when he appeared.

Her guardian angel.

He was like a force of nature. He took Victor clean of his feet and tossed him around like a doll. Every blow struck her attacker like vengeful thunder.

Suzanna was transfixed, so fascinated watching her savior that she almost forgot that this was a life-or-death struggle. She watched his arms flex, his chest heave, and his eyes narrow with focus. This was a side of Barry that she had never seen before, and it was magnificent. In seconds, the fear of death had faded, leaving her with a different, for more potent, sensation. She felt more alive than she had ever been in her life . . .

And unbelievably horny.

Everything she had done these last few months had been to retrieve the form of Barry that she'd seen in those fleeting seconds. The man she had wanted so badly she could scarcely stand it. The unstoppable juggernaut who looked ready to kill, to break another human being in half. That was the Barry she needed back. That was the Barry she needed to fuck, and she refused to accept less.

He had returned, finally, and she wanted him—needed him—so badly. As torturous as she knew her therapy had been for Barry, watching his body slowly sculpt and improve for weeks at a time had been every bit as agonizing for her. Even as she fucked others on camera, she had to stop herself from screaming the name 'Barry' every time she came. Every cock that invaded her pussy seemed like a poor substitute to the one she really wanted. The one she craved. She forced herself to settle for pleasuring him with her hands, but that was nowhere near enough. Not for either of them. She saw the lustful gaze in his eyes, the barely-contained urge to throw her to the cot and DESTROY her pussy. Every night, it almost made her say to hell with everything and let him take her, but she wouldn't allow it. It would betray everything they'd been working for.

Idly, she wondered if she would have even been able to honor her original threat. If Barry hadn't regained his former glory, would she have been able to resist him? Even lessened, he was still far greater than any other man. Even crippled, he was beautiful. She didn't know whether or not she could have kept up her pretense, claiming not to want him as badly as he wanted her.

But luckily, she would never have to find out now.

Part of her felt a bit guilty—she had planned to fuck Barry almost as soon as she'd met him. There was just something about him that called to her, and Victor had been right to feel threatened by him. The more she'd known Barry, the more the urge to sleep with him had grown, until it became only a matter of 'when' and not 'if'. If Victor hadn't gone off the deep end the way that he had, she would have surely given in to temptation at some point. Suzanna would never condone infidelity, but on the course she was following, it was only a matter of time before she would have left Victor to be with the real man of her dreams.

Again, she would never know how that would have went. The only regret she felt about the way things turned out is that Barry had to suffer for it.

He wasn't like any guy she'd ever met. So curious and innocent, yet with a hidden boldness. When Barry wanted something, nothing would stop him from getting it. When the conditions were right, Barry was absolutely fearless—and it was that quality she'd been manipulating for the past few months. She had done her best to keep him focused on her—just her—for these several months. When he recovered, she wanted his first and only priority would be jamming his cock into her pussy. She needed him to push aside thoughts of that other woman—the cougar in Chicago—as far as he possibly could.

After all of this work, she'd earned the right to that cock.

Brought from her daydreaming and back into the reality of her Biochemistry class, Suzanna realized that she hadn't heard a lick of what the professor had been talking about, and that her notes had stopped for or five topics ago. She took a deep breath, realizing that her obsession over Barry was starting to affect her at all hours of the day. Even her parents, when she'd spoken to them the night before, had noticed the happiness in her voice and asked her about her love life. Of course, they didn't know what she did—what she really did—for a living. Hell, she hadn't even told them about Victor. As far as they knew, their little sweet "Suzie" was still an innocent little virgin.