Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Sorry, readers, for the amount of time it’s taken me to get this done. I’ve been working on this story since I published the last, but just wasn’t able to get it done until now. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. I have to warn you, though, that this is the longest story I’ve done on this site yet.
For those of you who are new, this is the eleventh installment of my Garrett series, my longest series on the site. The chapters can be read in this order:
Ariadne’s Dreams (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4)
Barry’s Sluts (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3)
Suzanna’s Darlings (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3)
If you don’t wish to read all of that first, then that’s no problem. You can enjoy this story on its own as well.
Thank you for reading, and leave a comment!
SHORT CAST OF CHARACTERS
Barry Garrett ——- Billionaire; owner of an adult media empire, and Master to dozens of submissive Sluts
Suzanna Garrett ——- Barry’s wife and Alpha Slut; former porn star
Ariadne Garrett ——- Barry’s mother; mother of ten of Barry’s children
Imani Ahmad ——- Barry’s sister; an FBI agent and a newly collared Slut
Lyrica Garrett ——- Barry’s first-born child, born from his own mother
Sylvester “Sly Cat” Castiglione ——- Mob boss; Barry’s friend
Sabre Kilroy ——- Underworld kingpin
Peter MacAster ——- Barry’s attorney
Rebecca Swaim ——- Host of “Late Night Erotic”
Ominous breathing seethed from the other end of the phone line. The unseen party sounded raspy and out of breath, as if fresh from a five-mile jog. There was a muffled distortion, perhaps indicating that some sort of rag or mask was pulled over the mouth. An electronic distortion lowered their voice’s pitch, and created a booming, threatening echo
It was clear the other party was going well out of their way to disguise their voice, like a demon straight from hell.
“So do I have your attention now?”
“Who is this?!” Barry demanded.
“That question doesn’t matter, Mr. Garrett. What matters is that I’m the one with the power, so I am the one who will ask the questions and you are the one who will listen. Understood?”
The malice emanating through the receiver was so strong, it felt like oily tendrils, clamping around Barry’s throat. Even he, someone who had spent his life renouncing fear in its many forms, felt a twinge of it talking to the evil that seeped from the other end.
But dauntlessly, he kept his head. “No, I don’t think so,” he retorted. “Either you tell me what you want, or I hang up.”
The echoing voice laughed. “Oh that’s good, Mister Garrett. Or should I say . . . Doctor Garrett?! After all, you are a counseling psychologist now, aren’t you? Yes, you hang your doctorate certificate so proudly on the back of the office wall. Right next to your German degree in sexology, and your many motorcycle, boxing, and skeet-shooting trophies.”
A lump appeared in his throat at the description which decribed the area behind him with such uncanny accuracy. If Barry hadn’t known better, he would almost think his enemy were in the room with him now. Maybe they were watching him—or could see him right this very moment. What passed through Barry was a feeling that he’d never experienced before. An uncomfortable, powerful feeling that almost made him want to tear off his own skin
It was the feeling of being violated.
“I’m impressed, though. Controlled breathing, authoritative tone, and a bluff. All ways to assert power over a blackmailer and make them believe that they need to play your game. It was as if you’d read a negotiation handbook.”
As a matter of fact, he had. He’d had prior experience with it, after all.
“Where are you?”
“Let me put your mind at ease by assuring you that I’m not in your home, Dr. Garrett. However, let me amend that ease with the promise that I am very much not an imbecile. I know very well that you have no power over me, but I have the ability to destroy you in an instant. I have, in a very short time, given you just a taste of what I can do . . . the many ways I can hurt you. If you wish to experience more, then please, try my patience. But if not, I suggest that you listen and only speak when I tell you to.”
Barry growled under his breath. Whoever this person was, they weren’t an ordinary crook. For whatever reason, their beef with him was personal. There was a level of anger . . . of sadism in their voice he’d never encountered before.
They had a point to prove.
“Alright,” Barry spoke quietly. bursa escort bayan “I’m listening.”
THIRTY MONTHS AGO
“Okay, Garrett, here’s the deal: the Deputy Director has agreed that we can keep your little . . . indiscretions with Agent Ahmad under wraps. Officially, she’s an undercover agent infiltrating a dangerous criminal organization, so she’s being granted enough leeway to do whatever it takes to get the job done. If that includes getting hot and sweaty with a man on the inside or getting a regular visit from the stork now and again, that’s something the Bureau can handle . . . so long as that stork is dropping of bundles of information along with joy. You’re getting us results, kid. In addition to the 3 billion in syndicate busts a while back, you’ve already helped us catch a fugitive we’d thought had fled the country weeks ago. These sorts of results are what we can use right now.”
Barry nodded, swallowing his disbelief. The Federal Bureau of Investigations just gave him permission to fuck one of their best agents. Who, incidentally, was also his sister. He just got the official word that they had no intention of stepping in and putting a stop to it . . .
Even though Imani was now pregnant with his child.
“But let me reiterate—this whole mess is on your head. If this goes south, or blows up in our faces, the Bureau is pulling out and leaving you two to drown on your own. We can and will disavow Ahmad as a rogue agent if and when we even get a hint that things are turning for the worst. Her ties with the Bureau will be terminated, she’ll end up blacklisted, and any and all protection we provide you will be off the table. You will be completely responsible and complicit for any wrongs that turn up in an official investigation. That clear?”
Barry nodded. “Yeah, got it.”
“Okay, then.” Wilkes took a sip from his margarita and pushed his sunglasses back on his face. “Good luck to you, you sick fuck,” he said with a friendly smirk.
Barry left the restaurant and texted his driver. Within a minute, his black luxury sedan was pulled up to the sidewalk, and his long-legged, vivacious Slavic driver was opening the door for him. Barry climbed into the back seat, where his older sister was waiting for him.
“Well, what did he say?” she asked nervously.
“He said you’re mine,” Barry summarized with a wicked grin.
“Oh thank God,” Imani said, clutching her round, pregnant belly. “Barry . . . Master . . . I can’t tell you how relieved that makes me.”
“Me either,” he said, placing a loving hand upon his sister’s thigh. “Finally, I can have my big sister all to myself.”
She turned her head, to avoid letting him see her blush.
“We still have a lot to do, though.”
“Take off your top,” Barry instructed his sister.
With a nervous swallow, Imani reached up to her shoulders and pulled the straps of her gown. Slowly, gently, she pulled the material until it fell away an revealed her tremendous, full chocolate breasts.
“You hesitated for a moment,” Barry said coldly. “I’m going to have to train you better. You understand, Titty Toy, that my Sluts are to obey me without hesitation and without question, don’t you?”
She gasped. “Yes, Master.”
“Do you want me to touch your tits, my Slut? Do you want to feel my hands rub, pinch and pull them?”
“Yes, Master!” she gasped.
Barry nodded. “Roll down the window.”
Imani didn’t hesitate this time. She lowered the tinted windows, allowing the cool autumn breeze to flow into the car, gently caressing her soft skin and her smooth, buoyant breasts. At the same time, people were going about their business barely twenty feet away. Men and women out jogging, old folk walking their pets, college students hurrying to and from classes . . .
Almost none of them aware of the busty black woman in the back of the limo riding with her tits open. And when one of them, such as a cycler speeding along beside the car, would get a quick glance, it was always over before they could confirm what they had seen.
Imani was nearly petrified—with fear, with excitement, with shock about what she was doing. Barry had seen this look dozens, if not hundreds, of times already. This was what it meant to “train” a Slut. Little by little, it meant putting her in gently uncomfortable situations, breaking down the boundaries that people built up all of their lives that prevented them from exploring true sexual freedom. The key to training any submissive was always finding a safe way to help them overcome their fears. To push them, like a child taking its first steps, slowly down the path that they would walk on their own.
“Take a breath,” he instructed, appreciating her heaving and falling breasts as she did.
“A—A nilüfer escort little, Master,” she squeaked.
“Good,” he smirked. He returned to business, to take her mind off of things. “Imani, are we any closer to figuring out who brought Hasana into my studio?”
She took a breath, still aware that her breasts were in public view. Even so, she answered her Master’s question, as she had been ordered. “We’re only getting breadcrumbs. The dominoes aren’t falling into place yet. We know that someone in New York was responsible for shipping the girls, and then they exchanged hands with the Syndicate at some point. With the Syndicate broken up, though, it’s harder for us to get answers, because we can’t directly link one group to the other.”
Ever since the Syndicate had been dismantled, the Tri-State area had been divided between three rival families: the Morettis, the Saracinos, and the Castigliones. The first year or so after the Syndicate’s fall had made New England pretty much a war zone as the three did whatever it took to compete. Car bombings, hired hits, even attacking each other when visiting their kids’ schools or visiting a church.
But enough was enough. The Bureau needed someone to step in. Somebody had to take the first steps to reestablishing order in the area, but without letting something as evil as the Syndicate—or moreso—take power. And that was where Barry came in.
“Undress yourself completely,” Barry again instructed his sister, leaning coolly in his seat. “Then toss your clothing out of the window.
Again, Imani did as ordered. Maneuvering in the spacious, maneuverable rear of the luxury sedan, Imani gently pushed the remnants of her clothing down to her hips, then wiggled to lift her ass off of the seats. Perversely, Barry watched his sister shed her clothing, revealing her completely naked, pregnant form.
Unable to hold himself back, he placed a soft, loving hand on one of his sister’s gigantic breasts and gave them a good squeeze. It pleased them to feel how full they were becoming with milk for his baby. Then, his hand slowly, gently crept along her flesh until it rested on her large, second-trimester-large belly.
“Watch it,” she said with a smirk as her gown flew into the street. “He kicks like Pelé.”
There was no words to describe the joy that went through Barry, hearing his sister lovingly describe their incestuous child even as it grew in their womb. Like responsible parents, they had been monitoring their child’s growth incessantly, because there was always a risk whenever siblings created life together. But, the Garrett genes had proven strong so far, even with the nine babies his mother had given him, each of his children had been perfectly healthy.
And really, no women handled pregnancy as well as Garrett women.
TWENTY-EIGHT MONTHS AGO
The door to Barry’s home office knocked, pulling him away from his computer. Finally glad to pull his eyes away from business, he leaned back and hollered for whomever was on the other side to enter.
“Master? Is it alright if I take up some of your time?” Imani’s beautiful mocha-colored face peaked from the other side of the door.
“Not at all, Titty Toy.”
Imani’s full figure appeared, dressed in the sexy, translucent gown that she had chosen as her uniform. It did absolutely nothing to hide the contours of her body, barely hiding her 41-F breasts. Her body was truly unique, with much more muscle and a thicker torso than most women, a feature which was only accentuated by her dark skin. Imani knew how to balance a sculpted, bodybuilder physique with a perfectly feminine figure and massive natural breasts. She was a superheroine come to life—a perfect for a geek like Barry.
After weeks of diligent training, Imani now yearned to show off her body and her belly. As part of her submission, she’d vowed to her Master that she would find a way to retain her muscle tone and figure even after she had her baby—a promise she worked hard every day to keep. And just as Barry had ordered, his Titty Toy always wore clothes a size or two too small, just so that some of her belly always peeked out and her nipples were always ready.
“Master, I’ve brought a guest that you may be interested in seeing.”
“A guest? I didn’t get informed of any guests on the property.”
Imani nodded. “That’s because I ordered Security to let her through without incident. I know that you like being informed of any guests, but I wanted to surprise you.”
Barry chose to let the incident go. “You said it’s a ‘she’?”
“Yes. Someone I’m sure you’d like to see.” She turned to the door and stepped aside, allowing whoever was beside her to come inside.
“Hasana!” Barry said, coming from behind his desk to greet her. Equally happy to see him, she rushed forward türbanlı escort and threw her arms around him.
Hasana was a young Yemeni whom Barry had rescued a year ago, with Imani’s help. After being kidnapped in her homeland, she was forced to become a porn actress in Barry’s studio. Her discovery was what had led him to an entire trafficking network acting just under his nose . . . a discovery that had changed everything. If it’d never happened, then in all likelihood Barry would be dead or in prison now, his company under Syndicate control, and more girls like Hasana enslaved. In a way, Barry owed Hasana his life as much as she owed him hers.
Gently slipping from their embrace, he stepped back and admired her. “Look at you! You’re doing great!”
She blushed, even noticeable under the heavy makeup she wore. She was so different from the night he’d rescued her, where she’d been a naked mess, sobbing her innocent heart out.
“Please come in and sit,” Barry told her, directing her to the sofa. Still smiling, she sat down between both Barry and Imani. “So, tell me . . . how have you been!? What’s been going on?”
The confused girl looked at Imani, who translated what Barry had said into Arabic. Hasana smiled and then spoke with Barry again, speaking her native language.
“She says she’s doing very well, thanks to you. Because you fought to keep her from being deported back to Yemen.”
Barry smiled. “Of course. I know it’s rough there, and I didn’t want everything you’ve been through to be for nothing. As I said before, you’re part of my family, Hasana, and I will take care of you.”
Imani again translated for her, and Hasana’s blush renewed. “Thank you,” Imani said for her. “You don’t know what that means to me. I’ve been to counseling for my . . . ordeals . . . and I’ve been trying to forget, but . . .”
“It’s okay,” Barry nodded, his arm finding her shoulder. He understood how hard this was. As a sexologist, he’d spoken with victims of rape and sexual abuse many times, and it was always hard for them to speak about what they’d been through. For Hasana, the ordeal had been barely a year ago, so it was very much a fresh wound.
“So, what are you going to do? Will you go to school like you wanted? You said you wanted to be a physicist, if I remember correctly . . .”
“Yes. I want to go to school and get a respectable job. I didn’t have many opportunities to do so in my country. But, I’m scared. I’m alone in this country, and I don’t have friends or even a job. I can’t speak much of this language, and I’ve never lived on my own before. I don’t . . . I don’t know if I can make it by myself . . .”
Barry only nodded. Imani squeezed the girl’s tender hand and waited for her to continue.
“If I go back to Yemen, I will never have this chance again. I may even be killed . . . or worse. I will never be treated the same again. I have committed zina.”
Barry looked at Imani. “Zina? What’s zina?”
“It’s the Muslim crime of fornication. She had sex with someone other than a legal spouse, so that makes her unchaste and wicked. On paper, rape doesn’t count as part of the crime, but in practice . . . it’s very difficult for women who are seen as impure to be respected. In her country . . . it’s not even unheard of for her to be killed for her ‘crime’.”
Barry’s brow clenched. “I won’t let that happen. No one should ever be looked down because of sex. And certainly not when they’ve been through what you have. “
After Imani interpreted for them, Hasana smiled. “I was hoping you would say that,” Imani translated. “That is why I have come to you.”
She stood, and in almost one motion, Hasana’s robes fell to the floor, and her headscarf was cast aside to allow her beautiful black hair to shake loose and fall to her shoulders. Before he could even process what was happening, Barry was staring at a bronze, naked figure of Arabian perfection.
Hasana’s body was astounding. Her breasts were so perky, so natural. There was something magical about a young, healthy pair, not especially large or inflated. . . but natural perfection, like a pair of succulent, beautiful peaches.
Hasana’s contours were perfect—a thin waist with powerful, wide hips. The difference from her waist to hips perfect for bearing children. Even her ass was round and plump . . . the type Barry worshipped.
Hasana stood and turned, placing her entire body on display for him. Barry turned to Imani, but she only glanced back with an “I have no idea” face.
Hasana spoke, and Imani translated. “I have heard that you have many lovers, and that you treat them as you would treat many wives. I have already broken the laws of my faith, and I will never be truly accepted back. I wish for Allah to forgive me, but I’m afraid. It might be too late for me. But you are a good man. You have seen my body like this before. You already own part of my innocence. For that reason, I would submit myself to you, and serve you as faithfully as I would a husband. I will give you many children, and perform any wifely duties that you ask.”
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32