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."
"Yes, Master."
"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.
"Feel better?"
"A—A 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 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."
