Suzanna's Darlings Ch. 02

Emily worked at her Mistress's pussy for over forty minutes, altering between using her fingers, her lips, her tongue, and even the tip of her nose to please her. She lapped as much of her Mistress's juices as she could, having become long accustomed to and eager for her taste. It wasn't until Ariadne had cum at least five times that the younger woman paused for a moment to ask her Mistress:

"Would you like to taste my pussy now, Mistress?"

"Oh . . . God yes . . ." Ariadne breathed. "I want it now, Pet."

Emily swung her backside around until it faced Ariadne, and she mounted her Mistress in the 69 position. Ariadne's hands welcomed and gripped her lover's rear eagerly, and she pinched Emily's supple cheeks. In the meantime, she eagerly began lapping at Emily's pussy, causing the submissive to gasp out and nearly sob with joy.

Emily composed herself long enough to continue licking and suckling at her Mistress's pussy, and she even angled herself to be able to stick a single finger into Ariadne's tight ass. Ariadne's anus was almost virgin-tight, because her Master rarely fucked her there . . . much preferring her pussy in order to maximize the chances of impregnation . . . and Emily always exploited this as much as she could.

The two soft, feminine bodies writhed together, their supple pink flesh rubbing against one-another on the bedsheets. Both women came multiple times, soaking each-others' faces with their mutual pussy juices.

Finally, Ariadne lifted her mouth from Emily's pussy and breathed, "On your back, pet. I want to fuck you now."

Emily obediently rolled herself over and positioned herself on her back, with her legs eagerly spread in readiness. She threw her arms over her head and bit her lip in silent expectation for her Mistress. Ariadne's voluptuous body quickly moved atop Emily's . . . docking their bodies together perfectly. With their pussies, their tits, and their mouths connected to each other, Ariadne began to grind each of these things together, tribbing her pussy vigorously against Emily's while their nipples rubbed against each-other, and their tongues happily explored.

Emily's pierced nipples greatly intensified the pleasure she and Ariadne got, with Ariadne's nipples actually coaxing out small amounts of breast milk during the copious pounding she gave her submissive's pussy. The two women squealed and gasped into each others' mouths for what seemed like an eternity, topping the entire night off by mutually masturbating and playing with the others' pussy until they came together.

At last, the two of them fell exhausted.

******

MEANWHILE, MILES AWAY, IN MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

"I'm used to certain . . . protocol being a factor when I do business. You understand, yes? We'll need to get right down to that protocol before this meeting can begin. I hope you can understand that this is not meant to challenge or question your reputation. Think of it not as an affront on your trustworthiness, but as an old man's quirky little habits.

"Is this acceptable to you, Mr. Garrett?"

Barry smiled at the wrinkled old man, keeping his eyes locked on him and not on the three massive bodyguards that looked ready to break him like a twig. Unshakably confidant, Barry merely nodded his head in affirmation.

"Not a problem, Mister Castiglione."

Sylvester Castiglione, known as better known as 'Sly Cat' in the underworld, took a triumphant puff on his cigar as he watched Barry stand. One of his three goons walked over to the younger man and began to pat him down. After a moment, he reached underneath Barry's jacket and brandished a 45-calibur handgun.

"Careful with that," Barry told him. "It's always loaded."

The goon took the weapon and stepped away from Barry, nodding to his boss to indicate that his guest was now clean. Being separated from his beloved weapon made Barry a bit antsy, but that needed to be held in check for now. At times like this, a cool composure and sharp mind were safer companions than even a fully-loaded semi-automatic pistol.

"Thank you, Mr. Garrett. Now, please have a seat."

Barry did as Sly Cat asked, folding his legs and locking his hands together as the meeting continued.

"My time and my money are like my children, Mr. Garrett," he started. "If you dare harm either one of them, life can become . . . a bit more difficult, if you understand my meaning."

Barry smiled. "Oh, I understand just fine. I understand because I'm able to put myself in your shoes. If someone were to mess with my family, or my business, I have a habit of making their lives miserable a well."

Castiglione understood Barry's retort, and exhaled a long chain of cigar smoke before responding. "Well, the difference between you and I, Mr. Garrett, is that I've been in this game for more than 40 years. I've seen the rise and fall of families and dynasties. I've seen sharp, confident young men like you leave the game broken, their bodies and nerves shattered like little girls.

"I've had 40 years to build my reputation, Mr. Garrett, so there is much reason to fear me. But, you? I don't know you. So it's hard for me to find a reason to care."

Barry chuckled and wiped a speck of lint off of his sleek, pressed slacks. "That's not a problem, Mr. Castiglione. I don't have your experience, but I've been in this game far longer than most people think. I was a Syndicate man for years."

That part was a carefully-veiled half-truth. While it was certainly true that Barry had been under the employ of the Syndicate for several years before its collapse, most of that time, he hadn't even had a clue that he was working for them. He'd had no idea that his friend and financial backer Rod Styles was actually the boss behind it all, and that Rod had been carefully drawing the Garrett family into his operations for years.

Castiglione also wouldn't know that it was Barry's efforts that had eventually exposed Rod for what he was, and finally allowed the Syndicate to topple once and for all.

That was because, of course, the old man would have killed him in an instant if he had known any of these things.

Again, the old mobster was reserved, unmoving at Barry's response. He was an older gentleman, with a full head of healthy grey hair. He was impeccably fit for a man his age, and despite his years, still resistant to wrinkles and other signs of physical decline. He was clean-shaven, with hawkish eyes and a steady face that made him difficult to read.

The trick was that Barry was the same, except much younger. Calm, poised, focused and sharp. The only differences were that you could subtract 30 years from Barry's age and add brown to his hair. He lacked Castiglione's years and reputation, but he made up for it with relentless ambition and unstoppable initiative.

Finally, Castiglione tapped his cigar into the ashtray. "So what do you want?"

"Not much. I want you to keep your operations in 29^th Avenue and Bloomington Park to a minimum. I want my girls kept safe. In addition, I want the only women walking the street to be part of my family, and we reserve the right to reject the ones we don't like. Furthermore, our places are neutral ground, where absolutely no violence will be tolerated."

Castiglione's head tilted. "And why would we do this?"

"Because you want your people to hustle their product smoothly and I want my girls doing their work without worrying about being harassed or found in a ditch full of cum, bullets and heroin. I think your guys would also appreciate the discounted companionship. None of my people are in competition with yours. I don't deal with any product that doesn't walk on two legs and nag about toilet seats.

"In short, you can scratch my back and I'll scratch yours."

Castiglione nodded at Barry's proposal. It was undoubtedly well thought-out and reasonable. Still, the old man seemed hesitant.

"How do we know that you're trustworthy . . . dependable? You say you've been doing this for some time, but nobody's heard of you. So how can we believe you? Who do you have to vouch for you?"

Barry smiled. "Saber Kilroy."

That name hushed every person in the room. The guards standing at the sides glanced at one-another, and Castiglione quickly leaned back in his chair, his cigar twitching between his fingers.

"Saber Kilroy, huh? You got a lot of balls dropping that name, boy."

Saber Kilroy was the most infamous name in the underworld, first starting to make waves at some point in the eighties. He was known to have a hand in everything: gambling, running numbers, prostitution, drug-running, people trafficking, contract killings . . . you name it, he's getting a piece of it.

Kilroy's people were everywhere; all of them were hand-picked and very good at their jobs. Kilroy was well-known for richly rewarding those that were loyal and for brutally punishing those who crossed him. Even using his name as clout in the underworld carried heavy weight but also significant risk; anyone who name-dropped him was essentially wagering their own life. Kilroy's people were someone you could count on to come through in a pinch—because their entire families tended to disappear if they didn't.

For Barry to even mention that name . . . he was either the ballsiest or the dumbest sonuvabitch to ever live.

"I know some people that run with Kilroy. You better think twice if you're gonna use that name without thinking."

"I appreciate the warning, but it's not necessary," Barry answered. "Talk to whomever you like. Talk to Kilroy himself if you want. My credentials are there."

Castiglione nodded again, but this time in acquiescence. He knew that if Barry were telling the truth about this, it would be utterly stupid to turn down his offer.

"Give me a few days to think it over," he told the young man. "If your references check out, you'll be hearing from my people."

Castiglione nodded to the guard with Barry's weapon, who then walked to the guest and stood in wait. Barry rose from his chair and nodded to the old gentleman, calmly making his exit as the bodyguard let him away.

"Thank you, Mr. Castiglione. We'll be in—"

About the same time that Barry was leaving, he heard the unmistakable sound of thin heels tapping on the floor. Turning to greet the noise, he found an extremely tall, voluptuous figure wrapped in a impeccable beige suit and skirt greeting him. Glancing up even higher, he found that the body belonged to a woman with a very unique shade of reddish-brown hair.

She walked right past him as if he were beneath her concern, her eyes and nearly half of her face covered by thick, dark sunglasses that were built specifically for hiding your expressions and identity. Barry started to turn and get a glance at the rear view, but had to stop himself when the guard poked him and insisted that he follow.

As he disappeared down the hall, he heard the woman speak.

"Daddy, we need to speak. How many times have I told you that we need to . . ."

******

"So the meeting with Castiglione went well?" Imani asked Barry, meeting him at his private Staten Island residence a few hours afterward.

"He didn't shoot me," Barry said with a confident grin, smiling at Trena as the nude slave poured his drink into a waiting glass. When Imani frowned at his morbid humor, he added, "You don't need to worry. He'll agree to my terms."

She sighed as she sat in the chair across from his sofa and crossed her thick, brown legs. "If you think anything is wrong, Barry . . . get out, okay? If you sense any danger, then . . ."

Barry chuckled as he sipped a bit of iced scotch. "Imani, if I were afraid of danger, the Bureau wouldn't have recruited me. Relax. You know that I won't do anything to put myself or any of my family in danger."

She nodded, but still seemed conflicted. On the one side, her role as a federal agent was telling her that what they were doing was necessary. On the other, her protectiveness for her younger brother made her fear for his safety.

And on the other, other side, her love for her Master made her absolutely wet at his bravery and confidence.

In the end, the first and the third sides won out and she simply chose to let the matter drop. "I'll leave it to you, then, Barry. You've come this far without me."

Barry merely kept his eyes on her as he finished his drink. Then, placing it on the table beside him, he said, "So is that it? Are we done?"

She gave a sly smile at his eagerness. She then reached into her pocket, brandished a thick black collar, and snapped it around her neck.

"Yes, Master."

"Then lose the clothes. Now."

She obeyed and stood in place, shedding her professional suit and skirt in her Master's sight. At the same time, he began taking his own clothes off as well, obviously too impatient to order her to do it. He glanced at Trena, standing in wait at his side, watching him eagerly as he slowly revealed more and more of his chiseled, manly body.

"Fetch it," he told her.

"Yes, Master," Trena replied as she turned to leave the room.

One minute later, both Barry and Imani were standing in the living room nude, with Trena's gigantic, F-sized breasts standing with an impossible perkiness, her thick nipples hard as hard and eager as Barry's cock.

Trena merely stood and waited as Barry approached her. Grabbing a handful of her luscious black hair, he pushed his mocha-colored sister to her knees and pressed his cock against her cheek.

"Open," he commanded her.

With some hesitance, Imani slowly opened her mouth. Barry commanded her "Wider!" and she opened it to its full size. He then positioned his cock directly between her pouty Nubian lips and thrusted it in her mouth as hard as he could muster. Imani gagged and coughed as she took Barry's cock, but he didn't withdraw. He let her fingernails scratch his thighs—he was tough, he could take it—and he let the tears well up in her eyes, knowing she was just as tough.

Once she'd settled down, Barry let her lips and tongue do their work on his cock. In the meantime, Trena returned with a large black harness in her arms and presented it to her Master.

"Stand up, Titty Toy," Barry said, referring to Imani by her slut name. "Cock Guzzler, take her place."

Trena nodded and said, "Yes, Master" as she dropped to her knees where Imani had once been. She eagerly took Barry's cock into her mouth and started to do the magic that Trena did best. In the meantime, Barry focused his attention elsewhere, not particularly mindful of his Slut as she worked.

Barry pointed toward a desk beside him. "Bend over that."

Again, Imani hesitated. Instantly, Barry's hand came up to slap her cheek with a thunderous bang. "I will NOT tell you again, Titty Toy."

Imani's eyes were filled with pure animal desire and sexual hunger when she turned to look at her Master again. Her breath had quickened, and her breasts heaved with every breath. She had been put in her place . . . conquered by pain. Without any further resistance, she bent herself over the desk until her juicy, round ass was pointed at the Master.

Barry couldn't help himself. He ran a hand over Imani's gorgeous black rear and admired how it curved, molded, and softened to his touch. In the meantime, he slipped the harness on Imani, locking her hands and arms behind her back, providing no resistance or defense against her Master's advances.

To make sure she knew who was in charge, he reached at the desk and picked up a massive, hardcover book. He brought down hard onto his submissive's ass—first on the left cheek, and then on the right, until the word "Thesaurus" was practically printed on the poor woman's ass. Imani gasped and cried with each strike, and before long, Barry knew she was ready.

"Bring that ass back up, bitch," he told her. "And keep it there."

"Y-Yes, sir," a tenderized Imani gasped submissively. She rose her ass exactly where he wanted it, even as the room temperature air made it sting.

Barry pushed Trena away and moved behind Imani. Trena still made herself useful by falling below her Master's legs and bringing her lips and tongue to his balls. Her turn would be coming soon enough, but until then, it was her duty to maximize her Master's pleasure to the best of her ability.

Barry slipped his long, hard cock into his sister's pussy and began to fuck her with abandon, not caring how sore he'd made her ass only minutes before. Barry wanted it to hurt. He wanted to remind her who was in charge . . . who her Master was.

To that effect, he quickly spit on the desk beside where Imani's crying, moaning face lay and told her, "Lick it up."

Imani did as he ordered, licking her Master's saliva from the table as if she were starving for it. He rewarded her by fucking her harder and pulling her hair as he did so.

"So . . ." he began ". . . did you do what I told you?"

"A-About the pill, Master?" she gasped.

"Yes," he said annoyedly, "about the damn pill."

"Yes . . . ugh . . . Yes Master," Imani grunted. "I . . . I tossed them out. All of birth control. All of it!"

Barry smiled. "That's my slut. Then I'll reward you. I'm gonna fill your pussy tonight."

Imani moaned and licked her lips. "B-But Master . . .my . . . my job! How . . . oh God . . . how will I explain it to my superiors if I wind up . . . p-pregnant?"

Barry slapped her ass hard. "That's not for you to think about, my Titty Toy. That's my concern. Your job is to obey me and please me, any way I see fit. Understand?"

Imani screamed out as she came. "Yes, Master! God, yes! Anything you want! I'm yours! I'm your black slut! Do whatever to my body that you want!"

Barry was pleased by his Slut's words. So much so that he growled with fervor and emptied his balls into her waiting womb.

As Imani lay bent over the desk, trying to recuperate, Barry stepped back and glanced down at an eager, waiting Trena.

"Get it hard again. Then it'll be your turn."

"Oh yes, absolutely, Master," Trena gasped. "Please breed me!"

Barry fulfilled the Chinese woman's timid request. He took her on the sofa, almost folding her lithe body in half as he fucked her, and came hard into her waiting pussy.

Barry continued to fuck both women until just before dawn. For Imani, it was her very first night of full service for her Master . . . her first time as a true Slut. For Trena, she would forever remember this night as the one she conceived her very first child for her Master.

******

It was still dark outside when Emily stirred. She woke next to the warmth of her Mistress's body with the feeling of being loved and sexually satisfied. She tried to adjust herself to be slightly more comfortable, but unintentionally roused Ariadne from her sleep as well.

"Oh! Sorry, Mistress! I didn't mean to wake you!"

"That's okay, Pet," Ariadne purred, petting her slave's thigh. "Mmmmm. While we're up, I think we need to talk about renewing your contract."

Emily reddened. "Um . . . about that, Mistress . . . I . . . I don't want to renew the same contract."

Ariadne tilted her head. "Oh? Did you have a different one in mind?" For a moment, Emily saw her eyes flash with panic, hoping that Emily didn't want to end her service entirely.

"Of course I do, Mistress," she assured her. "But . . . I'm not sure it's one you're . . . well . . . I don't know how you'll feel about—"

Ariadne leaned forward and kissed Emily softly on the lips. "Pet, you know that I adore and care for you more than anyone aside from my Master. I will listen to any new terms that you want to negotiate."

Emily swallowed and took a deep breath. "Very well." She stood from the bed and opened a drawer in the vanity nearby. She turned to face Ariadne again, holding her hands behind her back.