Barry's Sluts Ch. 03: Imani

"Fine Daddy. Miss you."

"I miss you too, champ. I'll see you soon."

"Kay."

"Hey, is Nanna nearby?"

Barry heard the phone drop, possibly hitting the floor. "Nannaaaaaa!"

A few moments passed before the phone was picked up again.

"Hello."

"Hey, my love."

"Hi, baby," Suzanna purred into the line. "Did you enjoy your birthday present?"

"I love you," he cooed with exhausted breath.

"I'll take that as a yes," she laughed.

"I wish you were with us," he said.

"Well . . . someone had to look after the kids. Or did you forget that you squeezed nine of them out of your mom?"

"I didn't forget, but . . . you could've just hired a sitter . . ."

"Don't be silly," Suzanna scoffed. "Enjoy yourself and know that I'll be here waiting." Her voice lowered so that it couldn't heard. "I can't wait to hear you describe to me how it felt to fuck five slaves at once. And I want full details."

"Oh you'll get it," he growled.

"Mmmmm," Suzanna panted, apparently on the verge of cumming. "Sweet dreams, my beloved."

******

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

Suzanna excused herself from bed, with a dry mouth forcing a journey to the kitchen for a cup of water. She paused only briefly to double take, noticing that the other side of the bed was empty.

Shortly after, with sated thirst, she decided to snoop to find out where her husband had gone. She didn't like waking without him beside her; the bed always felt one thousand times more empty without this warmth and mass to make her feel safe and snug. She headed downstairs and finally saw a soft light coming from Barry's home office. The door was open, so she decided to peek inside.

Barry was huddled at his desk, seemingly writing. Suzanna was now incurably curious; just what was so important as to lure him from their bed in the middle of the night?

She slid a gentle hand on his shoulder, not intending to startle him. Of course, Barry didn't startle easy in the first place, and he merely glanced up and smiled at her, taking her hand in his and pressing his loving lips to it.

"Hey, Papa," she said. "What're you up to?"

"Not much, baby. Just taking care of some minor, but important things. I'll be back in bed in a bit, okay?"

Suzanna looked at the stationery on his desk, in particular, what seemed to be dozens sheets of paper, greeting cards, and hand-written checks.

It didn't even take half-a-second for her to realize what this was pertaining to.

"Oh. It's that time again already, baby?"

"Yeah. One week after New Years'. Every year."

The two of them remained silent for a short period, gently squeezing one-another's hands. She understood now why Barry had deemed this important enough to leave bed for. In a way, she felt the same. This was an anniversary nearly as significant as the dates they met or were married. In a way, it was actually more significant.

This was the day they had both nearly died.

Roughly a month after she'd met Barry, Suzanna's then-boyfriend, Victor Gregorio, falsely believed the two of them to be cheating together. No amount of pleading on her part could convince Victor otherwise, and he grew more and more unstable as his masculinity felt threatened. The really stupid thing about it was that Victor knew about Suzanna's job as a porn actress—in fact, he approved of her fucking around as long as it brought them money. However, he was comfortable with his position and Suzanna's friendship with Barry belittled his ego.

One night, an argument about Barry flared up between them at a nightclub, and Victor brandished a gun in Suzanna's face. He was insane, delusional, and h3 threatened Suzanna's very life, stroking the gun and saying he 'hadn't made up his mind whether or not to use it'. All of a sudden, Suzanna found herself locked in a nightmare, death hanging over her for the first time in her life. With no other options, she found a way to text Barry in secret, desperately begging him for help.

Without hesitation, Barry came to her rescue. He showed at the club just as Victor had made up his mind to shoot her and he beat the snot out of the bastard. Victor, however, managed to grab his gun during the struggle and was about to shoot both of them when a bouncer arrived to break things up. In a panic, Victor shot the bouncer and Barry used that opportunity to hit him and run. Victor chased them through the club, into the parking lot, and down the highway, shooting anyone who got in his way at the time.

The three of them were in an accident on the highway, and Barry was shot and crippled for months afterwards. It was only through hard work and Suzanna's affectionate care that he learned how to be completely ambulatory again, and it was during that period that their love was solidified.

They were married less than two years later.

Every year since that day, Barry had taken it upon himself to send gifts to the families and loved ones of the people killed or significantly injured during Victor's rampage at the club. Both he and Suzanna recognized that some of them gave their lives shielding them from Victor's gunfire, whether intentional or not, and others were harmed during the stampede and commotion. Either way, it was a fact that without those sacrifices, the two of them wouldn't be here, enjoying life as they can. It was the least they could do to show appreciation.

"How much are we giving this year, honey?" she asked him affectionately.

"Not as much as I'd like to," he told her with a sigh. "This is a crap year, what with shooting suspended and sales declining all around. I asked Ma what sort of figures we could spare, and she thinks that a mil is the highest we should aim for without breaking the bank."

She smiled. A million. Only her husband would think that a million dollars was too little to give out of the kindness of his heart.

But that just went to show how much they'd accomplished with the lives they'd been blessed with. A million dollars was no small amount for anyone, but for the Garretts, it was only the tip of a vast iceberg.

Barry was the owner and CEO of Stallion Productions, the adult media company for which Suzanna had worked all of her adult life. In fact, it was she who introduced him to both the studio itself and the porn industry in general. Since then, however, Barry's leadership and business savvy had made Stallion bigger than it had ever been, and the Garrett family was now rich beyond their wildest dreams And steadily getting richer.

At least, until recently. This year had seen a significant drop-off, for several reasons. The recession was finally hitting the porn industry hard, with actual sales reaching their lowest point in years and free internet streaming and piracy becoming more and more commonplace. In addition, Epona Materials, a subsidiary of Stallion which dealt with fetish items and intimate products, was starting to downswing after years of phenomenal sales.

And finally, but most importantly, there was a production freeze in the California porn industry. Stallion wasn't the only company affected, but they were unfortunate enough to be where the problem originated. About nine weeks earlier, one of Stallion's biggest stars turned up AIDS positive. The studio put an immediate stop to everything, but not before discovering that four more stars and starlets had been infected as well. For a short period, Suzanna herself was catatonic with worry, but she fortunately tested clean. That was a major relief for all of the Garretts, but Stallion was nonetheless locked out of filming until both the Health and Quality department and their lawyers gave them the okay.

All of the above factors added up to huge problems for the Garretts financially, with their annual revenue already 36% lower than it had been for the previous six years. They would survive, of course, like any strong family would—but hitting a brick wall was nonetheless disheartening.

The fact that Barry, of his own accord, still willingly donated a million dollars to the families of the people to whom owed his life showed what kind of man he was. What sort of character he exhibited. Suzanna couldn't help but feel proud of him, and she put a loving arm around his shoulders to let him know it.

"Things will get better," she told him. "I have faith."

"Yeah, I know they will," Barry said, keeping his upbeat and unbreakable spirit. "But not until we take care of all our little problems. And one big problem."

Suzanna's expression flattened. She knew exactly what he was referring to.

The darkest cloud that hung over the Garrett household. The delicate thread that threatened to unravel their whole tapestry.

"He wants the same cut, doesn't he?" she asked solemnly.

"Yeah he does," Barry spat bitterly. "Every damn cent."

******

The next morning, Barry was scheduled for a meeting with the managers of Stallion's Health and Quality department, who had been assigned to discover where the source of the STD outbreak had come from and to clamp it as neatly and efficiently as possible. He was eager to get this out of the way so that he could get back to doing what he loved to do—filming people fucking and getting paid for it.

"Tell me you have some news," he said as soon as they were seated in his office.

"Yes sir," said Eliza Campbell, the Executive Manager of HnQ. She glanced at her assistant, Taylor Russell, and he produced an envelope of data on Barry's desk.

"I don't have time to read, so give me the long and short of it," he ordered.

"Well sir," Taylor said, apparently the one who'd compiled the data himself. "It seems that the source of the outbreak was Sammy Slamz aka Samantha Davis. We determined that the urine sample Ms. Davis produced for her most recent drug test was not genuine. We administered a subsequent test, which yielded a positive result for controlled substances."

"Fire her. Immediately." Barry looked to his Administrative Assistant, Phyllis Ortega.

"Right away, Mr. Garrett," she stated.

Barry tapped his finger on the mahogany wood agitatedly. Company policy, from the moment he had taken control, was a zero-tolerance mandate regarding illegal substances, including cannabis. This was precisely the reason why.

Barry needed to make an example. The sad thing was, Sammy Slamz was an old star, part of Stallion's family since before he took ownership. She had a two-year-old son that she was raising alone. But, he had to remain heartless and look to what was best for his company. He needed everyone under his employ to know just how seriously he took this rule.

"Mrs. Ortega," he suddenly said, his voice softening the slightest bit.

"Yes sir?"

"I want you to extend Ms. Davis an offer for a discreet $36,000 gift, paid in installments of three thousand every month . . . under the condition that she will only receive each stipend after providing concrete evidence of attending drug rehabilitation and a making vow of nondisclosure regarding the specifics of this arrangement."

She smiled at him warmly, as she tended to do when Barry made these sorts of decisions. "Happy to do so, sir."

Barry sat back in his seat and rubbed his forehead. Another thirty-six grand that he was just giving away. In all truth, the dumb bitch didn't deserve a cent, considering all of the business she'd cost him from this crap. He would need to add three extra zeroes to even come close to matching it.

But, it just wasn't in his nature to abandon someone who needed help.

Which, unfortunately, was not the most conducive attitude to running a business.

Hopefully, though, something good would come of this. Barry had thus far followed his instincts and they had yet to fail him. He wouldn't start second-guessing himself now, even with the tide already knee-deep and quickly rising around him.

"Um, Mr. Garrett, there's one other matter we need to address."

He sighed, knowing already that this couldn't be good news. "Such as?"

"Ms. Davis was not the only one who tested positive for illegal substances. Though the rest were clean of STDs, we found three other individuals that failed a clean drug test."

"Cut their asses loose, too," Barry grumbled. "What are their names?"

"Sarah Soap aka Vicki Washington, Roxy Rocket aka Caitlyn Foley, and Alina Red aka Alina Taratova."

Barry recognized every name on that list. All three were young and very promising talent. All three were exceptionally beautiful. All three would be nearly impossible to replace.

And all three had been recommended to him by his 'benefactor', Rod Styles.

"God dammit," Barry groaned with a palm mashed into his face. They were three new and talented actresses who were known for not having many hard limits. Fresh, new girls that didn't have put-offs or hang-ups were like untapped oil in the porn industry. Barry knew damn well that lots of studios didn't share Stallion's uptight policy on drugs and that it was almost a certainty that one of those studios—his competition as it were—would scoop up those three stars immediately.

But he didn't care. This was how Barry ran his business. Everyone who worked for Stallion was his family. The safety of that family was a top priority.

"Get rid of 'em."

"Yes, sir," Mrs. Ortega nodded again.

"Is everything else going smoothly?" he asked his HnQ execs, eager to wrap up this crappy meeting. "Is the studio clean?"

"Yes sir," Eliza answered sternly. "We can resume filming at any time."

"Then inform our legal people and let's get everybody back to work."

"Right away, sir," she responded.

"Dismissed."

The two stood and made their exit, leaving Barry and his assistant to themselves.

"Mrs. Ortega, I need you to schedule a flight to Vegas for me," he told her.

"Yes sir. Departing when?"

"As soon as I can fucking drive there. I need to talk to my 'buddy' Rod . . ."

******

Being in adjacent states, the flight from LA to Vegas wasn't especially lengthy, and Barry had made the trip often over the past few years. He arrived in Vegas just before sundown with minimal jet lag, and the cab took him to Rod's estate just on the outskirts of the city. The Styles Ranch, as he liked to call it, was a multi-acre piece of real estate own by Rod Styles, the philanthropic heir of Stylez Holdings, most noted for their hotel and casino chain. Rod was, easily, one of the wealthiest men in Vegas and was well known for his carefree and debaucherous lifestyle.

Normally, Barry would highly approve. He fully condoned submitting to sensual pleasures—after all, he himself had made sex and sexuality his primary field of expertise—but Rod was a textbook example of the type of person that made hedonism look bad. Drugs, liquor, and other forms of depravity were common at the parties and "gatherings" Rod frequently hosted, and Rod himself tended to waste time and money like water.

While Rod wasn't exactly the brightest bulb, he was mostly a harmless dimwit. Barry would even go so far as to include Rod as one of his tightest friends if the guy weren't so inconsistent. Rod was great company, and knew how to lighten up any occasion, but he didn't know the meaning of the word 'restraint'. To put it into perspective, Rod had at least thirty-seven women claiming that he fathered their children, but had only bothered to confirm nine. The rest of them Rod had either settled with out of court or was still continuing to dodge the paternity tests.

His hotel franchise, however, ensured that Rod would never lose enough money to be anything less than 'fabulously wealthy'. The amount of money he was worth shamed what all of the Garretts combined amounted to, and that was exactly why Barry intended to remain on good terms with the guy. Rod liked Barry, so that meant he was keen on investing in his ideas. A fair number of the ventures Barry had attempted in the past several years wouldn't have gotten off the ground without Rod's generous backing.

When Barry arrived at the mansion, he was only moderately surprised to see somewhere over a hundred cars parked on the property. Today, it seemed, was another Styles party.

Barry slipped in pretty easily after paying a steep fee for entry. Once inside, it seemed that festivities were winding down for the evening, because there was no music or social mixing. Just piles upon piles of clothes and humping, writhing flesh everywhere. There wasn't a single place Barry could turn without seeing a cock and a pussy in deep, rhythmic coupling.

Echoes of pleasure were a constant, with soft and loud moans reverberating nonstop through the halls. The aroma of sex, sweat and copious alcohol quickly overwhelmed him, increasing the palpations of his heart with every deep whiff. The wet smack of flesh and loin could be physically felt from all angles, stimulating his skin, making his own concealed weapon come to life.

The sheer amount of fucking going on simultaneously was unreal. People were screwing each other on the floor, in the living room, on the stairs, in the bathroom, on the pool table, in the kitchen, within the closets, and inside the hot tub. Anyone Barry passed who wasn't fucking was simply looking for someone to partner with.

"G'damn you're hot," a drunken voice slurred. "Come on. Yurr next."

Barry turned to find a gorgeous redhead with some of the most delectable tits he'd ever seen smiling at him with a newly-acquired drink in her hand. She looked completely smashed, barely able to even stay aloft. Yet, her eyes scanned him up and down before locking on the obvious tent in his pants. She grinned anxiously, knowing by the size of the imprint, Barry had exactly the type of tool she sought.

'"Can't believe n'body's claimed you yet," she said, reaching out and tugging at his shirt. "C'mon, baby, I'm ready to go."

Even if Barry were in the mood, which he was not, the strong sting of alcohol on her breath was an immediate turn-off. Barry didn't like fucking women who smelled like they'd drank a whole brewery. Never had. Never would. He and all the women in his household drank socially of course, but he found being totally wasted a complete turn-off.

What was the point of fucking someone if they wouldn't even remember it in the morning?

"No thanks," Barry rejected, gently pushing her away. He nudged his head toward a guy knocked out in the corner, his cock still erect even in his sleep. "Dude over there looks ready to go, though."

She glanced over and then frowned at him. "He ain't gonna give as good as I get. Whassamatta big boy? I'm too much woman for you ta handle?"

Barry just shrugged and turned away. "Yeah. I guess."

"Pfft. Whatever. Fag," she spat before staggering off.

Rod was exactly where Barry expected him to be—in his bedroom, along with about seven other girls. Two of whom were draped over his equally naked body, two who were sleeping on the floor, and another three who were snorting lines in the corner. Barry ignored them all and made a beeline for his 'buddy'.

"Hey Rod. Come on, man. Time to wake up."

Rod only murmured incoherently, saying something about hos and trains, but nothing Barry felt bothered to figure out. Shaking his shoulder a second time, Barry insisted on waking him.

"Yo. Up, man. We need to talk."

When Rod failed to wake a second time, Barry looked to the side and saw an unfinished drink in a glass. Taking it in hand, he splashed it on Rod's face, making sure that as much of it fell on his eyes and nose as possible.

"God, fuck!!" Rod exclaimed as he popped up, startling the girls hugging on him. "Jesus Christ that burns! Who's the goddamn dick weasel who—"

He glanced up through squinted eyes to see Barry.

"Aw shit . . . Barry! Hell yeah, man! Welcome to the party, my nigga!"

For the record, Rod wasn't black. He wasn't even 1/1000^th black. One of his kids was, though, and that was all it took to convince himself that he had N-word privileges.