0 comments/  127171 views/  17 favorites

Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 01

By: fmcchris



There is another world that exists beyond the so-called "civilized" society we all take for granted. This world is no less tangible than its more mundane counterpart, yet most people are completely unaware of its existence. In what follows, I will attempt to recount the history of my journey into the bowels of the Masturbatorium. I do this for the sake of my daughter, who is now old enough to learn about the Sisterhood and its beginnings. Like Virgil, who guided Dante on his sojourn into the Inferno, I hope I shall prove a competent guide to my own child, as she reads about my sexual adventures in the unseen world of the Sisterhood and, in so doing, may be enlightened. – Excerpt from the diary of Holly McKenzie, Supreme Sisterhood Leader, Paris, France 



Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 01



It seemed that both Delvin and Maria had been invited to stay for several days, so the room next to the one Angelique had chosen as our mutual bedroom was outfitted as a guest room, replete with a king-size bed. My aunt, Justine, Estelle, and Lenore would be taking the upstairs bedrooms, far away from us. And this is exactly how Angelique had planned it. It was during this particular evening that I was to become privy to the innermost workings of my cousin's perverse and capricious mind.

After all the guests had left and the servants had been dismissed, Angelique and I said goodnight to my aunt Phoebe and the other overnight guests and then disappeared into the recreation room-turned-bedroom where Megan and Brittany were already engaged in a hot discussion. The topic: Delvin.

"Delvin's black right? So black dudes have bigger dongs!" Brittany insisted as she and Megan watched us walk into the room. "Ask Angelique."

"Is that true?" Megan asked my cousin.

"Yup. Everyone knows that except for you and Holly."

"Oh yeah?" I said. "And since when did you become an expert?"

"She has pictures, don't you Angelique?" Brittany teased.

Without answering, my cousin walked over to a nearby closet and withdrew a small brown cardboard box stuffed with photos. She threw a bunch of them on her bed and invited us to take a look.

"Where did you get this stuff?" I asked her.

"Off the Internet. Go ahead. Take a look."

It was the first time I had ever seen hardcore pornography, and I was both shocked and amused by what I saw. Many of the pictures showed women with multiple partners engaged in various sexual acts. Not only was I amazed that people could have sex in such a variety of positions, I was fascinated to find that most of the content was interracial, usually a white woman with one or several well-endowed black men. A lot of the pictures featured clothed women with nude males. Judging by the photos, Brittany's assertion seemed correct: black men did have, on the whole, bigger penises than white men. And although I could not tell how large Delvin's penis was when I caught a glimpse of it earlier that day, I had to conclude that it was very possible that it was no less impressive than the ones I was now observing.

"Look at this one," Brittany said with a giggle as she passed one of the pictures toward me. "He shot off right in her face!"

"Shot off?" I asked.

"He ejaculated on her face," Angelique explained. "You know, he shot his sperm on her."

"I want to see," Megan said, pulling the photo away.

Her mouth dropped open and then opened wider as she let out an enormous groan.

"Oh, that's so gross!" she said shoving the picture back at me.

"It's not gross," Angelique said. "It's sexy."

"I wonder what it tastes like?" Brittany asked.

"Probably horrible," said Megan.

"You've never tasted it so how do you know?" Angelique said with a shrug.

"Brittany's right though," I said, thumbing through the photos. "These black guys are really hung."

The girls laughed.

"That word sounds funny coming from you," Angelique said.

"I'm not as naïve as you think I am," I said in my own defense. "I don't know as much about sex as you or Brittany, but I'm not a total waste."

We looked through every photo my cousin threw our way until our sexual education was suddenly interrupted by laughter emanating from the guest room next to ours. There was no mistaking the voices. It was Delvin and Maria. Both of them sounded drunk and they were singing loudly to each other.

Angelique quickly threw the magazines back in the box and returned it and its prurient contents to the closet. She then told us to be quiet as she pressed her face to the wall adjoining the guest room. 

"Holly, there's a flashlight in the top drawer of the bureau. Get it out," she said in a hushed voice.

I withdrew the flashlight and awaited further instructions.

"Do you see these?" Angelique said to all of us as she pried away a small piece of wood from the wall. "The wall is made out of pine and has all these little holes covered up with these pieces of wood. Just pull them out and you can look into their room. But be quiet or they might hear you."

There were several of these circular indentations in the wood and each of us found one to peer through. Angelique then told me to shut the lights and turn on the flashlight.

"Keep the light pointed at the floor," my voyeuristic cousin told me. "Don't point it at the wall or they might see it."

I obediently followed her directives and left the flashlight resting on its head on the floor, providing just enough illumination so that we could find our way around the room. I was lucky in that there were actually two holes side by side from which I could peer with both eyes into the rather well lit room next door.

"I don't see them," Megan said disappointed.

"He's probably fucking her on the couch," Angelique said. "Yup. There's a pair of legs sticking out."

"Well, I don't see anything!" Megan complained.

"That's because of your angle," Brittany said. "I can't see them either."

I could, however, discern the two lovers quite nicely from my vantage point. Delvin was sitting on the sofa and Maria was sitting on top facing him. They were both completely naked.

"Oh, my God!" I said, trying to keep my voice low. "You have to see this!"

"What? What?" Angelique said as she hurriedly pushed me away from my spot.

From the next room we could hear Maria's moans of pleasure. My cousin fought hard to suppress a giggle.

"Her tits are bouncing all over his face," she said with delight.

"I want to see it!" Brittany moaned as she pushed Angelique away.

My cousin reluctantly gave up her position and went back to her own little viewing area, still able to see much of what was going on. Megan was impatient to get a glimpse of the action and finally managed to pry Brittany away. 

"Oh, wow!" Megan said. "Her boobs are so big!"

"I know," Angelique replied. "It was hard to tell with that dress she was wearing tonight. Poor Delvin looks like he's suffocating!"

I allowed Megan to continue looking for a few more seconds and then moved back into position. I watched Delvin's thighs move up and down in tandem as Maria's lovely body rose and fell in unison to his thrusts. I had never seen anything like it.

"This is really great!" Brittany said, her face glued to the wall.

We watched the two of them fuck for several more minutes and I noticed that Angelique was getting turned on from it all. More than once her hand traveled to her crotch and she firmly pressed both legs against her flattened palm making a soft, moaning sound.

"They're moving to the bed!" I exclaimed, as the two naked figures passed before my field of vision.

The bed was situated such that it provided us with an unobstructed view of their lovemaking. Up to this point none of us could see Delvin's penis very well because of the way he had positioned himself on the bed. Even now, as he methodically grinded his hips against Maria's ass, it was difficult to get a glimpse of his erection. We stood there, our faces pasted hard against the wall, silently looking on in rapt fascination as Delvin's motions grew more frantic. Soon, Maria started shouting something in Spanish.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked Angelique.

"She's having an orgasm you twit!" she replied without removing her eyes from the scene.

It was a long, drawn out wail that emanated from the twenty-year-old beauty as she reached the height of her climax. As she came, she buried her face in the pillow to stifle her screams, but they were loud nonetheless, lasting for almost a full minute before she collapsed onto the bed as though drained of all her energy. As she lowered herself onto the bed, Delvin's penis popped out of her and it suddenly became visible for all of us to see.

"Look at that!" Brittany exclaimed.

"I can't believe it!" Megan remarked. "It's like a huge, black kielbasa!"

"Keep your voices down you idiots or they'll hear you!" Angelique rebuked them with a harsh whisper. "Shit, he's fucking big!" she added after a short pause.

I had never come face to face with a penis in my life. I had felt one once, through the boy's pants, but that was the extent of my knowledge of the male sexual organ. For me to now be confronted with this enormous, naked specimen, even from this far away, made me cry out in utter astonishment.

"It's...it's got to be at least two feet long!" I blurted out.

All the girls struggled to suppress a laugh.

"No guy's schlong is that big!" Brittany assured me. "He's about 9 or 10 inches at the most."

"How can you tell?" Megan asked.

"I've seen my older brother when he gets an erection. It's about the same size as his."

This admission of voyeurism invited a comment from Angelique.

"You've seen your brother's wiener?" 

"Only a couple of times," Brittany confessed. "He goes into the bathroom to masturbate a lot."

"How do you know that's what he does?" I asked.

"I know because he's always got one of those porno magazines in his hand, that's how," she explained. "And one time I actually caught him at the computer jerking off to some naked women on one of those adult Web sites."

"You caught him?" Angelique said, surprised.

"He forgot to lock his bedroom door and I just kind of, you know, walked in and there it was."

"He must have been shocked," Megan remarked.

"He was," Brittany replied. "He was really mad at me for a long time and now he always keeps his door locked."

While this brief verbal interlude was transpiring, Maria had managed to get Delvin to lie down on the bed. Fortunately for us, she had moved her body behind his, giving us a completely unobstructed view of his nakedness and his enormous 10-inch penis, which stood up stiff and straight like a flagpole.

I watched fascinated as she tugged at his huge erection, playing with it and teasing it in preparation for its entrance into her waiting mouth. Delvin lay there quietly watching as her agile fingers encircled his towering shaft, slowly guiding the head onto her outstretched tongue. He jumped as soon as he felt her hot breath upon his agitated tool, and whimpered softly as he prepared himself for the oral onslaught.

"Oh my god, she's going to give him a blowjob!" Angelique squealed.

In a matter of seconds Delvin's entire penis had disappeared down Maria's accommodating throat. The four of us reacted with simultaneous exclamations as we watched the girl's head descend until her nose touched the tip of his pubic hair. She lingered there for a moment and then raised her head up slowly, gracefully, swirling her tongue around the entire length of him on her journey upward. Keeping both hands interlocked around the base of his shaft, she repeated these exact same motions many times over, her bobbing becoming faster on each successive trip down toward his nether regions. It was not long before Delvin was bucking his hips wildly up and down in response to Maria's forceful blowjob.

"He's going to cum soon," Angelique warned us.

"I'll bet you he shoots off in her mouth!" Brittany exclaimed.

I could see Delvin's huge, swollen balls rise up toward the base of his shaft as Maria wrapped her lips around the tip of his penis, both of her hands furiously pumping him. In a matter of seconds his entire body froze as he was gripped by a powerful orgasm. Maria's hands flew up and down his glistening pole and I saw her neck muscles begin to contract as he began to launch spurt after spurt of hot semen down her throat. We all looked on intently as Maria swallowed one load after another, never removing her mouth from his climaxing tool.

To my left came a low moan. I quickly looked away to find Angelique with her right hand buried in her crotch. I looked again at the duo in the next room. Delvin was still ejaculating and Maria was keeping pace with him. Her lips were now dripping with saliva and semen, some of which fell onto Delvin's pubic hair, forming little puddles of silver gray. Only when his balls had been fully emptied, did Maria release her mouth from his penis. She licked her lips as though she had just eaten a tasty snack. Delvin rolled over onto his side, out of breath.

"God, that was so hot!" Angelique said excitedly as she drew away from the wall. Her eyes were positively sparkling with lust, and I knew that she had experienced an orgasm of her own.

Brittany, too, had a look of immense satisfaction on her face, but for a different reason. 

"I told you he was going to cum in her mouth didn't I?" she said to us.

"But you didn't think she was going to swallow it all did you?" Megan said with a grimace.

Angelique looked somewhat disappointed. "I wanted to see it shoot," she said.

"Why?" I inquired.

"Because it's so sexy. I love to watch a guy spurt like a fountain."

"Do all of them do it?"

"Some do. I have some stuff on DVD. I'll show you tomorrow."

"Oh, come on," Brittany whined. "Let's see them now."

"No," Angelique said. "We have to get to sleep. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

Brittany and Megan continued to pester Angelique for a few more minutes before finally acquiescing to my cousin's demands. But Angelique was right. The four of us were going to spend the day in downtown San Diego and we were going to need our rest. At that moment, however, I doubted I would get much sleep after what I had just witnessed. In fact, all of us were so excited by what we had just seen, that we made it the topic of our discussion for another full hour before we all finally fell asleep. Having never seen a man "spurt like a fountain," I was, of course, intrigued by Angelique's comment. Little did I know then that I was going to watch, first-hand, some of the finest displays of male ejaculation my young, inexperienced eyes had ever seen. And this would all happen within the next few days, courtesy of my provocative cousin, and, unbeknownst to me at the time, my even more provocative aunt Phoebe.





Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 01



"Nothing like chocolate to cheer you up," he said, taking a bite of the candy he had just offered to me.

When the taxi pulled up to the front door I paid the driver and carried my bag full of clothes and shoes to the front door. I noticed that there were several cars parked in the driveway, which I had not seen upon leaving earlier in the day. I did notice, however, that Delvin's car was gone. 

I was just about to ring the doorbell when I remembered that Angelique had given me my own key to the house. Upon entering I neither saw nor heard anyone, and so I made my way directly to the bedroom where I immediately threw myself onto the bed, shaking with cold. I must have slept only a short while before I was forced to get up and run to the bathroom where I remained for several minutes violently puking into the toilet. The vomiting must have done me good because I soon began to feel much better.

Feeling a bit hungry, I decided to make my way to the kitchen and make myself some toast. I did not know where my aunt or any of her friends were, which was odd since there were so many cars out in front of the house. After eating I decided to see where these mysterious people might be. 

Going from room to room I found no one. Even the servants were missing. At last I made my way to my aunt's study: a huge Victorian-style room filled with a vast amount of books that were stacked on shelves reaching up to the ceiling. Being an avid reader, I spent a good amount of time there, sifting through arcane titles and old, moldy tomes that seemed to belong to another era. Some of these titles I recognized, but most of them were obscure. Amidst the more familiar works like Pygmalion and Great Expectations, I saw some odd titles that made little sense to me, such as The Art and Science of Female Domination, and Masturbatory Techniques of the Dominatrix. I thumbed through these books with burning curiosity, and was amazed to find that they had inscriptions on the inside front cover which bore my aunt's name—both books having been given to her by someone with the initials, L. M. I later learned that the initials stood for Lenore Marceau, my aunt's most recent and eager confidant. 

Neither books contained any pictures, and the arcane and unfamiliar text only raised more questions in my mind than they answered. However, one inescapable fact was revealed to me despite all the confusing jargon: that female domination of men was the true destiny of all women. To my young mind, the idea that one person—a woman—would strive to dominate another person—a man—was a concept completely foreign to me. I, myself, did not view men or women as either superior or inferior to one another, but rather as complimentary and harmonious facets of the same human equation. And even though I hold this very belief even to this day, I also love the power and control I have over men, and have managed to integrate the philosophy of the Sisterhood into my life in such a way that I have found a satisfactory balance between my fetish and my normal routine. However, my aunt's friends were creatures of another breed, and I was soon to learn and experience just how far the tenets of their philosophy of male domination were to be applied.

In one corner of this vast room was a magnificent brown leather chair into which I sat pouring over several of these unfamiliar books. I don't know what drew me to them but the very uniqueness of the idea of female superiority somehow fascinated me. In a world traditionally dominated by men, the idea that a woman could be in charge appealed to me on some level. I didn't think the relegation of male power to their supposedly lesser kin would ever be a tenable prospect, but the concept intrigued me nonetheless. At some point as I ruminated over these ideas, I fell asleep. 

I don't know exactly how long I slept, but I awoke to the sound of voices coming from the hallway just outside the study. I did not want to be found with these books in my hands, which would have been tantamount to an invasion of my aunt's privacy as well as an admission of untrustworthiness, so I quickly rose from my chair and hastily replaced them on the shelves. 

The voices were getting closer. Seeing that I had little time to act, I ran into a small closet fitted with louver doors and closed them quickly behind me. The wooden slats in the door were large enough so that I could see into the study without much difficulty. Several seconds elapsed and then I heard my aunt's voice inviting her guests into the study.

"I think this will do nicely," she said as she threw open the doors admitting herself and about a dozen other women into the room.

I soon realized that the entire entourage must have come from the garden, where my aunt usually entertained her guests with an outdoor brunch when the weather was pleasant. Most of these women were professional types varying in age from twenty to sixty. I recognized Justine and Estelle among them, but other than them, my aunt, and Lenore, everyone else was unknown to me. All of them were dressed impeccably in some form of business attire or another, and the effect of their combined presence was such that I felt I was attending a board meeting at some huge corporation. Each woman taken singly would have been intimidating enough, but as a whole they formed a formidable entity of female power and intellect that seemed to command obedience and respect.

Behind this group of women followed two young men, who were quickly instructed by my aunt to go into an adjoining room and wait until they were called. I had never seen these two men before and I had no idea what their purpose might be in this company of women. My aunt herself was dressed in a simple black dress with matching heels: her only jewelry a stunning pearl necklace. With her silky, platinum blonde hair reaching to her waist, she looked absolutely spectacular.

"I want to assure everyone that all the servants have been dismissed," my aunt said to the group. "My daughter and her friends are gone for the day and there is no one in the house but us and the two gentlemen in the next room. Please help yourselves to drinks at the bar."

The women wasted no time in serving themselves alcoholic beverages. They appeared to me to be the type of people who enjoyed working hard and playing even harder, judging by the way the plied their liquor. After Lenore and my aunt procured drinks for themselves, the older woman took my aunt by the arm and led her to the window overlooking the west lawn—only a few feet from where I was hiding—and spoke to her in hushed tones. My angle of view was obstructed, so all I could do was listen.

"Are you absolutely positive that no one knows what's going on here?" Lenore asked my aunt.

"Relax Lenore," my aunt reassured her. "I've told you twice already, it's all been taken care of. Don't you trust me?"

Lenore smiled. "Yes, of course, of course dear. Don't mind me. I'm not used to holding initiations under these types of circumstances. If your daughter..."

"Don't worry about her. Angelique is very clever. That's why I had to be nonchalant about her and the girls going away for the day. If I made too much of it, she would have suspected something. In any event, Jake is keeping an eye on things for me."

"I hope he's trustworthy."

"He is. I assure you. Now please relax and enjoy yourself. I'm dying to see what all this is about."

"I only mention it because if someone should crash our little party and learn what's really going on...well, in that case we'd have to do what our predecessors did."

"And what was that?"

"Eliminate them."

I did not know at the time that Lenore was only joking. But not being able to see their facial expressions, and hearing only their cackling laughter, made me suddenly petrified that should I be discovered, I might end up on the missing persons list. Unconsciously, I drew back further into the closet and kept my body covered over with some hanging coats, only my head timidly peeking out from behind them. The thought of my aunt having anything to do with people who would possibly resort to such murderous practices made me shiver. I found the thought incongruous, knowing that my aunt was a kind person at heart, and Lenore herself gave me no indication of any strain of hidden cruelty. Nonetheless, I burrowed deeper into my makeshift den and tried to pretend that I had become invisible.

Seating was arranged such that a large circle was left open in the center of the room, allowing the guests to enjoy a ringside view of the proceedings. There was much excitement and discussion going on amongst them, and it took several minutes before the group finally settled down, and only after Lenore was forced to override my aunt's initial plea for quiet. 

"My, my, my!" she began, surveying the women around her. "What's gotten into you girls today?"

For a woman whom I had assumed to be in her middle to late fifties, Lenore had the body of a woman twenty years younger. Her beauty was not so much derived from her pleasing physical attributes, although considerable, but rather from some inner emanation of spirit that made her entire face seem to sparkle and glow as if there were a fire kindled somewhere deep inside her. Most women her age would not have worn their hair long and flowing, yet she did, and it did not detract from her loveliness but rather added to the overall perception of beauty. The light brown curls, with faint streaks of gray, adorned her face like a Giordano fresco, and the penetrating blue eyes were bright and alert to any nuance around her. She wore a three-piece business suit comprised of a black skirt and blazer with a tan blouse upon which was fastened a sterling silver butterfly brooch. She was one of the shortest women in the room, yet her very presence commanded respect, and her guests showed this to her with an abundant display of affection. With the crowd now quiet, she dug one of the heels of her shoes into the carpet as if to pivot herself in any direction at any moment in anticipation of their questions. 

"Okay, what's the deal, Lenore? Are we going to admit Phoebe or not?" asked a young, tall, and attractive twenty-something brunette with incredibly long legs.

"We must forgive Janet her bluntness. She is very young and has not yet become accustomed to her new position of power within the Sisterhood," replied Lenore with a light-hearted air. "But since the cat is now out of the bag, yes, Phoebe Anjou, I am proud to say, has been voted in. Welcome Phoebe!"

As Lenore swung her body around to face my aunt, the entire group broke into a round of applause. My stunned aunt sat there beaming with joy upon her acceptance into the clandestine group that Lenore referred to as the "Sisterhood." Both Estelle and Justine rose simultaneously to congratulate her by each shaking one of her hands and kissing her cheek. My aunt was overcome with emotion.

"This is a great honor," she said to the group. "I hope I shall be able to live up to the fine tradition established by Sister Marceau and those who have preceded her."

To this statement the assemblage of ladies cheered wildly. 

"I have no doubt that you will, my dear Phoebe," said Lenore with such pride that it might have been her own daughter who had been so honored.

In the course of the next half hour I came to learn a great deal about the Sisterhood and the reason for the meeting I was now forced by circumstances to secretly witness. 

The beginnings of this covert alliance of women began during the French Revolution when a young noblewoman of King Louis' court, whose name was Yvette Anjou—a direct forebear of Phoebe's husband Pierre—was commissioned by the King to form a small group of women to help the government weed out and destroy the leaders of the Revolution. The reconnaissance of these women proved so successful that many would-be usurpers were overthrown, and the King rewarded his ladies by lavish gifts of money and property. However, once the Revolution had begun in earnest and King Louis' life was imperiled, he betrayed his loyal "Sisterhood" by placing the blame squarely upon their heads for the execution of many of the rebels' most powerful leaders. In effect, he withdrew his protection and support, effectively rendering the group vulnerable to attack by those whom they had once acted against with impunity. Many of these noble women died at the hands of their enemies, and later some were executed along with the King when his regime had fallen, but a few escaped by virtue of subterfuge and quick thinking. One of these was Yvette. Now possessed of a healthy distrust of men, she sought out other powerful and competent women in an attempt to form a network of like-minded associates who would never again bow to the threat of male domination. Over the ensuing centuries, chapters of this organization sprouted up all over the world, although the original impetus for membership, i.e., a genuine hatred and distrust for all things male, became diffused and watered down to the point where the only singular reason for joining was a desire to control men in any way possible for the amusement and pleasure of the woman. The women sitting in the room now were each heads of their own chapters located in various countries around the world. 

I soon came to learn that the Sisterhood was virtually "invisible" to all but its own adherents, its secrets and traditions zealously guarded, and its operations completely covert. Admission into its ranks was by recommendation only, and almost always by a high-ranking member. My aunt couldn't have done much better: Lenore was the Supreme leader of the organization, headquartered in Paris, and had been the guiding force behind my aunt's elevation to Sisterhood status. 

As she sat there now with tears of joy streaming down her face, I, too, became excited for my aunt Phoebe, and almost wished I could walk out of the closet and shake her hand. Of course, I could do nothing of the kind. Fearful enough of my identity being somehow revealed, I was even more fearful of what my ultimate fate might be if I was discovered to have been privy to the conversation I had just heard. Would I be tortured or killed? Maybe offered as a ritual sacrifice for ease dropping on their secret meeting? I trembled as these thoughts raced through my mind.

"If there is no objection," Lenore began, " I should like to bring out the men now."

"How many do we have today?" an elegant, forty-something woman asked.

"There's two I believe," Estelle replied.

"Would you and Justine bring the younger man out first please?" Lenore said to Estelle."

"Of course," Estelle replied.

The two women promptly left the room and were gone only a minute before they returned with the younger of the two men. Exactly why these individuals were being held I couldn't guess, but the one now being led in was a handsome, well-dressed specimen who smiled faintly as he was told to stand in the center of the room and await further instructions. 

"As you all know," Lenore began, "one of the criteria for membership into the Sisterhood is that all its members periodically acquire males for the purposes of serving the Sisterhood in whatever capacity we see fit. Our Sister Phoebe has procured one man whom she believes will devote himself to us without question. Of course the real purpose of this meeting is to determine if this man will submit to our will, and that is what we are here to determine. The other man is...well, a surprise. Let us begin."

The man was asked to sit down in a chair in the middle of the room. Lenore then sat down next to my aunt. She, along with all the other women in the room, observed the young man with interest. 

He was a tall man, well over six feet in height and broad shouldered. He had an Anglo-Saxon look about him—probably English or Irish—and had dark, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders. I don't think he was older than twenty-five. He was dressed casually in a pair of olive green khakis and a short-sleeve white shirt. As he sat there with his hands folded in his lap, I sensed that he was overwhelmed by the presence of so many formidable-looking females, although he, himself, looked every bit the part of a movie hero.

Lenore motioned to Justine to begin the inquiry. Once this directive had been given, the other women ceased chatting and turned their full attention to the man, who seemed a bit apprehensive. Justine stood over him now, fixing him with a steady gaze.

"What is your name please?"

"Andre Wilkins," he replied.

"Andre Wilkins...what?" she asked, prompting him.

For a moment he looked puzzled, but soon realized what she meant.

"Uh, miss."

"That's better," she said with a smile of satisfaction. "Why are you here Mr. Wilkins?"

"I have come to serve the Sisterhood, miss."

"And how do you intend to do that?"

"By doing whatever is asked of me," he replied, glancing up at her.

Justine seemed pleased. "You have been given the oath?"

"Yes, miss."

"I'm sorry Justine," Lenore interrupted. "I forgot to mention that both men have already taken the oath of allegiance. However," she said looking intently at the man, "that does not guarantee that you will be granted the privilege of servitude."

"That's correct." Justine said. "That is to be determined by this inquiry and subsequent demonstration. Do you understand Mr. Wilkins?"

"Yes, miss. I understand." He looked pensive for a moment. "Uh, miss? "What demonstration?"

At this point Lenore stood up and walked over to the man. She bent over him so that her face was only inches from his own.

"You do not ask questions of us, ever. Is that understood?"

"Yes...yes, of course miss," Mr. Wilkins replied with a trembling voice.

"Phoebe," she said to my aunt. "This is not to be tolerated. So learn this well. Those who serve the Sisterhood do not question: they only obey. What this man does on his own time is his business, but while he is in our employ he must serve us unconditionally."

Lenore was very adamant about the whole affair, and my aunt just sat there nodding her head in agreement, saying nothing. Lenore asked Justine to continue and resumed her seat next to my aunt.

"I am going to ask you some questions and then the other ladies in the room are going to ask you more questions. If you fail to answer even one question to our satisfaction, or if you try to be evasive in any way, you will be dismissed. Many of these questions will be of a highly personal nature. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, miss."

"Very well. If you pass the questionnaire, you will then be asked to provide us with a physical demonstration of your loyalty and obedience, whose form is to be determined by our Supreme Sister. Are you ready?"

Heaving a heavy sigh, Mr. Wilkins looked straight ahead and fixed his eyes upon nothing in particular.

"I'm ready...miss," he said softly.

I think I was just as much puzzled as Mr. Wilkins as to what Justine meant by "demonstration." He looked very nervous now, afraid that one wrong answer would put an end to his attempt to become their collective footstool. Why any man would voluntarily choose to subjugate himself to the whims of these women, or to anyone for that matter, was quite beyond my ability to comprehend. I did not learn until very much later that the desire to be controlled by another was as much a need of the servant as the desire to control was a need of the one being served.

Justine sat down next to Estelle and began the questioning. I think she enjoyed her role as interrogator, feeling a rush of power over Mr. Wilkins's discomfort. 

"As you may have heard, Mr. Wilkins," she began, "those who are admitted into our employ serve the Sisterhood in many ways. Do you have any objections to exposing your naked body to your superiors?"




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 02



"But you're thinking about it!" Brittany snapped back.

"Oh, you're such an ass Brittany," she replied, turning on the girl. "Okay, so what if he does pull it out? Are you going to run away?"

"I won't run away," Brittany replied. "But I'm not going to touch it either."

"I don't even want to get near that thing," Megan said with a grimace.

Angelique looked like she had just bit into a lemon.

"That's just like you, Megan. You think the only thing a boy does with his cock is pee with it. Get real!"

Brittany chuckled at my cousin's remark.

"Don't tell us you're thinking of giving him some hand action," she said, jerking her hand back and forth.

"I might," Angelique said coyly. "Why? Do you want to watch?"

"You mean like those girls in those movies you have, where the naked men have to jerk off for the clothed women?"

"Maybe," she replied with a wicked smile.

"Yes!" Brittany exclaimed. "That would be so unbelievable!"

"I'll watch," Megan said, not wanting to be left out. "But I'm not going to touch it."

"Of course not," Angelique said tersely. "I don't think your hands will ever touch a penis."

"You know what happens when you start playing around with a guy's dick."

"Yes, I know what happens, but you don't."

"I do too," she said. "They ejaculate."

"Oh my God!" Angelique said, mocking her. "Do you think?"

If my cousin had known that, only a week before, her own mother had given a strange man a handjob, she might have felt that genetics did indeed spell one's destiny.

"Okay," I said, interrupting their argument. "I'm in."

The two girls fell silent for a moment and then Angelique laughed.

"Yes!" she said happily. "This is going to be great!"

************

I never understood how Delvin came to be such good friends with my aunt Phoebe. Even Angelique was hazy on this issue when I asked her for details. From what I gleaned from her sketchy account, a few years ago Delvin and his parents were in Paris during a charity event hosted by my aunt and my uncle Pierre in which Delvin was the star performer. He was already a pop star in the United States, and now his fame was spreading quickly across Europe. It was during this fundraiser that he met my aunt, and the two of them soon became fast friends. My aunt, being the liberal-minded hedonist that she was, invited Delvin to visit her at her home in San Diego, where she spent most of the summer with her daughter and sometimes her husband. Delvin was a polite, easy-going, and friendly young man, and my aunt was captivated by his great warmth and charm. It was an unusual friendship that raised a few eyebrows among my own immediate family, but it was an attraction of spiritual equals, foregoing any hint of sexual interest, and made exemplary by its lack of it.

It was because of this great friendship that Delvin felt compelled to act the role of a gentleman with my aunt's daughter, rather than do anything to incur her displeasure. Yet, it seemed that his will to control himself around my sexy cousin was rapidly fading as of late. It was pretty obvious to me and everyone else that he was enamored of her, and she of him. And my aunt, being one of the most perspicacious people on earth, could not have failed to be cognizant of the situation, despite her preoccupation with Lenore and the Sisterhood. Although she chose to remain neutral in the whole affair, I could not help but believe that she felt Angelique was old enough to know what to do without her guidance. This attitude would have been consistent with my aunt's own hedonistic philosophy. How far that philosophy extended in regards to her daughter I didn't know. But judging by the fact that she thought nothing of setting the four of us up next to Delvin's bedroom indicated that she gave her daughter great latitude in making her own decisions.

In comparison to my own mother, or most mothers for that matter, my aunt's liaise faire attitude concerning Angelique's bold sexuality would have been seen as bordering on indifference. I did not believe this myself, however, because my aunt loved Angelique dearly, and she took an active interest in her daughter's life. But there is a big difference between love and possessiveness, and my aunt was anything but possessive. Therefore, my cousin grew up in an atmosphere wherein she felt comfortable about her own sexuality and could talk with her mother about sexual matters without the usual trepidation most young girls feel when discussing, what is to them, an uncomfortable subject. And being possessed of a bold and insightful personality made Angelique a natural leader among us, even though at times I felt she was a little too headstrong for her own good.

Delvin had agreed to meet with us in his bedroom just after midnight. The four of us tried to dress up such that we would be appealing to his sense of style, so we all wound up looking like carbon copies of his girlfriend Maria: high-heeled shoes; short, bright, neon skirts in four different colors; halter tops with midriff exposed; hair long and windblown; makeup to the max; approximately one ton of jewelry a piece; and Gucci shades. By the time we were finished, we looked like we had just popped out of some men's magazine, and we could have easily passed for a bunch of groupies.

"Wow!" Angelique remarked as I came out of the bathroom in my new apparel. "You look just like a whore!"

"Or a porno star!" Brittany suggested.

I took a long look at them and admitted that they, too, looked every bit the part as I did.

Megan, however, just stood next to them looking nervous. Out of all of us, I think she was the most hesitant to attend this "pot" party.

"I can't believe we're going to do this," she said anxiously as she took a look at herself in the hallway mirror.

"Jesus!" Angelique said. "You've got one of the greatest pop singers in the world in my house and you're complaining?"

"She always complains," Brittany said dully.

"I don't always complain, Brittany," Megan retorted. "It's just...you know...it's a little weird with the four of us and...him."

"Do you want me to hold your hand," Angelique said, sarcastically.

"No, it's not that. I just feel... I just think it's...wrong."

The three of us looked at her as though at any minute she was going to run out of the room and head for home.

"Why do you think it's wrong, Megan?" I asked.

She looked at me as though I should have guessed the answer.

"He's had lots of women...you know...like groupies and stuff. He's like a man already."

"We're not going to have sex with him. We're just going to play some music and smoke a little pot."

"But Angelique wants to do other things with him."

At this point my cousin lost her patience with the timid girl.

"Oh, fuck Megan! If he puts his hands on my tits and you start freaking out, you can leave all right? No one will stop you."

"What if he tries to put his hands on my tits?" Brittany teased.

"I don't care," Megan said. "Just don't let him treat you like Maria, like you're his girlfriend or something."

"Why?" my cousin replied. "Because you think he'll want to fuck me?"

"Yes."

Angelique laughed. "He'd have an easier time trying to fuck Holly than he would me. He's not going anywhere near me. Not until I say so."

We made a pact there and then that none of us would have sex with Delvin, although that did not preclude what Angelique called "fooling around."

"Well, we have to have a little fun," she said when Megan's face registered dismay. "It's Delvin Wade for Christ's sake!"

None of us knew exactly what she meant by "fun," but we all knew that it meant more than just listening to his latest hit song or getting high on pot. Just before we got ready to head for his room, we gave each other a quick once-over to make sure everything was in place.

"Jesus, you're beautiful, Holly," Angelique said as she adjusted my barrettes. 

"Yeah, but Delvin likes you the best."

"Are you jealous?"

"No, but if I'm so beautiful why do I have so much trouble keeping boyfriends?"

Angelique suddenly grabbed my by the shoulders and spun me around.

"I told you," she said in a serious tone. "You've got to loosen up a little bit. You can have fun with a guy but you have to know when to stop."

"But when a boy gets carried away..."

"You stop him!" she said. "I mean if he's doing something you don't like. Or else get a new boyfriend. The thing is, Holly, you're the one in control. You tell him what to do, not the other way around."

"That's my problem. I'm too nice."

Angelique kissed me on the cheek.

"With the way you look, you can afford to be a bitch sometimes."

"Come on, you guys," Brittany said impatiently. "Let's go."

We could smell the pot emanating from Delvin's room even before he opened the door. Megan still looked a bit apprehensive, but seeing how excited the rest of us were seemed to improve her mood somewhat.

"Looks like he started without us," she said dourly. "God! That stuff wreaks!"

The smell was quite strong, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming cloud of smoke that greeted us as he opened the door. Wearing only a pair of black bathing trunks and a matching tee shirt, he welcomed us into his room with his usual captivating charm.

A smoky mist hung over the entire room and I immediately asked for a glass of water. He happily complied with my request and invited us all to sit down on a large, black, leather sofa a few feet away from an armchair upon which he had been sitting. He was thrilled to see us, and complimented us highly on our choice of apparel, more than once using words like "sexy" and "hot" to describe our appearance. I was a bit disappointed that he didn't think enough of us to dress up a little nicer. But, he was, after all, a star, and we were his guests.

"Man, it looks like I'm seeing the colors of the rainbow!" he exclaimed, as we sat down next to him.

Angelique sat closest to him, followed by Megan, Brittany, and me: four iridescent songbirds all in a row, paying homage to their hero.

"You ladies ready to join me in a little weed?" he asked us.

Without waiting for a response, he pulled out a small, leather pouch containing several joints and began to light one up.

I had never been in this particular room before and I had to admit that it was quite large—about the size of a spacious one-bedroom apartment. Some of his music was playing softly in the background, and upon his bed were strewn dozens of CDs and music trade papers. Surveying the room, I noticed that it contained a full kitchen and bath, with every amenity possible. There were two windows that looked out onto the garden, and a door just outside the hallway, which had proved a handy entrance for his late-night trysts with Maria.

"I can't believe I'm sitting here with four beautiful women!" Delvin said as he passed a lit joint to Angelique. "And you look so...mature."

"That's the makeup," Brittany said.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you girls were working the streets in downtown LA."

Angelique took a long drag and held her breath, passing the joint to Megan.

"This isn't going to make me sick, is it?" Megan asked him.

"No babe. No way. Just inhale a little bit and hold your breath for a while. You'll be fine."

"Go ahead, Megan," Brittany said. "Don't be such a baby!"

Megan put the joint to her lips and took a drag, but she ended up coughing and begged me for a sip of my water. On the second try she did much better, managing to hold her breath for a full ten seconds before exhaling. She then handed the joint to Brittany.

"So, you think we look like sluts, huh?" Angelique asked Delvin, as she studied his muscular torso.

"Yeah, but that's a compliment. All you bitches today want to look like Maria and Christina, right?"

"I don't," I said. "We just dressed up like this because we thought you'd like it."

"I do baby, I do!" he assured us. "I'd be proud to have any one of you girls with me onstage anytime."

"Really?" Brittany said, excited by this news but continuing to hold her breath. "Can I do a music video with you?"

"Maybe, baby, maybe. I'll have to talk to my manager first."

"Oh, that would be so great! I can sing too, you know."

"She sounds like a cat when you step on its tail," Angelique said. 

"I can sing better than you!"

"In your dreams!"

It looked to me like Brittany was starting to turn blue.

"Exhale girl! What the hell are you doing?" Delvin shouted to the teary-eyed girl.

Brittany exhaled a cloud of smoke and then coughed loudly several times.

"I wanted to hold it in for maximum effect," she said, reaching for my glass of water.

"Maximum effect?" Delvin scoffed. "You're going to kill yourself that way!"

Brittany took a long drink of water and looked around at all of us.

"Do I look like I'm getting high yet?" she laughed.

"Shut up, Brittany, and pass the weed to Holly," Angelique ordered.

As I took the strange, cigarette-like thing in my hands, I felt a little nervous, not knowing what effect this drug would eventually have upon me. But if Megan, who was the most timid among us, had done it, then I could too. Raising the joint to my mouth I inhaled slowly, feeling the hot smoke enter into my lungs. I didn't cough, which surprised me and everyone else.

"This your first time?" Delvin asked.

I shook my head as I continued to hold my breath.

"That's all right," he said, seemingly impressed with my ability.

I passed the joint to him.

"No. You give that to Angelique. "I've been smoking for the past two hours now."

"I thought we were all going to do this together," my cousin said to him as I passed her the joint.

"I'm sorry, babe," he said apologetically. "I had to have my fix. But you girls go right ahead. You're doing fine."

Delvin sat there in his chair looking eminently satisfied as we continued to pass the joint back and forth between us. When we were done, he lit up another one and we performed the entire procedure all over again. I don't remember to this day which one of us was the first to get stoned. Maybe it happened to us all at the same time. All I can remember is that anything anybody said was instantly perceived as being humorous, and we couldn't stop ourselves from laughing. Megan was the only one of us who seemed immune from this effect, and she took great enjoyment in admonishing us when she felt we were getting too boisterous. 

"We should be talking about more serious things," she said.

"Like what, baby?" Delvin inquired.

She looked pensive for a moment and then, in an unexpected marijuana-induced moment, said, "Angelique wants to know...how big your thing is."

"My what?" the startled boy asked.

The girls and I were in hysterics. Even Angelique, who at first looked a little peeved, couldn't stop herself from laughing.

"Your member!" Brittany said, explaining.

Delvin looked at us as though we had all suddenly lost our minds. The truth was that we were laughing so hard that he couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"I think she means your dick!" Angelique squealed.

"Or your schlong!" I said, barely able to get the words out of my mouth.

He continued to stare at us and then shook his head in wonderment at our sudden impulse to hurl sexual slurs at him. We must have seemed at that moment nothing more than a pack of wild hyenas to the puzzled boy.

"Man, I gave you girls too much of that shit. You're going to give me a heart attack if you keep this up."

This statement made us laugh even more. I was beginning to feel that our prolonged merriment—at Delvin's expense—was beginning to turn him off.

"Don't listen to them Delvin," I said, trying to calm myself down. "They're just perverts."

"Listen to you!" Angelique shot back. "You're no better!"

"I didn't poke holes in the wall."

"The holes were already there."

Delvin looked confused. "What holes? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Go ahead," I said to my cousin. "Why don't you tell him the truth?"

"What truth?" he asked, turning to Angelique.

She looked at me as though she wanted to choke me.

"Why did you have to open your big mouth, Holly?" she snapped.

"Tell him," I said again.

"Tell me what?" Delvin demanded.

Angelique and I looked at each other in silence.

"Will somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?" Delvin insisted as he looked from face to face for an answer.

I realized that the influence of the pot had made me reveal something I shouldn't have, and I just hung my head down, refusing to meet my cousin's angry stare.

"You better tell him, Angelique," Brittany said, trying to be diplomatic.

"Oh, shit," my cousin said, frowning. "This was supposed to be our secret. Remember, Holly?"

I continued to look down without answering.

"What's your secret, girl?" he said to Angelique. "Tell me."

"She won't tell you because she's afraid that you'll think she's weird," Brittany said. "Which she is anyway."

Delvin smiled. "I won't think you're weird, baby," he said to my cousin. "Come on. I'll keep your secret."

Angelique looked at him but said nothing.

"We saw you having sex with Maria," Megan said suddenly.

Delvin's eyes opened wide.

"You saw me having sex with my girlfriend? How the hell did you do that?"

It wasn't said in an angry way, but he was clearly mystified as to how we could have possibly managed to pull off such a prodigious feat.

"Another big mouth!" Angelique said, angry at Megan's disclosure.

This didn't seem to stop Megan from continuing, however.

"We watched you through those holes over there," she said, pointing to the adjoining wall.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, looking in the same direction. "There are no holes in that wall."

"Oh yes there are!" Megan said with a giggle.

He peered through the thick haze of pot, trying to see where the mysterious holes might be.

"I don't see any holes," he said, thinking we were just teasing him.

"They're there," I assured him.

Intrigued, Delvin got out of his chair and approached the wall, running his hands over the surface looking for an opening.

"Farther down," Megan said.

Delvin continued to poke around until he gave a little yelp.

"Damn!" he said, as his finger poked through the small, wooden chips and disappeared inside one after another. "You've been spying on me and my woman all this time?"

For a moment I thought he was going to be angry with us, but after looking through a few of the tiny apertures, he burst out laughing.

"Man, this is great!" he said, slapping his hand against the wall. "Whose idea was this anyway?"

We all indicated that it was Angelique's idea.

"I should've known," he said, looking straight at her. "I wonder if I should tell your mother about this."

He didn't say this in a threatening way, but my cousin's face immediately registered fear.

"No!" she said. "Please don't, Delvin!" We didn't mean any harm. We told you about it, right?"

"It's okay. It's okay," he laughed reassuringly. "I won't say anything. I promise."

After promising her several more times that he would keep our secret, Angelique finally began to relax and lit up another joint, which she passed around to the rest of us. Delvin sat next to her, smoking an oversized joint that he had made especially for himself.

"You girls are really lewd," he observed, as he glanced toward the wall we had used as our secret gateway into his private world. "How much did you see anyway?"

The four of us once again got a bad case of the giggles.

"Everything!" Megan said, as she passed the joint to Brittany.

"What do you mean by 'everything'?"

Brittany was just about to put the joint in her mouth, but paused.

"I think she means we saw your...you know..."

Here she paused again and without another word, took a long drag.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 02



Seeing that she was not going to finish her sentence, Angelique volunteered to provide the missing word.

"Dick," she said bluntly.

At the mention of the word, all of us, including Delvin, had a laughing fit.

"Man, you just come out and say what you feel, don't you?" he said to Angelique.

"Well, it's the truth," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yeah, but...hey...are you putting me on?"

"Maybe a little," she replied coyly as she lifted her long legs to rest on the coffee table.

"Maybe a lot!" Brittany laughed, aware as I was of Angelique's deft and calculated maneuver.

It had the desired effect. Delvin's eyes now rested upon her lovely limbs as he inhaled deeply.

"Where did you get legs like that?" he asked my cousin. "Half of your body is made up of those fine-looking stems."

"It's genetics," Megan interjected. "Mrs. Anjou has nice legs too."

"No argument here," Delvin said. "But you know...all you girls have great legs and you're all damned good-looking too."

Megan saw this as an opportunity to remind him of his earlier promise.

"Pretty enough to be in one of your videos?"

"Maybe," he said, unable to keep his eyes off Angelique's legs.

I had to admit that I was a little bit jealous of my cousin's long and beautifully sculptured legs. The only real difference between her legs and mine was that hers were about an inch or two longer. And it was due to this difference in height that made her legs seem more graceful than mine. 

"So," Delvin began, as he peered at us through the fog of marijuana. "Did you guys get off on watching me and Maria fuck?"

Megan, Brittany, and I laughed nervously, but confessed that we found their lovemaking a huge turn-on. Angelique's response was to remove her shoes so that Delvin could get a good look at her sexy feet.

"I know Angelique enjoyed it," I said, remembering how she had pleasured herself from watching him and Maria engage in sex.

"Oh, shut up, Holly," she replied with an admonishing stare.

Delvin's eyes now fell upon my cousin's lovely feet with their long, well-proportioned toes and nails that were adorned with a lustrous pink polish. He sighed heavily and took another drag.

"No, it's okay. It's all right," he said. "There's nothing wrong with people getting off watching other people have sex. I do it all the time."

"You do?" Megan asked, surprised.

"Absolutely. You see that rack over there? There's nothing but adult movies in it."

He pointed to a huge, black wall cabinet completely filled with DVDs.

"Wow," Brittany said. "Can I see them?"

"Help yourself. You can all check them out."

The four of us got up and went to inspect his private collection of porn while he continued to smoke.

"Hey, Angelique," Megan said, drawing my cousin's attention to a DVD she was holding in her hand. "You have this one too."

Megan held up a DVD cover of a naked man being spanked by two well-dressed women. Delvin laughed.

"Hey, man! That's my favorite movie! You into CFNM, Angelique?"

"She's got tons of this stuff in her room," I said, laughing at the fact that many of the DVDs contained a similar theme.

"No shit?" Delvin remarked.

"Yeah," Angelique replied, giving me a nasty look. "No shit."

Delvin enjoyed watching us sift through his collection as we sat on the floor in front of him. His vast library contained pornography of all sorts, but there was a preponderance of CFNM-related content, sometimes featuring men in submissive roles before one or more dominant women.

"Oh, I love this!" Brittany giggled as she handed a DVD to me.

"Which one is that?" Delvin asked.

I held up the DVD for him to see.

"Oh, that one!" he laughed. "That's a classic!"

The cover featured a completely naked man with his hands on his erect penis, masturbating himself for the amusement of four attractive looking women who were standing around him. It looked like it was staged in someone's apartment.

"He looks so stupid standing there like that naked," Megan said, laughing at the picture.

"He's supposed to look stupid," Angelique said. "That's the whole idea."

Delvin took a final drag on his joint and chuckled.

"She's got it," he said. "Angelique knows what it's all about."

My cousin looked at him through the corner of her eyes and smiled.

"Well, I don't understand," Megan complained. "What's so sexy about this picture?"

"Some guys like being controlled by women, Megan," Angelique said. "It excites them. Get it?"

"I think it's stupid."

"You think everything is stupid."

"Yeah, Megan," Brittany chimed in. "You never want to try anything new. You always put everything down."

"No, I don't," Megan protested.

"Yes, you do," Angelique said. "Like that picture of that girl with the cum..."

Suddenly, Angelique stopped short, embarrassed that she had used a word she would not normally use when Delvin was around. Delvin, who had been mildly amused by their argument, now looked at us in a different light, as though he was getting to see, for the first time, the perverse little voyeurs we really were.

"What did you say, Angelique?" he asked her.

"You heard me," she replied without looking at him.

"Did you say...cum?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"So finish what you were saying." 

Megan laughed. "She's too embarrassed!"

"I'm not embarrassed," my cousin said.

It was difficult to catch Angelique off her guard, and she had been clearly put on the spot by her faux pas. But, being the most adept at controlling her feelings, she soon regained her emotional equilibrium and went on the offensive once more.

"I was saying," she began, giving Megan a sarcastic look, "that Megan got upset when she saw a picture of a girl with cum on her face. She thinks it's gross."

"Gross?" Delvin said to Megan. "That's part of sex, girl. It's no big deal."

"Well, I don't like it," she replied. "And I don't like these movies either."

"How do you know that?" he asked. "Have you ever seen one of them?"

"No. Angelique hasn't played any of them for us yet."

"Then how do you know?"

Brittany grabbed Megan by the shoulder and shook her. 

"See?" she said. "I told you she doesn't like to try anything new."

"That's too bad," Delvin said. "I think you might enjoy them."

"Why don't we play one?" I suggested, anxious to stop the bickering and curious myself to see what was so special about them.

"All right, Holly!" Delvin said with a big grin. "You girls up for it?"

"I am," Brittany said.

"I've seen this stuff before," Angelique said. "But if you want to play them, I'll watch."

"What about you, Megan?" Delvin asked her. "You might like it."

Afraid of being accused any further that she was indeed a spoilsport, as Angelique had unmistakably pointed out, she reluctantly agreed to watch the DVD with us on the condition that if it offended her, she would leave.

"No problem, Megan," Delvin agreed.

After searching through several different titles, we finally decided to watch the one Delvin had referred to as a "classic." As the movie began, the four of us sat down on the floor around the TV, while Delvin remained in his armchair sipping a Coke. 

The scene opened up with an attractive blonde man, probably in his early twenties, peering out from a partially opened closet door to spy on a pretty brunette woman, presumably his boss, who was at her desk happily conversing with someone on the phone. From his vantage point, the man could see the woman's sexy legs, which were crossed at the knee, and the camera focused on his face and then her legs to let the audience know that this was his particular fetish. As she talked, he let his pants and underwear fall down around his ankles, exposing his erect penis. In no time at all he was masturbating furiously.

"Oh, God," Brittany exclaimed. "That's so funny!"

All of us started to laugh as the camera focused on his huge erection and then on the woman's legs. Suddenly, the man sneezed and lost his balance. He came tumbling out of the closet, tripping over his own pants, and fell down flat on his face in front of the horrified woman. The look on his face was priceless as he struggled to get to his feet.

"Guys are such perverts," Megan said, unable to take her eyes off the screen.

This made Delvin laugh.

"And I suppose you watching this movie don't make you a little bit of a pervert too?"

Megan shrugged, but said nothing.

The blonde man was now being reprimanded by his boss, and with his pants and underwear still around his ankles, he was ordered to straddle her desk so that she could administer a spanking to his bare ass. Before she did this however, she called in three other women—all of similar age and very attractive—to observe his punishment.

Taking up seats around the desk, the women watched as the helpless young man was given a robust spanking by his boss, which she seemed to thoroughly enjoy. After giving him about 20 solid whacks with her bare hand, she then ordered him to stand in front of her desk and masturbate himself to orgasm while all of them watched. As the four women sat with their legs crossed in front of the desk, the man jerked his penis for a few minutes until it was clear that he was going to ejaculate. The camera then moved behind him so that all you could see was the back of his head and the four laughing women sitting on the opposite side of the desk. They teased him for a few minutes, calling him all kinds of nasty names, but never once did he stop masturbating himself.

Suddenly, from the bottom of the screen, a long, white blur of sperm shot up and outward onto the desk, splashing into a stack of papers. The women screamed with laughter and so did we.

"Did you see that?" Brittany said, entranced.

Another creamy blast followed the first one, this time shooting so far that it hit the bare legs of his boss who was sitting directly opposite him.

"Oh, Freddie!" his boss complained. "You disgusting pig! You're going to pay for this!"

"Ha!" Angelique laughed. "He's giving her a sperm shower!"

"Wait! Wait!" Delvin interrupted. "There's more. Watch this!"

No sooner had the words escaped his mouth than Freddie let out a huge groan and we watched in awe as three huge, gooey ropes of semen shot out, one after the other, high into the air, and came splashing down onto the desk below, forming three separate and slimy puddles of white.

"Oh, my God!" I said, amazed to see one man shoot so much sperm.

The women in the video laughed excitedly—as we did—upon seeing this spectacular cumshot. And to the combined teasing of his tormentors, Freddie's cock exploded yet again, sending another half dozen bursts of creamy ejaculate careening into the desk, where it formed several white pools of pasty residue. At last, his orgasm ended and he was told that he was fired. The women then pushed him out of the office, still half-dressed and his penis dripping with sperm. I had never seen anything so funny or strangely erotic in my life.

"Didn't I tell you it was a classic?" Delvin said, as he laughed along with us.

During all this time, Megan was unable to remove her eyes from the TV screen. More than any of us, she seemed more preoccupied with the video she had just seen, and I could tell something was on her mind.

"Do guys really ejaculate like that?" she asked Delvin.

"Some do," he replied.

"Well, it didn't seem real to me."

"Oh, it's real all right," he assured her. "I can tell fake cum right off."

"Are you sure? It seemed like somebody was squeezing a bottle of hand lotion off camera to make it look like the real thing."

"I'm telling you it's real," he insisted.

"How do you know?"

"I know because...I can cum like that myself sometimes. Even better."

The four of us looked at each other sheepishly, grinning at his implication.

"Oh sure, Delvin!" Brittany said in an accusatory tone. "You can really have an orgasm like that?"

"What's so strange about it?" he said. "There are a few guys in the porn industry who can cum like that." 

"Maybe, but it still looks fake to me."

"Some of it might be fake," he said thoughtfully. "But what you just saw was 100% real."

"How do they get it to cum so much?" I asked him.

"Well, usually if a guy hasn't had an orgasm in a long time, and if he's teased for a while, that'll produce a cumshot like the one you just saw."

Megan looked at me just then with a very sly look, as though she were planning something.

"Can we see some more?" she asked Delvin.

"Sure," he replied. "Put on anything you want."

For the next hour we sat through what must have constituted half of what was Delvin's CFNM library. The pot was being passed around again and all of us were getting quite high. Most of the videos featured similar scenarios to the one we had watched earlier; sometimes the element of female dominance was overt, sometimes very subtle. Usually, a naked guy would end up masturbating in front of a group of clothed women, or sometimes one or several women would end up masturbating him. Even though most of the videos ended in this way, we never got tired of seeing the different faces and the ways in which the guys would jerk their dicks for the amusement of the women. After one very long and voluminous orgasm, which resulted in several women being christened at once, Megan turned to Delvin with a questioning look in her eyes.

"So, can you really cum like that?"

Angelique, Brittany, and I looked at each other and then at Megan, unaccustomed to hear her speak in such direct terms. By this time, Delvin was sitting with one leg propped up on the arm of his chair. It appeared to me like he had an erection.

"Probably," he said modestly, as one of his hands came to rest near his crotch. "It's been almost a week since I came."

"Wow," she replied. "So you must have a lot stored up."

Her eyes fell to his crotch, where one of his hands was busy grabbing his hard-on.

"Are you kidding me?" he laughed. "Guys make billions of sperm every day. If I wasn't so tired from doing all these recording sessions, I'd be jacking off every chance I got."

Angelique, I noticed, purposely remained aloof during this interrogation, curious to see how far Megan was willing to take things. The most reserved and easily offended of the four of us, she was now, however, acting very promiscuous. This was, no doubt due to the influence of the marijuana we had all been smoking. But I think the drug also unlocked some sexual feelings within her that she normally kept repressed. To see her take more of an aggressive role was refreshing, but Angelique wouldn't let her enjoy her newfound position for very long.

"Are you tired now, Delvin?" my cousin suddenly asked as she lifted both of her bare feet to rest on his knees.

"No way," he replied, admiring the view.

"Angelique, you're such a big tease!" Brittany laughed.

Delvin was now stroking his cock through his pants, as he let one hand caress the beautiful prize resting on his knee. He didn't seem to care one bit that his massive erection was visible to all of us, and at Angelique's suggestion he let her play with his cock, running her toes all over his shaft until he was quite distracted. I had to admire her manipulative skills. She was a master of getting people to do her bidding, and they often had no clue that they were even being manipulated.

"Those movies made you horny, didn't they?" she teased him. "Look how big you are!"

She let her toes run up and down his prick very quickly, forcing him to moan loudly.

"Yes," he replied, surrendering to the pleasure of her lovely feet deftly working his shaft.

Delvin ran his hands up and down her legs, intoxicated by her power over him.

"Mmm...that feels nice," she purred as she tilted her head back, enjoying the massage.

"Whatever turns you on, baby," he said.

Angelique turned to me suddenly with a devilish grin on her face.

"You know what would really turn me on?" she said. "No, I mean...turn us all on?"

Knowing something wild was about to be hatched from that wicked imagination of hers, I started laughing.

"What's that?" he asked, amused.

My cousin stole a look at Megan.

"Tell him," she said.

Megan wasn't prepared to have my cousin defer to her, but it made no difference to the brown-eyed beauty, who now faced the handsome boy with her legs crossed and her hands holding the cover of the DVD we had just watched.

"Are you sure, Angelique?" she asked.

"Tell him," my cousin said firmly.

"I...I mean, we," she began a little nervously, "would like you to...you know...do what that guy did in the video."

I don't know how she and my cousin had hatched this idea, but at some point it must have been discussed between them. Brittany and I looked at each other and broke out laughing.

"Yeah," Angelique said as she prodded his balls with her big toe, "we want you to make it squirt like a fountain."

"A fountain of cum!" Brittany squealed, surprised that she had spoken in such an explicit fashion.

I was laughing so hard I couldn't even speak.

Delvin laughed along with us, barely believing what he had heard as his eyes went from one laughing face to another.

"You girls are unreal," he said. "You really want to do this CFNM thing?"

"Why not?" Angelique said, using her toes to push down his trunks so that we could see his cock. "You're halfway there now!"

Delvin sat there dumbfounded as Angelique continued to tease his cock with her feet.

"And what are the four of you going to do?" he asked.

"We're going to sit right here and watch you," she replied with a wide grin.

"We could do more than that," Delvin said, as the pleasurable sensations of Angelique's footjob were starting to get to him.

"No," she said firmly. "No sex. We just want to watch you jerk off for us."

"Yeah, come on, Delvin," Brittany said, trying to persuade him. "Whip it out."

Delvin seemed a bit dismayed that his chances of having sex with any one of us were squelched by Angelique's injunction. However, after more taunting from all of us, he agreed to give us the show we were demanding from him.

"We really couldn't see too much of you from the other room," I said as he began to pull his bathing suit off without getting up from the chair.

"What she means is that we couldn't see too much of your dick," Brittany laughed.

"Well," he said as the trunks came off, "I hope you're not disappointed."

What sprang into view just then was as impressive as anything I had seen on Angelique's DVDs. It actually looked bigger than what I remembered seeing during his lovemaking with Maria.

The four of us giggled as we watched the thick, black shaft stand up stiff and straight, pointing toward the ceiling. Delvin cradled his erect cock in his hand, rubbing his finger over the shaft and glans, proud of its size and girth.

""How do you keep it in your pants?" Angelique laughed, impressed at his prick's massive size.

I noticed that she kept her feet in close proximity to his crotch but did not touch him. Megan looked a bit apprehensive at the sight of his erect cock, but Brittany and I sat there mesmerized.

"How long is it?" I ask him.

"Just over ten inches," he replied proudly.

"Holly thought you were over a foot long when she saw you through the peep holes," Brittany said, watching contentedly as his hands began to stroke his towering shaft.

Delvin smiled. "I tried a penis pump once but it didn't make me any bigger. This is it."

"It's enough!" Angelique commented, as she leaned forward to watch him masturbate.

His cock was a most attractive specimen. In addition to its impressive length, Delvin's penis was thick and satiny, the huge glans a lovely purple/black color that looked like a fat Portobello mushroom sitting atop its massive stalk. I observed that his testicles were quite large, not hanging down low in their sac, but elevated close to his body; the skin taught and smooth, like two, ripe, oversized plums. I could only imagine that they must have been hard at work making "billions of sperm," as he put it, and wondered what awaited us when he finally brought himself to orgasm.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 02



We positioned ourselves on the floor around him in a semicircle as he began to stroke his cock in earnest. Angelique kept both her feet propped up on his thighs and Brittany sat at his feet, resting one elbow on the armchair, intently observing his every motion.

"I've seen my brother jerk off a few times," she said to him as her eyes followed the up and down motion of his hand, "but he's nowhere as big as you."

Delvin almost stopped stroking himself when he heard this.

"Damn!" he said. "You watch your own brother beat his meat? You are one wicked girl!"

She laughed. "I like the way you do it better. Nice and slow."

He resumed his cadence as the four of us continued to observe him.

"I'll bet you have a gallon of semen in those things!" Angelique squealed as she suddenly poked her big toe into his sac.

We all laughed at her comment, but Delvin simply watched in awe as her pink toenails sensuously tickled his scrotum.

"How far can you make it shoot?" Megan suddenly asked.

He thought a moment, never releasing his hand from his cock.

"Well, one time, after this chick was blowing me for over an hour, I shot it about six or seven feet."

This impressed the other girls, but I had seen such a feat performed by Andre Wilkins and Portland Turner only a week ago, so I knew it was certainly possible.

"But I think I'm going to beat that record today," he said as his breathing began to come in short gasps.

"Really?" I said. "Why do you think that?"

He was now moving his hands faster and faster over his cock, concentrating his attention upon the area just below the glans.

"Because I haven't cum in almost a week. Plus, I've been playing with myself for over an hour while watching those videos."

He had an interesting technique I thought: mechanical, precise, and never fluctuating in tempo or style, which seemed to me to be perfect for forcing out the armies of hot sperm I knew were anxiously waiting for joyous release.

Angelique continued to dig her toes into his swelling sac.

"I'll bet you shoot a huge load right across the room," she teased him.

"Or maybe it will go straight up and hit the ceiling," Brittany suggested, running one of her hands up and down his leg.

"Just don't get any of it on me," Megan said, her eyes glued to Delvin's furiously stroking hand.

"Oh, shut up, Megan!" Angelique said.

Delvin, although interested in what we were saying, seemed too preoccupied with his masturbation to allow our banter to distract him. He only offered a grunt in response to Megan's request, but eventually managed to tell her and me not to sit directly in front of him as we might get anointed with his ejaculate. At his request, we both moved away to the left and right, respectively: I, next to my cousin, and Megan next to Brittany. 

"Would you like me to take off your shirt, Delvin? You'll be more comfortable," I said, noticing that he was now sweating quite profusely.

"Yeah, babe. It's way too fucking hot in here."

I got up and helped him remove his shirt, and he let out an audible moan as he had to reluctantly remove his hand from his penis, causing it to bob back and forth in the air unattended.

"It's so funny!" Megan laughed. "Look at it!"

There was nowhere else to look. His huge prick did look strange as I watched it pulse with a rhythm all its own, but as soon as his shirt was off, he quickly went back to his self-pleasuring. I decided to remain standing behind him, my hands resting on his shoulders, anxious to witness what I was hoping would be a spectacular climax.

When he announced that he was close to ejaculating, the four of us moved back a little and grew silent, focusing our combined attention on his cock, which was now leaking copious amounts of precum.

"Ladies, I can't take this much more of this," he gasped as his hand teased the tip of his shaft with lighting-fast jerks.

"You can't come yet," Angelique suddenly declared.

"What?" Delvin said, still pumping his cock.

"You can't come yet," she repeated, digging her toes hard into his balls.

"Hey! That hurts!" he hollered, releasing his cock from his hands.

"I'm sorry," Angelique said. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"What's going on, Angelique?" I asked her, upset that she had ruined his, as well as our, enjoyment. 

"Do you have a video camera?" she asked Delvin.

"Oh, man! Now you ask?" he groaned.

"I want to get this all on tape," she said. "If you don't have one, we can use mine."

"Oh, Angelique," Brittany said. "Why didn't you let him finish? Maybe he doesn't want to do your stupid video."

"No, no, that's okay," Delvin said. "I don't mind. Actually, it's a great idea. I've been meaning to tape some of my sex scenes. But it's got to stay between us. I don't want the world to know about my private sex life. Plus you girls could get into a lot of trouble."

"No problem," my cousin answered. "Where's your video camera?"

Delvin had me fetch the camera from the closet and I handed it to Angelique who insisted that she film the whole thing.

Taking up her position several feet in front of him, she began to assume the role of director, instructing each of us as to what our acting duties would be.

"Okay, Brittany, you're fine where you are," she began. "Megan, you sit where I was, and Holly you stand up behind him like you were doing."

Once we were all in place, and she was satisfied with that she saw, she told Delvin to resume masturbating. He didn't need much encouragement, as he was still hard, and I didn't think it would take him long to cum.

"Holly, keep your head next to his so I can get your reaction to the cumshot," my cousin said as she took a few steps closer to us.

I did as I was told and lowered my head down a bit so that my chin was resting on his right shoulder.

"That's great," Angelique said happily. "Just stay like that."

I enjoyed being so close to the gorgeous and sexy boy, feeling his warmth and animal lust transfer itself to me as he pulled on his erection with long, hard strokes. Brittany and Megan, who were now seated on the floor on either side of him, ran their hands over his legs and thighs, teasing him with all kinds of sexual remarks. I was especially surprised at Megan, who now seemed to have lost most of her prior inhibitions and was speaking to him in the most provocative way. I realized that the pot was responsible for her apparent lack of propriety, and knew that she probably would have never consented to act in our lascivious production had she not been under the influence of the mood-altering drug. Nonetheless, I found it to be a pleasure to see her so loose and fun-loving, and Delvin, despite desperately wanting to cum, couldn't help but take notice of her increased interest in him.

"I want to see it spit," she said to Delvin, as she rested her chin on his right knee.

Angelique laughed at this comment, but I could tell that she highly approved of Megan's inspired aggressive behavior by zooming in on her pretty face.

"Excellent, Megan. Excellent." my cousin said. "Keep talking to him like that. Just like those girls did in the movie."

Elated by Angelique's comment, Megan continued her verbal assault.

"You know what we want to see, Delvin?" she asked.

Without waiting for his response, and without saying a word, she simply stuck her tongue between her teeth and made a "tic...tic" sound, sharply turning her head after each "tic," allowing her eyes to gaze off into the distance. Angelique and I immediately understood what she meant, but Brittany looked confused.

"He's like cumming, right?" Megan explained to the puzzled girl. "And my eyes are following the squirts."

"Oh, yeah!" Brittany chuckled. "Tic, tic...that's funny!"

Delvin was now pumping his cock at whirlwind speed, and I found myself pouring a litany of filth into his ear.

"You girls are driving me fucking crazy!" he cried, as I watched his ass rise several inches off the chair.

"I want to see some sperm!" Angelique ordered.

"Time for the money shot!" I laughed, allowing my body to get out of camera view.

"Pay attention, Holly!" Angelique said. "Move your head in close to his. And you two," she said to Brittany and Megan, "move in closer...that's good, perfect. Now I have all four of you in the frame. Don't move!"

It seemed to me that my cousin seemed quite comfortable in her self-appointed role as director and continued to give us final instructions as Delvin got ready to relinquish his load.

"No! Don't look at me, Megan!" she hollered. "Look at his dick!"

Megan dutifully followed Angelique's directions: her face, and Brittany's, only a few inches away from the towering, black phallus.

"Beautiful!" Angelique said. "Anytime you're ready, Delvin."

"Come on," Brittany said, letting her fingers lightly touch his balls. "Let's have a nice, big cumshot!"

In response to her command, Delvin suddenly made a funny grimace as he was gripped by a powerful orgasm.

"Oh shit! Oh fuck!" he screamed.

I was so glad that Angelique had thought to videotape his orgasm because she and I would get great enjoyment from watching it during the subsequent weeks of my stay. And seeing it played back, where I could take my time and savor every sordid moment, made me realize what devilish girls we really were.

"Bet you can't reach me!" Angelique squealed, as Delvin's prick reared back, ready to fire.

At first, only a tiny stream of cum flowed out of his penis, running over his fingers and down onto his huge balls. And then, only a second later, this was followed by a massive eruption of sperm that shot out with such force that it flew up and over Angelique's head to impact with the wall behind her—the same wall that had served as our private viewing station into Delvin's late-night sexual escapades.

"Holy shit!" Angelique laughed, still keeping her camera focused on Delvin's climaxing prick.

Brittany, Megan, and I looked at each other in shock and amusement in response to his stupendous cumshot. But no sooner had we recovered from one surprise than we were gifted with another marvelous display of sperm acrobatics.

Pointing his dick straight up, we watched as another long jet of cream was launched, sailing far over his head and past my face, where a small portion of ejaculate found its way into my hair.

"Cream rinse!" Angelique shouted, as the cum dribbled off my bangs and hung like tiny gelatinous strands in front of my eyes.

Megan and Brittany were in hysterics.

"Great shot, Delvin!" Brittany laughed, applauding him. 

"Great catch, Holly!" Megan added.

Delvin was deep in the throes of orgasm, hardly able to concentrate on anything except forcing as much sperm out of his swollen dick as possible. Being so focused, he really could not respond to the antics going on around him. However, his eyes did register surprise when he saw Megan's hand suddenly replace his on his cock.

Angelique, Brittany, and I were shocked to see our timid friend take the huge, spurting prick into her own little hand, heedless of the rivers of sperm spewing out of it, and masturbate him while the sticky semen cascaded down over the stiff shaft and onto her fingers in swift torrents.

"Yeah!" Angelique cried. "Jerk it off, Megan!"

She hardly needed any encouragement. With just her thumb and forefinger, she teased the tip of his cock with quick, deliberate strokes, and in a matter of seconds was rewarded with a series of multiple cumshots. Delvin couldn't believe what was happening and held in his breath as the pleasurable sensations overtook him. From my vantage point, his orgasm looked like a volley of whitish blurs that exploded from the tip of his penis in an almost angry fashion to shoot high into the air toward my cousin, who deftly stepped back a little to avoid being splattered. Megan's fingers were awash with sperm, but she applied herself diligently to his masturbation, even getting Brittany to hold the base of his shaft firmly in place so as to give her more control over him. Delvin's prick responded by surrendering one enormous load after another.

"Tic, tic," Megan laughed, as our eyes followed each trajectory of gooey cum as it sailed out into the room.

At some point during the spectacle, I draped my arms around Delvin's neck, quite unaware that I had done it. I don't know if it bothered Angelique to see me so intimate with her object of fascination, but she didn't seem to care, which struck me as surprising considering her feelings toward him. For me it was an immense turn-on to cradle him so close to me, and to be able to feel his masculine passion submit to the will of Megan's blistering handjob.

I looked down at the laughing faces of Brittany and Megan, who were thoroughly engrossed in masturbating Delvin's prick. Not wanting to give Megan the upper hand, Brittany now took over from her friend, encircling his penis in her hand and giving him several intense strokes. As she pulled up, Delvin cried out and once again fired off a thick stream of semen that ended up splashing into the coffee table.

"This is fucking unbelievable!" Angelique exclaimed as she moved in for a close-up of his prick.

Again the giant penis reared back and fired off another burst of creamy sauce, this time shooting straight up and landing right back down onto Brittany's stoking hand. I was shocked when I saw Megan lean in and dip her tongue into the freshly spilled semen that dripped from her friend's hand.

"Go, Megan!" Angelique cried as she zoomed in to get a close-up of the unprecedented event.

Brittany and I squealed as Megan let the sticky cream spill out of her mouth in one giant glob and then sucked it back in to swallow it down.

"Oh, my God!" Brittany screamed in response to Megan's unexpected maneuver. 

Momentarily preoccupied with Megan's cum-swallowing act, Brittany failed to notice that Delvin's cock was now pointing directly at her face. Before she realized it, a huge stream of cum shot out and splashed into her cheek, leaving a sticky mass of sperm dripping from her nose and chin. The three of us squealed with joy.

"You got a fucking facial!" Angelique exclaimed, barely able to stand up.

Megan fell onto the floor laughing as Brittany ran out toward the bathroom. As Delvin's orgasm began to subside, he began to slowly return to his senses. I drew my arms away and fell into the chair next to him, totally overcome by what I had just seen. He was panting heavily, his entire body covered in sweat.

"I've never cum like that, ever!" he admitted in between taking in huge gulps of air. "Never in my whole fucking life!"

Angelique stopped the video camera and sat down next to me.

"Aren't you glad I decided to tape it?" she asked him.

"Real glad," was all he could reply.

Angelique rewound the tape a little and showed Megan and I the amazing christening by cum.

"What the hell got into you, Megan? That was great!" Angelique said.

To be paid a compliment by my cousin was a rare thing for the petite brunette to experience, and she showed her appreciation with a big smile.

"Your mother always keeps telling everybody that they've got to experience life...so, I decided to take her advice."

"What did his cum taste like?" I asked her.

"A little salty, but not as bad as I thought."

"Maria always tells me it tastes sweet," Delvin offered.

"I wouldn't go that far," Megan replied. "But it's not horrible."

"See, I told you!" Angelique said. "You have to try new stuff."

"Want a lick?" Megan asked, offering her sperm-coated hand to us.

"Ah...no," my cousin said, politely.

"What about you, Holly?"

"No, thanks," I said, watching her play with the gooey mass.

Megan gave us both a reproving look.

"Well, now you can't complain about me anymore, because I've done something the two of you have never done."

Having said that, she rose to her feet and rubbed her palms together, slowly separating her hands so we could all see the sticky strands of Delvin's cum as it fell in clumps from her fingers.

"It's so messy!" she laughed as she headed toward the bathroom.

"You were great, baby," Delvin said to her as she passed by.

"Just don't forget to ask your manager about the music video," she reminded him.

While Megan and Brittany were in the bathroom cleaning up, Angelique took me into the kitchen where she helped me to wash away the tiny residue of sperm still clinging to my hair.

"Can you believe how much he came?" she asked me, as she took a towel to my hair.

I wanted to tell her that I had seen a similar display of orgasmic prowess only a week earlier, but could only shake my head in wonderment.

"Especially that first shot," I replied. "It flew about a foot above your head."

"I have to show this tape to some of my friends," she said.

"You promised him that you wouldn't let anyone else see it."

"He'll never know about it."

"But you promised."

"Will you stop being so naïve for once?" she said, peeved. "I'm not going to show it to the whole world, just a couple of friends."

When we returned to the living room we found Delvin with his bathing trunks back on and cleaning the floor, chair, and coffee table in the aftermath of his orgasm. Brittany and Megan sat together on the couch sipping sodas, watching him.

"What time is it?" Brittany asked me.

"It's 2:15," I said, looking down at my watch.

"Is anybody tired?" Angelique asked us.

We all replied in the negative.

"Good. We still have some time before my mother gets home."

"Time for what?" Delvin asked her.

"To smoke some more pot!"

All of us agreed that that would be an excellent thing to do.

Delvin offered us some sandwiches and chips, as we were all famished, and then we got down to the serious business of smoking his expensive stash. After complimenting him on his outstanding sexual performance, the subject got around to Maria and his dwindling infatuation with her.

"She wants to get married," he said, the words catching in his throat. "I'm only twenty, man. I'm not ready for that shit."

"Did you tell her that?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I told her, but she doesn't want to hear it."

"Why don't you break up with her?" Brittany suggested.

"Because she gives good head!" he laughed.

"Yeah, we know," Angelique said.

"How would you..."

"The holes in the wall, remember?" Megan reminded him.

"Oh yeah," he said, taking a long drag on his joint. "You saw her suck me off?"

"And swallow the whole load," Angelique laughed.

"I thought she was going to choke!" Brittany added.

Delvin let his hand fall casually down onto his crotch.

"I guess I do pack quite a mouthful," he said.

"You could populate a planet, Delvin," my cousin remarked whimsically.

The conversation then turned to more topical matters like his burgeoning music career and his plans for the future.

"I'm going to keep doing this shit for as long as I can, then settle down by the time I'm thirty-five and raise a family," he said. "Probably retire by the time I'm fifty or so and live off my royalties."

"I'd say that's a pretty good plan," I said, taking the final bite of my sandwich.

"For every guy like me, there's thousands and thousands who will never achieve what I've got. I've been lucky."

"Yes, but you're also very talented."

"There's lots of talented people walking the streets, but they don't have a music career. Like I said...I've been lucky."

I appreciated Delvin's self-effacing attitude. Despite all his money and fame, he was essentially an honest, down-to-earth person with no pretensions to be anything more than exactly what he was. He looked at me, studying my face as if trying to read my mind.

"What are your plans, Holly?" he asked. "What are you going to do with your life?"

"Well, I start college this fall at UCLA. I'm studying to be a writer."




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 03



"Yes," I replied. "What's his name?"

"Antares."

"That's the name of a star, isn't it?"

"A giant, red star in the constellation of Scorpio," she said. "You should know. It's your sign!"

I hated it when Angelique got the upper hand with me, but I ignored her outburst.

"Are you going to ride him?"

"Right now. Want to watch me?"

"Sure."

Angelique placed a blanket on the horse's back and then secured the saddle. I followed her as she led Antares out into the coral.

"I'm just going to ride him around here today so you can see him in action," she said, as she mounted the horse. "Would you open the gate please?"

I did as she requested and watched as the horse and his rider broke into a full gallop. I was amazed at how skilled a horsewoman Angelique was, as she rode Antares in a wide circuit around the estate, leaping hurdles and other obstacles with the greatest of ease. Ten minutes later she and Antares were back in the coral, her face flushed and happy.

"Every time I ride this horse it happens," she laughed as she dismounted.

"What?"

"What do you think?"

"I can't read your mind, Angelique."

"Look at my face," she said.

"You're out of breath."

"No, you twit. I had an orgasm!"

I laughed out loud. "Are you kidding?"

"No," she replied. "Look! He's excited too!"

She pointed to the underside of the horse, where I discovered a long, black tube of flesh protruding from its underbelly. I stood there with a grin on my face.

"That happens sometimes when I brush him or when I ride him for a while," she informed me as she led the horse into the stable.

"It's so long!" I remarked as I watched the erect penis snake back and forth. "I guess you must turn him on."

She laughed. "Sometimes I wonder what's going on in that little brain of his. You're a naughty boy, Antares!"

The horse whinnied loudly in response to her rebuke, but she petted him gently on his forehead and he quickly calmed down. After she had put him back in his stall and fed him, we took a walk in my aunt's garden. I had never seen so many different varieties of flowers in bloom at one time, and the air was sweet with their fragrant aroma. There was a lovely gazebo in the garden, which was made out of white wicker and contained several tables and chairs of the same design. Angelique indicated that we should stop there and rest for a while.

"Don't say it," she began even before I had a chance to sit down. "I know what you're going to ask me."

"Well, I'm going to ask anyway," I replied. "What the hell is going on?"

She sat down in a chair a few feet away from me and thought a moment, as if trying to decide how much of her secret she should reveal.

"You remember Lenore, don't you?"

At the mention of the woman's name I felt a twinge of nervousness come over me.

"Yes," I replied.

"Well, she's coming here tomorrow night for dinner and she wants to see you."

My heart sank. Despite my silence this past year, I could not get out of my head that the Sisterhood might have somehow discovered that I had infiltrated their secret meeting and witnessed their peculiar rituals. And now I would have to pay the price of my transgression.

"Why does she want to see me?" I asked, the words catching in my throat.

"Because she likes you," Angelique said, smiling. "And she wants you to become a member of our Society."

My eyes widened. "Our Society?"

"Yes, our Society. Mom and I already belong to it."

"What's the name of this Society?" I asked, feeling my anxiety increase.

"'The Philanthropic Society of Paris,'" she answered. "It's a very big charitable organization that holds these huge meetings several times a year in different parts of the world. All kinds of rich and famous people go to these things. The last meeting was held in Stockholm, Sweden about three months ago. We had a fantastic time."

I relaxed a little at this news, but not completely; not where the Sisterhood was concerned.

"Why does she want to invite me? I'm not rich or famous."

"I told you, she likes you," Angelique said, sensing my unease. "Of course mom pulled a few strings too. Is there something wrong with that? You don't look happy."

It seemed to me that membership in this mysterious Society was a big deal to Angelique, and I didn't want to diffuse her enthusiasm by appearing too suspicious of it, which would put me in the uncomfortable position of having to explain my anxiety—and that, of course, was impossible to do.

"I guess I'm still tired from my trip," I lied.

"Well, all I know is that it's a great honor to be invited, and you should be glad Lenore thinks so highly of you."

That Lenore had desired to bestow upon me her lavish attentions the last time we met was no secret to anyone. My aunt had intimated as much. But the thought that she somehow knew about my deception made me wary.

"So, that's this big business project you and your mother are involved in? Raising money for poor people?"

"It goes far beyond that, Holly," she replied coolly.

"How far?"

"I can't tell you. But my mom and Lenore will explain a lot more about it tomorrow night. Just act surprised. My mother will kill me if she finds out I told you anything."

"But why all the secrecy?" I asked. "Don't you think it's kind of strange?"

My cousin looked at me with an expression almost bordering upon sympathy.

"Look, I went through the same thing, okay? It's like a test. She wants to see if you're...I don't know...worthy. 

"Worthy? Of what?"

"Please, Holly. I can't tell you anything else."

With that she rose from her chair and told me we should get ready for dinner. On the way back I asked her several more questions, but all I received were a few cryptic responses or dead silence. The famous Angelique stubbornness was in full force.

Neither my aunt or Angelique made any mention of their unique enterprise at the dinner table that evening, and I felt no desire to broach the subject. For one thing, I was exhausted; the effects of my long trip finally beginning to take their toll upon me. For another, I felt it impolite to raise the issue since neither of them seemed inclined to discuss it. I would simply have to wait for tomorrow and hope that my tiredness would send me into blissful oblivion, where Lenore, and all thoughts of the Sisterhood, would be mercifully expunged.

I finally got to bed around 9:00 PM and enjoyed a sound and dreamless sleep. I awoke twelve hours later feeling rejuvenated, luxuriating in the scent of honeysuckle that wafted in through the window from the garden below. I slowly got out of bed and walked toward the source of the delicious aroma, sticking my head out to look down upon the oasis of flowers below and lustily drinking in their fragrance. It was a glorious day, the sun shining brightly in a cloudless sky.

After spending a few minutes gazing at the scenery from my window, I decided to take a shower and get dressed. I put on a pair of jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt, and walked into the hallway where I found a door in the northern wall that led out onto the castle's parapet. I walked along the narrow causeway until I reached the northern wall, and was greeted with a most spectacular view of the entire Anjou estate. 

My hair had grown very long over the past year, reaching halfway down my back. The wind, much more powerful on the castle rooftop, now blew it in all directions as I fought to keep it under control. As I stood there admiring the breathtaking view, I saw my aunt Phoebe and Angelique exit the main entrance of the castle. My aunt was dressed in a lovely lavender suit and carried a small valise in her hands. A moment later a black limousine pulled up and stopped in front of the entrance. I saw Jake get out of the car and open the rear door of the vehicle for my aunt, who said something to Angelique before getting in. The car then drove off, leaving my cousin looking somewhat annoyed. She went back into the house and I decided to get some breakfast and find out what was going on.

I found Angelique in the foyer as I came downstairs. She was dressed in a pair of white shorts and matching top, and her sneakers were full of mud. She was removing them as I approached her.

"Where's your mother off to?" I asked.

"Oh!" she said, startled. "So you're finally up. You slept a long time."

"I think it's because the air is so clean here. No smog, like in LA."

She took both soiled shoes and placed them neatly to one side.

"I was going to pick some roses but it must have rained last night and I stepped right in a pile of mud."

"So, where did she go?" I asked again.

"I don't know. She doesn't tell me everything. Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"Ask the cook to make you some breakfast. I'm going to ride Antares for a while. See you in an hour."

She ran down the hall toward her bedroom without another word.

I had the cook prepare a sumptuous breakfast of poached eggs, croissants, strawberries, and juice, after which I decided to take a walk in the vineyard. I said hello to the locals who had been employed to harvest the delicious fruit, but as my French was somewhat limited, I really couldn't hold much of a conversation with anyone. Sampling some of the delectable-looking grapes for myself, I spent another half hour just walking around enjoying the beautiful scenery, hoping to stave off the trepidation I was feeling at meeting Lenore once again.

It was not that I feared Lenore per se, but rather the magnitude of her power over so many other seemingly powerful women, all of whom had shown—at least from what I had seen at my aunt's initiation the previous year—the most absolute loyalty to her. As a wielder of such power, she really didn't have to lift a finger in order to have her directives obeyed. All she had to do was speak the word and her whim would be served. And if that meant finding a way of silencing me, it could easily be accomplished without getting her own hands dirty.

As I walked down the narrow, muddied lanes separating the rows of ripening fruit, some of which still bore traces of rain from the previous evening's storm, I began to think that maybe the entire idea of inviting me to become a member of her "philanthropic" society was nothing more than an elaborate scheme to lull me into a false sense of security so that she could get rid of me via some clandestine means manufactured to look like an accident. And the idea that my aunt might possibly be involved in this scheme made me shudder. Of course, all my feelings were based upon the presumption that my secret had somehow been found out, and was only waiting for the proper time and place for its disclosure and my subsequent dissolution. Of course, there was also the possibility that my secret was safe and that the invitation was genuine. But it was the uncertainty of the situation that was causing me the most anguish, and I knew that if my worst fears were realized, I would have to face them alone, far away from the sheltering influence of home and family.

Yet, the image of Lenore as an evil, heartless ringleader of an international gang of women cutthroats was not consistent with the persona she presented to the outside world. She had always been warm and engaging to anyone she met, and she had always treated me with the utmost consideration. Even during Andre Wilkins's "performance," when he had dared to question another Sisterhood member's authority, she did not show any sign of cruelty or malice toward him. Although she did deliver a harsh reprimand condemning his boldness, she employed no verbal or physical abuse in his chastisement, nor did she allow anyone else to do so. This thought offered me some temporary comfort as I made my way toward the main building where all the wine was stored.

There were several men working just outside the entrance to the storehouse, hauling heavy crates filled with wine bottles onto a truck. They smiled at me as they went about their work, and one man, who appeared to be a foreman of sorts, walked over to me carrying a bottle of wine in his hands.

"Bon jour, mademoiselle," he said, smiling as he offered me the bottle. "This is from our most recent harvest. I think you will enjoy it."

"Thank you," I replied, accepting the gift. "I didn't think anyone here spoke English."

"Most of them don't, but I do."

I was immediately taken by his rugged good looks and the gentle, brown eyes that seemed both friendly and mysterious at the same time. I don't think he was much older than I was. He was dressed simply, as most of the other workers were, in a pair of jeans and a plain, white t-shirt. His long, brown hair, thick and unruly, fell into his eyes as he spoke.

"I saw you coming from a mile away," he said, looking in the direction from which I had come. "You looked sad, so I thought maybe this would cheer you up." He tapped on the bottle. "It's a little sweet, but I think it will suit you."

"That was very thoughtful of you," I said, looking up at him.

For a few moments we stood there smiling dumbly at each other saying nothing. And then, realizing we had not introduced ourselves, he extended his hand to me.

"My name is Jacques LaSalle. I am the overseer of the Anjou vineyards. You are madame Anjou's niece?"

"Yes," I said, accepting his hand. "My name is Holly McKenzie."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Holly," he said, holding onto my hand a little longer than might be considered customary. But, for some reason, his presumption did not seem to bother me. Maybe it was because I sensed a genuineness about him that made me feel comfortable in his presence, and which also made him reluctant to break the physical connection between us.

"You speak English very well," I noted.

"Your aunt was the one responsible for my education...and this job."

"Really?" I asked with surprise. "She put you through school?"

"Yes. She has helped many people in this country to obtain an education through her scholarship programs. She is a most remarkable woman."

He turned away just then to bark some orders to his men and then resumed.

"After I graduated from the University, she offered me a job running her winery business. I've been working here for three years now and I am very happy."

It was now very plain to see why my aunt had been so busy this past year, and explained, in part, her sporadic communication with my family during that time. Her marital problems, the acquisition and maintenance of the Anjou estate, and her involvement with her philanthropic enterprises must have made incredible demands upon her time, not to mention her mental and physical energies. To now learn that Jacques had been a direct recipient of her benefaction made me proud of her.
"I'm happy for you, Jacques," I said. "It's a beautiful place to work."

"Speaking of which," he said. "I must get back to it. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Thanks for the wine. Maybe we'll see each other again."

"I'm sure we will," he said warmly.

He went back to issuing commands to the men on the truck as I made my way back toward the castle. At about midpoint in my journey, just as I was clearing the last row of vineyards, a middle-aged man, who was kneeling and picking grapes, called to me.

"Mademoiselle," he said, as he continued to gather bunches of grapes into a large wicker basket. "Parler vous français?" 

"No, monsieur," I replied, stopping to watch him at his task.

He seemed to me to be around 50 years old, and was dressed in a pair of gray slacks and white, short-sleeve shirt. On his head he wore a large sombrero for protection from the sun. He was an attractive man, with finely chiseled features and a full, black beard. He stopped what he was doing for a moment and smiled at me.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "No kiss for me today?"

To hear him suddenly speak perfectly good English startled me.

"My aunt is expecting me," I said, backing away in response to his rather forward comment.

As I turned to go, he burst out laughing, and rose to his feet with his arms outstretched.

"Holly, wait! It's me! It's your uncle Pierre!"

I turned to look at him, still not recognizing the face, but his voice was familiar enough.

"Is that really you, uncle?" I said.

"Yes, of course it's me!" he chuckled. "You've never seen me with a beard that's all. It covers half my face!"

As I continued to stare at him I realized that it was indeed my uncle.

"Oh, my God! It is you!" I cried, running into his arms. "I'm sorry uncle. I didn't recognize you!"

He held me close to him for a long time and kissed both my cheeks.

"You have become a young lady!" he said, holding my face in the palms of his hands. "It's been two years since I've seen you last, is it not?"

"I think so," I replied. "But what are you doing here?"

"Your aunt told me you were coming to visit, and I come here a few times a month anyway to check on the grapes, so I thought I would say hello to my beautiful niece."

"But doesn't this vineyard belong to aunt Phoebe now?"

"Of course. But my name still goes on the label. She knows I stop by here on my way to my other vineyards."

"You have other vineyards?"

"Oh, yes. This is only one of several that I own. The castle too—it is only one of many."

I had never realized the extent of my uncle's wealth or power. I mistakenly believed that the castle and vineyards were his sole possessions. To learn that these properties were only part of a much more vast collection impressed me greatly.

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and then he gathered his things together and we headed back in the direction I had come, where he told me he had left his car.

"I'll drive you to the house," he said, as he put the basket of fruit in the back seat of his Porsche. "I was on my way there to see you before I decided to pick a few grapes. Is your aunt at home?"

"No, but Angelique is."

"Good. I want to talk to her."

As we pulled up to the front entrance of the castle, we found Angelique bestride Antares, having just returned from her morning ride. Father and daughter exchanged greetings and she dismounted, leading the horse to the stable with her father in tow. It appeared to me that he wanted to speak to her in private, so I went into the house and, as it was close to noon, had the cook prepare a light lunch and sat out in the courtyard to enjoy it.

About 15 minutes later I heard the sound of raised voices coming from the opposite side of the courtyard. It was Angelique and her father, and they were arguing about something. There were too many trees and statuary in the way for either of us to see the other, but the acoustics were such that I could hear every word.

"What your mother is doing is a disgrace," my uncle said. "It's shameful."

"What you did to her was shameful, papa," Angelique replied. "And please keep your voice down. She might hear us."

"Let her hear. What do I care? The girl should be told the truth anyway."

"She'll be told when my mother decides to tell her. You gave her your word."

There was a pause, and then I heard a loud bang, like that of a fist making contact with a resonant surface.

"It's disgraceful I say!" my uncle said angrily. "Why did she have to...this ridiculous thing in my face?"

He broke off speaking in English in mid-sentence, making loud exclamations in French, which I could not understand.

"It's not ridiculous and it's not your property anymore, papa. Let it go."

"I could understand when these...these events took place in the city. But this is degrading!"

"That all depends on your point of view," Angelique said impassively. "I think they're lots of fun."

"Sacré mère!" my uncle exclaimed. "She thinks they are lots of fun! It doesn't bother you that you use people in this way?"

"You use people, too, papa—in your business, your...affairs. You even used mom to shelter some of your shady business deals, so please don't preach morals to me."




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 03



For a moment it grew quiet, and all I could hear was the sound of the wind rustling in the trees. I wanted desperately to know exactly what it was that had provoked my uncle's resentment and condemnation, but nothing specific could be deduced from the content of their conversation. What "ridiculous thing" was my uncle referring to? And what was so "disgraceful" about it?

"You are my daughter, Angelique," my uncle said, breaking the silence. "And I love you very much. I am sorry that I hurt you and your mother, but you're involvement with these people can only lead to no good. I want you to stop seeing them."

"I'm sorry, papa, but you can no longer tell me what to do."

The finality of the retort caused another long, uncomfortable silence. And then I caught a brief glimpse of my uncle as he stormed out of the courtyard, looking very distraught. As he reached the door leading into the house, he turned around sharply and faced his daughter.

"I am not coming back," he said emphatically. "I will not step foot in this house until you and your mother come to your senses. And you can tell her I said so."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and quickly exited the courtyard.

I didn't see Angelique for the rest of the day, and knowing that her dispute with her father would have put her in a decidedly sullen mood, I thought it best not to seek her company. I returned to my bedroom and made some entries in my journal, and then put on my bathing suit and went for a swim in my aunt's indoor pool. I swam for about an hour and then took a nap on one of the lounge chairs. I fell asleep quickly, waking up several hours later to see the sun dipping low in the western sky.

It was now almost 6:30 PM, and I was feeling hungry and a little chilly. I threw my towel around me and headed up to my room, encountering not a single servant along the way, which I thought strange. Even the kitchen was deserted. So much for dinner I thought.

After I had showered and dressed, I made my way to the kitchen to find something to eat. The refrigerator was full of all different kinds of food that required time-consuming preparation, and I was not in the mood to spend several hours in such a task. After some searching, I came across a plate of cold lamb chops, which I cut into several thin pieces and placed between two slices of bread. I then poured myself a glass of wine and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. I had only taken a few mouthfuls when my cousin came bursting through the door.

What the hell are you doing?" she asked gruffly.

"What does it look like?" I responded.

"Are you crazy? We're having dinner with Lenore tonight. Did you forget?"

"No, I didn't forget," I replied between mouthfuls. "But I was hungry. And besides, where is everybody anyway?"

"They'll be here in half an hour. Now put that stuff away."

I did not like being reprimanded by my cousin, so I ignored her and took another bite of my sandwich just to show her that I was not one to jump at her commands.

"Holly, please!"

"All right, take it easy," I said, as I slowly returned the plate of food to the refrigerator.

"What happened to the cook and all the other servants?" I asked.

"Mom sent them home."

"Why?"

"Because Lenore requested it."

"Lenore requested it?"

"She has her reasons."

"And what about dinner?"

"They're bringing home Chinese food. You like Chinese food, don't you?"

"I like Chinese food when it's made in LA," I replied, shaking my head. "This is getting weirder all the time."

Angelique laughed at my comment, showing no sign of the distress she must have felt from her previous confrontation with her father. In fact, she seemed very excited about our upcoming dinner with Lenore and her friends, and could hardly wait to get me to her bedroom to show me what dress she was going to wear for the occasion.

She pulled the doors to the armoire wide open and pulled out a simple, low-cut, black dress with lace frills on the bottom.

"How do you like it?" she asked.

"It suits you," I replied. "Direct and to the point."

"You better get dressed, too. It's getting late."

I had already chosen my outfit the day before. It was a beautiful, emerald-green dress that I had bought at one of the Parisian boutiques on a previous visit. It had always been my favorite dress, and when Angelique saw me in it she was spellbound.

"A young Elizabeth Taylor," she said, sizing me up. "That's who you look like. I finally figured it out."

She had me model the dress for her, complimenting me highly on my appearance.

"Lenore is going to love you in this," she said happily. "You have no right to be so fucking gorgeous!"

I allowed her to make some last-minute adjustments to my hair and clothes, enduring each little poke and jab with a patient sigh.

"Did you know that this dress is the same color as your eyes?" she asked as she pulled my hemline down. "Outrageous!"

I thought it incongruous that we should be dressed so formally when we were going to have a casual dinner of Chinese take-out food. But my aunt had insisted we wear our formal attire out of respect for Lenore, and I was in no position to argue the issue. Although I was still feeling nervous about meeting her, I still wanted to make a positive impression upon the older woman, if nothing more than out of respect for myself.

It was just after 8:00 PM when the front door opened and my aunt came waltzing into the foyer, where Angelique and I had remained making final adjustments to our makeup. Lenore, Justine, and Estelle followed her closely; all of them dressed in evening gowns and high heels like my aunt, as if they were going to attend some formal gala event. Jake came up behind them carrying two large bags of Chinese food.

"Leave it all on the kitchen table, Jake," my aunt instructed him.

Jake quickly obeyed and hurried into the kitchen with his packages. As he walked past us, my aunt caught sight of us standing in the corner in front of a huge, ornate 18th-century mirror, which we had used to inspect our appearance. Upon seeing us, she stopped short and stood there with her mouth open.

"Will you look at this, Lenore?" she said. "Who are these two beautiful women?"

"Mon amour!" Lenore exclaimed as she walked over to me and kissed me on both cheeks. "How lovely you are—and so tall!"

Her warm reception seemed to me genuine enough, but the voice inside my head told me to be wary.

"It's a pleasure to see you again Ms. Marceau," I replied with a slight curtsey.

"No, no!" she laughed. "Call me Lenore, please. And you don't have to be formal with me my little beauty. The gowns are just for show, not to impose restrictions upon anyone."

Justine and Estelle greeted me in much the same fashion, commenting on how much I had seemed to mature over the past year. They hadn't changed much themselves during that time. Both of them still sported the same short coiffure, but their auburn hair seemed to have more of a touch of red in it than I had remembered.

"I'm surprised you haven't gone into modeling with a face like yours," Justine said to me.

I might have asked the same of her with her beautiful smile and round, but pretty, face.

"Modeling doesn't interest me," I said. "I'm studying to be a writer."

"Studying?" Estelle said. "One doesn't study to be a writer. One is or one isn't. The little that can be taught isn't worth learning."

"And how would you know?" Justine said. "What writing have you done? You're an accountant!"

"I know a little about the arts," Estelle said, defensively. "You have to live life in order to write about it, that much I know. Holly, you're wasting your time in college."

"She is not wasting her time," my aunt chimed in. "She just doesn't want to get by on her good looks. Come on. Let's have dinner. I'm famished."

We followed my aunt into the kitchen where Jake was busy arranging the food selections on the table. After he was done my aunt dismissed him and she invited each of us to help ourselves to the food, which we then carried into the dining room. My aunt sat at the head of the table with Lenore to her immediate right and Justine and Estelle taking up chairs to her left. Angelique sat next to Lenore and I took the seat next to my cousin, grateful to have a little distance between the Sisterhood leader and myself.

Having feasted on the wonderful Chinese cuisine of downtown LA all my life, I found this particular incarnation of that venerable food greatly lacking. Nonetheless, my aunt and her friends seemed to relish every bite, pausing only to speak a word of praise about how delicious the food was before taking another mouthful. We didn't talk much at the beginning of the meal as we were all hungry, but after our appetites had been whetted somewhat, and the white wine began to take effect, the conversation began to flow freely.

Most of the talk that evening centered around rather mundane issues concerning my aunt's and Lenore's various business ventures, with a heaping serving of jokes thrown in for good measure. For a time the sole topic of discussion was business-related, and Angelique and I were left out of the general conversation. I could see that my cousin was getting irritated at being ignored for so long a time, and she suddenly spoke up, rudely interrupting her own mother who was in the midst of relating a funny tale.

"Dad was here today," she said to my aunt.

"Oh," my aunt replied, trying to hide her annoyance at her daughter's lack of propriety. "What did he want?"

"The same complaints as usual. He said he's not coming back."

"He has to come back to check on the wine. Did you tell him that?"

"I don't think he cares any more mom," my cousin replied, sticking her fork into a piece of meat. "He doesn't approve of...what's going on."

As she said this, she stole a look at Lenore and then at her mother. The older woman cleared her throat and drew herself up in her chair.

"You are not answerable to Pierre any longer, Phoebe," Lenore said. "We can find someone else to take over production here."

"But we are still friends," my aunt said. "And he has great wine-making expertise. It's just that he doesn't like..."

"Me," Lenore said, completing the sentence.

"And then of course..."

"Yes...that."

My aunt suddenly looked at me as if seeing me for the first time that evening.

"Oh, Holly, I'm so sorry," she said. "I think it's time we told you what's going on here."

"That would be nice mom," Angelique emphasized.

All eyes turned to Lenore, who sat contentedly with her wine glass in her hand. She took a sip from the glass and gently laid it back on the table.

"You have been found out, my dear Holly," she said in an incriminating voice. "Your secret has been revealed."

The discomfort I felt in my stomach at that moment made me regret that I had eaten so much of the barely palatable food. The moment I had dreaded for so long was now upon me and I didn't know what to say or do. I looked from face to face, but there was no hint of pity or sympathy in any of them. Lenore's face was the most stern of all.

"What? What secret?" I stammered.

"Phoebe," she said. "Show her."

My aunt lifted her handbag onto the table and withdrew a videocassette, which she handed to Justine.

"Go ahead," she said to her associate. "Let her see it."

Justine walked over to the television set that was standing in one corner of the room and placed the cassette into the VCR. Angelique gripped my hand hard.

"It's going to be okay," she whispered.

But I didn't feel okay. And as soon as I saw the first frame I felt even worse. For there, on the television set's 27-inch screen, was the image of a huge, black penis being furiously masturbated by two sets of hands. One of these belonged to Megan, and the other set, as one could see as the camera panned upwards to reveal the leering face, belonged to me.

"Oh, my God!" I uttered as I buried my face in my hands.

Without thinking, I stumbled out of my chair and ran out of the room, heading toward the front entrance as a chorus of women's voices trailed after me. I flung open the front door and ran out onto the driveway where I halted after hearing Angelique's desperate pleas for me to stop. I stood there shaking in the cool night air, angry with my cousin that she had been so careless with the incriminating tape.

"The only thing worse than this," I said to her as she ran up behind me, "is if that tape wound up in my parent's hands. How fucking stupid can you be?"

I was not used to using curse words as a general rule, and I never used them with Angelique, even though she felt no similar restraint in my presence. She had never seen me really angry before, and I think it shocked her because she stood silently for several moments with her mouth hanging wide open, unable to say anything.

"Are you that careless that you could allow such a thing to get out of your hands?" I said confronting her. "What did you do? Offer it as a gift to your mother?"

She did not remain shocked for long. Reaching out her hand to me, she grabbed it and pulled me to her with a violent jerk.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I said it was going to be okay. Mom and Lenore know all about the video. Their fine with it, trust me."

"Fine with it?" I sneered. "How can they be fine with it? It's a goddamn porno tape!"

"Oh, there's so much you don't understand, Holly. Come back inside and they'll explain everything."

"No!" I hissed. "Do you know how embarrassed I am over this? And you! How could you set me up like that? I want to rip your fucking hair out!"

"Holly, stop it!"

It was my aunt's voice. She was standing in the doorway with Lenore at her side, both of them looking like two truant officers who had just cornered a juvenile delinquent.

"You humiliated me," I said to my aunt. "How could you do this?"

"There is nothing for you to be humiliated about, young lady," Lenore said. "Your aunt found the tape by accident and brought it to me, and I'm glad she did. The tape is the reason why I had your aunt invite you here, so that I could introduce you to our Society."

"Please, Holly, don't make this difficult for me," my aunt implored. "Come inside and we'll talk. Things are not the way they seem."

Angelique stood there quietly, waiting to see what my next move would be.

I lingered for a time considering what to do, but soon realized that my desire to get to the truth outweighed any other desire of mine. I decided that the best thing to do would be to hear them out and proceed from there. With Angelique following closely behind, I went back into the house and sat down once again at the table next to my cousin. Justine and Estelle eyed me curiously, but said nothing.

"Holly," my aunt began. "I want you to listen very closely to what Lenore has to say. If you don't like what you hear, we'll say no more about it and that will be that. Fair enough?"

"I guess so."

My aunt smiled and turned to Lenore. "Do what you think is best."

Lenore reached for a bottle of wine and began to fill her glass. I watched as the golden liquid rose toward the top, the little bubbles reflecting the light like miniature prisms.

"I know you must have a lot of questions," the Sisterhood leader said. "But I would like you to hear what I have to say first. If you have any questions to ask after that, I will gladly answer them. Agreed?"

I nodded my head.

"Very well."

Before she began, she had Angelique trade places with me at the table, so that I was now sitting right next to the older woman. I had never felt more ill at ease in my life.

"I don't want you to feel embarrassed by the fact that we saw the video. Actually, we found it quite amusing."

"Very amusing," Justine laughed.

"I didn't find it amusing when I first saw it," my aunt said to me. "Especially when Angelique told me she had engineered the whole thing. But it proved to me that she and you have a great deal in common with us. More than you know. Lenore will explain it to you."

Lenore took a sip of wine and softly cleared her throat.

"Holly, when I met you last year," she began, "I saw something in you that reminded me of myself at your age; a charming forthrightness, a desire for accomplishment, and the need to control and dominate the world around you."

"You're talking about Angelique," I said.

"No, I'm talking about you," Lenore replied, slightly displeased at having been interrupted.

She let her eyes fall upon my aunt Phoebe, who in turn looked at me half pleadingly.

"Okay," I said. "I'm sorry."

The older woman accepted my apology and continued.

"Angelique does share many of the same qualities as you, but she is a blunt tool compared to your, let's say, more refined sensibilities." 

Lenore turned to my cousin who now sat there wearing a frown.

"Don't be insulted, Angelique," Lenore said. "I speak the truth and you and your mother both know it. You are headstrong and determined to have your way at all costs. And while these traits may serve you well in certain circumstances, they are not the qualities I am seeking in a protégé."

Angelique seemed to take this news with casual indifference rather than with disappointment, as if she had been expecting such a disclosure.

"You, on the other hand," Lenore said turning to me, "possess great insight and flexibility in your dealings with others. And, most importantly, you temper your judgment by considering all circumstances, not just those that suit you. This is the mark of a true leader."

Lenore smiled as she said this, and I noticed that both Justine and Estelle nodded their heads in agreement with their superior's estimation of my psychological profile. But my aunt's face looked sad as she stole a glance at her daughter, who now sat with her hands folded on the table looking pensive. By the looks on both their faces, I surmised that this issue had been discussed previously between all of them, and that they knew what to expect. I, however, had to wonder how Lenore had managed such a prodigious feat of psychoanalysis upon me given our limited contact. I could only imagine that our original encounter had made such an impression upon her that she could not help but arrive at this singular determination.

"From what I have seen," Lenore continued, "and from what your aunt has told me about you, I would like to invite you to become a member of our Philanthropic Society, and to serve alongside me as my protégé in the administration of its duties."

I forced myself to react with surprise to this news, since Angelique had already warned me that the offer would be made.

"It's a great honor," Justine said to me. "No one your age has ever been admitted before."

"Or to such a position of power," Estelle agreed.

I could tell that my aunt was happy for me, yet equally dismayed that her own daughter had been passed over in my favor. Angelique forced a smile, the foreknowledge of Lenore's decision seeming to have less effect upon her than my aunt.

"Well," Lenore asked me. "What do you have to say to that?"

"I'm...flattered." I stammered. "I had no idea you thought of me so highly."

"Nonsense. I can recognize superior quality when I see it."

"Thank you," I said graciously. "May I ask what this Society does?"

"Simply put, it is a Society of women such as myself, your aunt, and others who possess a genuine desire to promote humanitarian efforts throughout the world. We have chapters in over 30 countries, but our corporate headquarters are based here in Paris. We have a very aggressive outreach program spearheaded by some of the most wealthy and influential women in the world. Our intent is to provide money and resources to fund educational and social improvement programs to developing countries, as well as offering charitable services on a global scale. Our ultimate aim is to create a better world by virtue our humanitarianism. Does that sound like an organization you would choose to belong to?"




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 03



Despite my cousin's divulging Lenore's proposal, I nonetheless felt a tinge of pride at being singled out for such an honor by a woman as powerful as Lenore. Yet I could not help but believe that this "humanitarian" society—regardless of the claims made for it by its leader—was something more than it appeared to be on the surface. Knowing the secretive nature of the Sisterhood, I had to consider that the Society was nothing more than a phantom organization designed purposely to shelter a more proactive Society within.

"It sounds very interesting," I replied. "But it also sounds like it would require a lot of my time. I'm still in college, you know."

"I realize that. All we would ask of you in the beginning is to devote a portion of your summer vacation to learn and participate in our programs. I can assure you that it will be a very rewarding experience for you."

"And you will act as my mentor?"

"Yes."

I found myself staring at her longer than what might be considered appropriate, and she responded by lowering her gaze. I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but I think I was trying to search her face for some clue to possible motives that lay hidden behind her placid expression. From what Angelique had intimated, I knew that there had to be a reason as to why she wanted me to be a part of this organization that went far beyond the explanation she had offered.

"I'll have to think about it," I said, staring the older woman in the face.

Lenore's expression registered at first surprise and then dismay as she sought the eyes of my aunt and her two associates—all of whom seemed equally puzzled at my reluctance to jump at her offer. I don't think she had expected the response she received, but she forced a smile nonetheless

"Take all the time you need," she said politely. "There's no rush."

Behind her words was a tinge of disappointment. That I did not readily accept her invitation did not sit well with either Justine or Estelle.

"Holly, I don't think you understand what Lenore is trying to do," Justine began. "This is an opportunity..."

"Justine, let it go," Lenore said softly.

"But she doesn't..."

"This is not your decision to make," Lenore said, slightly raising her voice. "Holly is being prudent and we will say no more about it."

Justine desisted in arguing further, but I could tell that she was greatly displeased at being preempted by her superior.

"May I say something?" Estelle said, raising her hand.

"What is it?" Lenore replied hastily.

"Why don't you just tell Holly the truth? After all, we've seen the video. We know what her character is like, and she is Phoebe's niece. I think she can handle it."

"I agree," Justine quickly jumped in.

"Me too," Angelique added. "I think you should tell her."

Lenore gave my cousin a bemused look, but turned to my aunt.

"You're the one who wanted to play this close to the vest, Phoebe," she said. "I leave it in your hands."

My aunt sat there studying me, her chin resting in the palm of her hand. She was a brilliant tactician, my aunt Phoebe, letting Lenore conduct my interview while quietly evaluating my responses. She must have liked what she heard because she smiled at me and poured herself another glass of wine.

"Everything Lenore has told you is the truth," she said to me. "But there is another, shall we say, 'aspect' to our Society that only a very privileged few know about. After seeing the video and after the way you conducted yourself here tonight, I think we can trust you to keep our secret."

"Are you sure, Phoebe?" Lenore asked. "It is still kind of early."

"I think she's ready, Lenore," my aunt replied without taking her eyes off me. 

"Go ahead, mom. Tell her the whole thing," Angelique said with some impatience.

"I intend to," my aunt replied.

Justine and Estelle seemed greatly pleased by my aunt's decision, but Lenore looked a bit concerned. I think she felt that my indoctrination was proceeding a bit too fast for her liking, but her deference toward my aunt made it obvious that she was not the one to make the final decision. Angelique had no reservations about the truth being revealed to me. She simply sat there with a big grin on her face, growing more fidgety with each passing moment, even ticking me under my arm to emphasize her growing excitability.

"Holly," my aunt began, "I discovered your little contribution to the pornographic industry a few weeks after you left San Diego. I caught Angelique and her friends watching it one evening when she thought I was out. At first I was shocked. But then my shock turned to amusement, and gradually I realized that you girls really enjoyed controlling Delvin the way you did. And controlling men for our pleasure and amusement is that 'aspect' of our Society I was telling you about. In Angelique's case, we found that we had more in common than we knew. It was a revelation for both of us, and she now serves in the Society—actually 'Sisterhood' is the proper name for it—as my second in command."

Upon hearing the name "Sisterhood" spoken aloud after such a long time made me feel decidedly uncomfortable. I tried my best not to show my feelings because I didn't want to give them any inclination that I possessed any knowledge of their secret organization. But my old fears nonetheless returned, despite the smiling faces surrounding me.

"In your case, however," she continued, "I had to be more circumspect because of your nosy mother. That's why I had to get you away from her: to find out if you had what it takes to be a member of our group. I see now that you do."

"That video was made while we were all under the influence of marijuana," I said. "We all got carried away."

"It doesn't matter. By itself that drug couldn't have induced you to act the way you did. Some part of you truly enjoys being in control. You and Angelique have that in common."

She paused at this point to look at her daughter and then at me.

"I was disappointed when Lenore chose you to be her protégé instead of my daughter. The funny thing was, Angelique wasn't bothered by it at all. Do you find that surprising?"

"Yes," I replied, turning to my cousin.

Angelique frowned. "I'm like John the Baptist to your Christ," she said to me. You're the Chosen One."

"And all of you know why I chose Holly," Lenore interjected. "We needn't go over that again."

"No need at all," my aunt agreed.

"Wait a minute," I said. "What do you mean, 'Chosen One'?"

Lenore looked at me hard.

"If you choose to join us you will be trained under my tutelage to one day take my place as head of the Sisterhood."

Several moments passed in awkward silence as I tried unsuccessfully to absorb this new information. It was only when I began to feel Angelique's fingers digging into my ribs that I realized that my mouth had been wide open for too long a time and that the women were beginning to look at me as if I had suddenly gone mute.

"What... what did you say?" I finally managed to blurt out, unable to conceal my dumbfounded expression.

Lenore turned to my aunt with a look that made me think she was now regretting ever having made the statement. It was so quiet at that moment that all I could hear was the sound of the grandfather clocking ticking in the corner of the room.

"Holly," my aunt said in an almost patronizing tone, "Lenore has chosen you to succeed her and you should regard this as a great honor. However, we can't force you to join us. You must come to that decision on your own."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Never in my life did I ever expect to become involved with the Sisterhood, let alone be chosen to one day become its supreme leader. I had spent the better part of a year trying to forget about the mysterious society of women for fear of being found out, and here I was being solicited for membership. It was all quite surreal to me.

"I can't imagine why you would choose someone like me," I said to Lenore, "when you must have other, more qualified, candidates."

"A lot of people will be disappointed if you become my protégé," she said. "But after much thought I came to realize that we need new blood in this organization— someone who can lead us in a new direction, with new ideas, new leadership. I believe that person is you."

She said this with perfect sincerity. And as I looked around the table I noticed that everyone else had that same expectant look on their faces, as if by their entreating expressions I could be induced to acquiesce and accept my place within the Sisterhood.

"I don't know about this," I said feeling overwhelmed. "I will need to learn more about this...Sisterhood before making a decision."

"It's not an easy decision to make," my aunt said. "But there is something we can show you that may help you to decide."

"Do you think that is wise?" Lenore asked my aunt.

"We all agreed to tell Holly the truth. We may as well show her everything."

"Yes, mom," Angelique said, rising abruptly from her chair. "Let's show her the Masturbatorium!"

Everyone happily agreed with this suggestion except for Lenore, who although smiling, seemed a bit unsure if I was prepared to undertake the voyage into the Sisterhood's most sacrosanct world.

"Follow me," my aunt said.

As we walked down the hallway toward her study I began to feel a sense of anxiety sweep over me, curious to see what this 'Masturbatorium' actually was, yet fearing that I might never get out of it alive. For some strange reason, I couldn't get the thought out of my head that this entire thing was merely a setup, and that I was soon going to be punished for spying on them.

Upon entering the study, my aunt directed our attention toward a wall full of books that stretched from one end of the room to the other.

"No, we didn't take a wrong turn," she said to me, noticing my puzzled expression.

"But I thought we were going to the..."

"We are. Watch."

As she said this, she pressed a button on a small, black, metal box she had been carrying in her purse, and moments later the bookcase moved slowly inwards, revealing a lit corridor behind it. 

"This entrance is used only by me and the other chapter leaders," my aunt said to me. "Everyone else uses the entrance on the north side of the gate."

I looked at her with surprise.

"Are you saying that the Masturbatorium is...here?"

"The dungeon was completely refurbished over the past six months. You're in for a treat."

"But I always thought..."

Realizing that I was almost on the verge of admitting prior knowledge of the mysterious place, I quickly shut my mouth. However, it was not enough to prevent Lenore from inquiring further.

"You always thought...what?" she asked me in a decidedly suspicious tone.

I almost felt as if a gun was being put to my head, and I was forced to think quickly. If I fumbled for an answer I knew she would push me until she discovered the truth, and that would most likely spell my doom.

"I, ah, assumed that from what you told me that the Masturbatorium would be a...you know...enormous place. I had no idea it would be in someone's home."

Lenore seemed content with my quick response, but she continued to stare me down for several moments, looking for any perceived weakness in my defense of myself. She had seemed so friendly to me that it was disconcerting to find her so ready to go on the defensive at the mere implication of a possible betrayal. But then I had to remind myself that this was a woman who, although kindly enough to those whom she counted her friends, could be ruthlessly ambitious in her determination to weed out those whom she considered a possible threat.

"The Masturbatorium had been located in Paris for many years," my aunt said, as she wedged her body between the narrow passage way. "But we've outgrown it. Everything that was there has now been moved here."

"Now you know why mom and I have been so busy," Angelique added, following immediately behind her mother.

We walked down a long corridor at the end of which was an elevator. The sound of our high heels striking the concrete floor below reverberated in the expansive hallway, but no one said anything until we were all inside the elevator. Angelique pressed a button and I felt the elevator begin to slowly descend. I noticed that there were several sublevels and wondered how this was possible.

"The infrastructure was here of course," my aunt informed me. "The old dungeon had three levels. All I did was modernize everything."

"But why?" I asked. "Why go to all this trouble?"

"The secret to a more civilized world is via the control of men by women," my aunt Phoebe said to me. "That is the purpose of the Masturbatorium. You will see many things here tonight, Holly. All I ask is that you keep an open mind."

Within seconds the elevator ceased its motion and the doors opened to reveal a small antechamber and a single small door through which, I presumed, we were to pass through. Without another word, my aunt placed a key into the door lock and opened it, inviting us all to go through.

"Prepare yourself to enter a strange, new world, Holly," my aunt said as I watched first Lenore and then Estelle and Justine pass through the door. "Angelique and I will be your guides on your journey. Stay close to us and don't wander about on your own."

"I'll keep an eye on her mom," Angelique said, grabbing my hand.

My cousin pulled me gently through the door with my aunt close behind. The two of them laughed when they saw my eyes open wide with astonishment. I felt like Alice who had just discovered another world on the opposite side of the looking glass.

"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed, as I allowed my eyes to scan the area from left to right. "It's so...so big!"

"The room size is equal to the square area of the castle itself," my aunt said proudly. 

"But all these people!" I exclaimed. "How did they get here?"

"A shuttle bus takes them from the winery through an underground tunnel that passes under the north gate."

"That's amazing. I would have never guessed. It's like a world of its own. And you say there are several more levels below?"

"Yeah," Angelique said with a sinister laugh. "For the more intense sessions."

I was going to ask her what she meant but I was too astounded by what I was seeing to question her. The only thing I could compare it to would be an airport concourse, replete with tables, chairs, period furniture, and accoutrements of all kinds contained within a vast array of splendid set pieces, kiosks, and alcoves that ran along the periphery of the room. The entire middle area was left vacant of any furnishings except for a large circular bar and buffet table from which drinks and food were being served. I noticed immediately that all the women were dressed as we were, and that the bartenders and the serving staff were all male; all of them scantily clad in only a pair of thongs and a bow tie. At first no one seemed to notice our presence, but one of the women in the crowd came running over to us as soon as she saw my aunt and called her friends over in a hasty display of gushing affection.

"There you are Phoebe!" the woman said extending her arms out toward my aunt. "You look wonderful!"

She was tall, beautiful, and spoke in an Italian accent.

"Thank you, my dear," my aunt replied, as she allowed herself to be hugged. "You look lovely as ever."

As soon as my aunt said the woman's name, I remembered who she was. Her name was Felicia Antonetti, and she had been one of the women in attendance at the Sisterhood meeting I had unwittingly spied upon a year ago in my aunt's study. Seeing her up close made me appreciate her beauty even more.

"But where is Lenore?" Felicia asked, smiling. "I thought I saw her come through the door with your two associates."

"They were here a minute ago," my aunt replied. "I would like you to meet my niece. This is Holly McKenzie. She's my sister's kid who is visiting with us from Los Angeles."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Holly," Felicia said, as she took my hand in hers. "You are very beautiful."

"Thank you," I said, finding her affable nature most appealing.

Felicia then hugged and kissed Angelique as the other women in her entourage began to flock around us.

It didn't take long for my aunt to be besieged by these well-meaning but pushy women who all but dominated her attentions until she was forced to raise her voice for silence. I recognized several of them from the previous year's meeting, and one of them, Janet Walsh, whose incredibly lovely legs had been christened with a half-gallon of Andre Wilkins's sperm, seemed the most annoying.

"One of your waiters says that you ran out of whipped cream," Janet complained to my aunt. "How am I going to have my ice cream without it? You know how much I love whipped cream, Phoebe. He should be punished."

Suddenly Lenore peeped her head out from behind the crowd.

"Oh, shut up about your whipped cream," she said to Janet. "Phoebe's got her niece with her tonight and no one wants to hear about your problems."

"Oh, really?" Janet replied, as she looked me over. "Are you the niece?"

"This is Holly, everybody," my aunt said. "And I don't want to hear any mention of business tonight. Angelique and I are going to take her on the grand tour."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" said a woman I recognized as Gertrude. "There is much to see."

"That's correct," my aunt said. "So the sooner we get going, the better. Ladies, I'll see you all a little later."

Lenore made sure that our progress was not further impeded by the lively bunch of females, and she had both Justine and Estelle run interference for us as my aunt, my cousin, and I made our way toward a set of stairs on the far side of the room. On our way I noticed many familiar faces—celebrities, musicians, politicians, and others who were engaged in conversations of their own. As we passed some of them, they would acknowledge my aunt with a nod of the head or a quick hello. As I mentioned earlier, there was not one man among them with the exception of the wait staff.

"Are you thirsty Holly?" Angelique asked.

"I could go for a club soda," I replied.

With merely a nod of her head, the nearest waiter immediately drew up beside Angelique and took her order. He returned only moments later with my soda and bottled water for herself and her mother.

"That was quick," I said, impressed by the man's haste in satisfying our order.

"He'd better be," Angelique remarked as she took a drink from the bottle.

My aunt stopped at the top of the landing and waited before descending. She seemed excited but a bit nervous all at once.

"As you know, Holly, there are more levels below this one," she began. "This top floor is a meeting and reception area only. The floors beneath us contain what we call our "training rooms". 

"Training rooms?" I asked.

"Yes. But we are only going to visit the floor beneath us. I can't allow you to see the other floors. Not yet. Are you ready?"

"I guess so," I said, pondering what hidden wonders or terrors lurked below us and why I was forbidden to see them.

"Don't feel embarrassed. Some of what you will see undoubtedly surprise you, even shock you, but it's all done in a spirit of good will, and for the good of the Sisterhood."

With that, she turned her back on us and beckoned her daughter and I to follow her down the long flight of stairs.

As soon as we arrived on the floor below, we followed my aunt through a large, steel door in order to pass into the main room. Upon entering, I noticed that the lighting was a bit more subdued than on the floor above. The physical layout was similar but there was less furniture and more open space in which small groups of women had gathered. And in the midst of them, one or more men, all of them naked, were engaged in various stages of subservient behavior.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 04



"Wake up! Wake up!" I heard a voice say. 

I struggled to open my eyes but the intensity of the glow forced me to keep them shut.

"Holly, wake up! We're in danger!"

Suddenly I felt someone grab me hard by my arm. The brilliant light wavered then flickered out.

"Get up you idiot!"

"What? What?" I muttered, as I felt my aching body react with resistance toward the intrusion.

Again the light fell upon my face, but this time not so harshly, and I could see another face on the opposite side illuminated by its gentle glow.

"Angelique!" I cried as I lifted myself out of the bed of leaves. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

I was so excited at seeing her that I nearly fell into her arms, driving her backwards onto her heels.

"Take it easy for Christ's sake!" she said, as the lantern fell from her hands. 

Not far off stood Antares, who whinnied loudly at the commotion. 

As I helped her to her feet she looked at me and shook her head. I now saw that she was shouldering a rifle.

"We've had people searching for you all night," she said impatiently. "What were you thinking?"

"I don't know," I said feebly. "I lost track of time and before you know it, the sun was going down. It was foolish of me, I know."

"I heard the shots. Did you see anything?"

"I saw two poachers. But some other guys came along and shot them with something...arrows I think. I was scared to death."

"You were told not to go this far into the forest. Serves you right. You're lucky I found you."

"I'm so thirsty," I said, realizing that I had had nothing to drink in many hours.

My cousin pulled a canteen from her saddle and handed it to me. She watched me drink down the liquid with a disapproving grin.

"We have to get out of here. There might be other poachers around."

"Let's go," I said, eager to return home, and thankful that I had been found.

She mounted Antares first and then helped me into the saddle behind her. The first hint of dawn began to show itself in the eastern horizon and Angelique goaded the horse into a steady gallop, keeping close to the forest's edge and avoiding the open countryside.

"There's an secret entrance into the Masturbatorium only a few miles away," my cousin said. "It's our best bet."

The first faint rays of sunlight were beginning to pierce through the trees to our left, and I was grateful to see the welcoming light. I knew that there was still a chance of encountering vagabonds and other assorted riffraff along the way, and knew Angelique was only being prudent by suggesting we use the secret entrance. We soon came upon a series of hillocks, one of which appeared to contain an open fissure leading down into a tunnel-like opening. We dismounted and led Antares toward the mouth of the cave.

Despite the nascent sun's warming glow, this place seemed to me a very dismal one, with fog steadily rising from the surface of the ground, permeating the air with a foul stench of sulfur. The air was fetid and heavy, forcing me to draw my gloved hand over my mouth.

"What is this place?" I asked coughing into my hand. "The odor is terrible!"

"Just keep moving," Angelique replied, heedless of the stench.

As we approached the entrance to the cave, the fog had grown so dense that I could no longer see where I was going. I turned toward my cousin but she seemed to have vanished into the fog.

"Angelique," I said uneasily. "Are you there?"

No answer.

"Are you there?" I repeated more urgently.

Nothing. Not a sound.

I felt as if I were enshrouded in a dense wall of mist, afraid to step in any direction lest I tumble and fall into oblivion.

"Angelique!" I shouted. "Where are you?"

I knew my cousin well enough to know that when faced with an emergency she was not one to fold under pressure. Although she had seemed to be as frightened as I was, she had a resolute nature and would not have purposely left me alone to face the unknown. We must have separated from each other much earlier on, and that distance—and the muffling effect of the fog—was serving to prevent us from hearing each other.

After several more unsuccessful efforts to locate her, I decided that I had no choice but to begin moving again and hope that I could find my way out of the pervasive fog. I took tiny steps at first, afraid that, like a blind woman without a cane, I might fall flat on my face. But soon my anxiety grew to the point where I started to walk haphazardly, without too much concern for where I was placing my feet, so panicked with fear had I become.

With both my arms outstretched before me, plodding along like a somnambulist in someone's demented dream, I waded through the thick mist, fearing that at any moment my life might come to an abrupt end at the slightest misstep. I called out to my cousin several times more, but to no avail. All I could hope for was that I was headed in the right direction and would meet up with her inside the underground tunnel leading to the Masturbatorium.

For what seemed like an eternity I walked and walked, the earth beneath my feet growing progressively muddier and warm. The smell of sulfur had somewhat diminished, but the air continued to hang heavily about me, the sun's rays hardly permeating the wall of fog. Thankfully, I managed to make my way without once falling or encountering any obstruction. And, as if in reward for my perseverance, the blanket of mist began to slowly fade away until I found myself at the mouth of a cave, though unsure if it was the same one that my cousin had led us to. The air was cooler here, and the ground was flat and strewn with boulders and loose rock. I could see the sun now, its crescent rising up slowly above the trees, helping to dispel the thin tendrils of mist that stubbornly continued to languor over the forest floor.

Now that my vision had improved somewhat, I clambered up toward the small incline leading into the cave and saw that someone was standing there as if waiting for me. It was very dark inside, and at first I could not tell if it was Angelique or some other member of the Sisterhood who stood guard at the entrance. I took a few more cautious steps toward the person, but whoever it was seemed not to notice me, even though I was standing directly in the line of sight. 

"Angelique, is that you?" I said with a sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing that my cousin would not react in this way if she had known it was I.

The person gave no answer.

"Angelique, don't play games with me!" I said angrily. "This is not funny!"

Again the figure remained mute, unmoving. 

I boldly made a quick ascent up the last few yards of the rock-strewn entrance, putting all fear behind me, ready to give my mischievous cousin a piece of my mind. But as I reached the summit of the incline, the figure suddenly walked toward me and out of the shadows. I stopped dead in my tracks, as a woman, dressed in nothing more than a simple black robe and slippers, extended her hand to me as if to help me in my effort. The first faint rays of sunlight revealed a lovely face belonging to a woman in her late twenties, and her gentle smile, yet confident demeanor, helped to allay some of my fear.

"You have a courageous spirit," she said to me as she took my hand firmly in hers and helped me to gain a foothold.

"Thank you," I said, holding on to her hand. "I'm Holly, Angelique's cousin. She was supposed to take me back to the castle. Have you seen her?"

"No, I haven't seen her," the woman replied. "But I will be happy to guide you the rest of the way."

"She was with me just a short time ago," I said, perplexed. "Why would she lead me here and then disappear?"

"I do not know," she answered softly. "But this is not her journey, it is yours."

I looked at her as if I had misunderstood. "My journey? What do you mean?"

The woman looked at me carefully, smiling faintly.

"Who are you anyway?" I asked. 

"My name is Yvette. I am a distant relation of the Anjou family dating back to the time of Philippe of Lyon, who was once a nobleman who served under the tyrant king of France whose name we do not speak. I am a visionary, and one who wields the power of the ancient Sybil. I will show you many wonders both terrible and sublime, and the world and what it shall become in the days ahead should you shirk your duty to the Sisterhood."

I shook my head and laughed.

"If this is some kind of joke," I said, stepping away from her, "I'm not amused." 

"This is not a jest," she replied sternly. "I know that what I am saying must sound incredible to you, but I am here for your welfare."

"Just tell me where my cousin is. I'm very tired and cold and I want to return to the castle."

"I cannot, for I do not know where she is."

She then reached into her pocket and withdrew what appeared to be a pomegranate. Taking a small knife from her belt, she cut into the fruit and gave half of it to me.

"Eat this," she said passing the fruit to me. "It will give you strength for the journey."

I was so hungry by this time that the pomegranate looked to me like nothing short of a three-course meal. Without another word to her, I tore into the fruit and ate ravenously. She seemed pleased to watch me eat in silence for a few minutes, smiling at me like some bemused benefactress.

"It will get warmer the further we go down into the tunnels," she resumed, as she, too, made short work of the succulent fruit.

By now my hands were wet with the juice of the pomegranate and although I did feel much stronger, I was still cold.

"Can we go now?" I asked her. "My hands are freezing."

Yvette withdrew a small piece of cloth from her pocket and handed it to me. "Dry your hands off and then give it to me."

I did as she asked, and after I was finished wiping my hands I gave the cloth back to her.

"Do you feel better?" she asked me as she wiped off the last remnants of the sticky, red juice from her hands.

"Yes, thank you," I replied, sticking my hands into my pockets.

She looked at me straight in the eyes and laughed. "You look much more alive now. Follow me."

She turned abruptly around and began walking at a brisk pace.

"Keep up," she warned. "Don't dawdle."

It was a good thing she had given me that pomegranate to eat, otherwise I doubt I would have been able to keep up with her in my exhausted state for very long. The shaft continued straight on for about 30 yards, illumined every 10 feet with torches that had been fixed in place on either side of the cave wall. As we reached the end of the tunnel a huge oak door, seemingly unused for a millennia, stood before us like a foreboding gateway into the unknown. She halted before it, raising her hand as if to knock, but instead pressed her finger hard onto several raised, metallic glyphs that were inset on the door just above the knob.

"Stay close to me at all times and touch nothing," she said in a somber tone as the door slowly creaked open upon its ancient hinges.

"Just take me to the castle," I said, unwilling to humor her strange affectation any longer.

"You will see it soon enough," came the cryptic reply.

As the door opened there was revealed to us an immense, dimly lit hall that reminded me upon first glance of the Pantheon in Rome—a circular vista adorned with a series of evenly spaced alcoves along its perimeter, containing statues of saints from ages past. The huge rotunda contained a small, circular hole in its roof from which emitted a few weak rays of sunlight, which provided our only illumination. In the center of the room was a square opening in the floor, and attached to it was a railing that formed the top level of a long set of twisting stairs leading to what I believed were the floors underneath. The entire room reeked of dankness and decay, and I immediately felt oppressed by the heavy stillness of the tepid air that seemed to harbor the unwholesomeness of putrefaction. 

"It smells like a slaughterhouse in here," I protested, as I put my hand to my nose to obviate the stench. "What is this place and where is the elevator?"

"There is no elevator in this section of the Masturbatorium. We must take the stairs."

"My aunt Phoebe never told me about this place," I said, as I followed Yvette to the landing.

"There is much you don't understand, Holly," Yvette answered. "But you will."

She reached out her hand and took mine in hers. With her other hand she grabbed onto the railing and we began to make our descent. The spiral staircase was rickety, and some of the metal steps were actually corroded through with rust, but we made our way carefully, gingerly stepping this way and that to avoid the more damaged parts of the staircase.

The first thing I noticed was that Yvette was right: the air had grown considerably warmer as we descended, so much so that I had to abandon my woolen coat and hat. She assured me that these items would not be needed from this point on and that they would be retrieved later. At intervals I felt the onrush of wind that seemed to swell up from the bowels of the earth and push its way relentlessly up the stairway—a stale breath of air that reminded me of something not wholly objectionable, but impossible to define.

We continued our downward journey for several minutes and I soon began to grow dismayed that we had not yet reached the next landing.

"How much further down do these stairs go?" I asked.

"We are almost there now. Be patient."

I felt as if I was being reprimanded by a school headmistress and resented her tone.

"I want you to take me to my aunt—now!" I demanded, as I almost lost my footing on a decayed step.

Yvette turned to me and for the first time I saw a look of something like disappointment on her face. She said nothing but held my hand even more firmly than before as we made our way down the metal stairs, our footfalls resonating softly upon the cold steel beneath us.

We traveled for another minute or so until at last the steps came to an abrupt end, the metal railing trailing off into a black void. Yvette stopped dead in her tracks and pushed me backward, realizing that we would have to jump down in order to arrive at the platform beneath us. The walls on the next floor down were festooned with torches that provided an ample amount of light for us to detect that the distance to the floor below was only that of a few feet and that there was nothing to obstruct our passage. She seemed mystified upon encountering the missing part of the stairway, but said nothing.

She made the jump first and then I followed. 

"This is a dirt floor," I remarked in my crouched position, as my hands swept the area around me. "And the walls...we're still in the cave!"

"No," Yvette answered. "We are at the first level of the Masturbatorium. Come. Follow me. There is much to see."

"This can't be right," I insisted. "The first level is modern, with fluorescent lighting and wall to wall carpeting and air conditioning and..."

"No, Holly," she said shaking her head. "That is your aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium as it exists now. What I am going to show you is what it will be like in the future, many years hence."

"Are you telling me that you have the power to reveal the future to me?" I asked, nervously forcing out the words. "Does such power exist?"

"I assure you it does," she replied calmly. "This is only one possible future, and it is not a pleasant one. However, it can be altered. You are the key."

"The key to what?" I demanded. "What are you talking about?"

She drew herself up just then to her full height, towering a full head above me. "If nothing is done to change the course of current events, then what I am about to show you will become reality. It must not happen. You are the only one who can stop it."

I felt myself taken aback by her presumption.

"I can't believe this," I said. "On whose authority are you doing this anyway?"

"Come with me and you will understand," she said, motioning me to follow her.

"No," I replied. "I want to know where we are going."

"Into the Inferno," she said solemnly.

"Into the what?"

"Come with me and you will understand," she repeated.

Not far from where we stood was another set of stairs, and wafting up from the hole in the floor I began to hear the cries of what sounded like many people in pain. It was a most disturbing sound: distant, eerie, and sometimes not quite human. 

"What is that horrible noise?" I asked my guide. "Please don't tell me we're going down there."

"I promise that no harm will come to you," she said extending her hand to me. "Do not let your heart falter."

She seemed unaffected by the din coming from below, but she must have seen the hesitation in my face and let her hand fall to her side. 

My fortitude was wavering. In the dim ambiance of the torch-lit room I could barely see the lines of her face, but I could almost feel her frowning, such was the implication of regret in her voice.

"I don't want to go down there," I said firmly. "You can't force me."

"If you wish to return to the surface you are free to do so," Yvette said. "But I will take you no farther than where we first met."

I stood looking into her sad, downcast eyes, deciding what course of action I should take. I didn't want to go any further, but I felt somehow that I must. It wasn't a rational impulse, but one driven by an overwhelming feeling that if I didn't go, then I would be committing some terrible crime. After a time she met my gaze, and in those few moments I felt as though some part of her was trying to reach into my soul, to assure me that my fears, though genuine, must not stop me from making that descent into the subterranean world lying beneath our feet.

"Do you hear that?" I said to her. "Those people sound like they're in agony."

"Some of them are," she replied. "The innocent are made to suffer with the guilty."

"Guilty?" I asked. "Of what?"

"Of betraying the Sisterhood."

"But why do the innocent suffer?"

"For the same reason they have always suffered: to serve the needs of the Beast."

I stared at her in disbelief.

"What Beast?" I cried. "You don't make any sense!"

"The Beast takes many forms. Come with me and you will understand," she said yet again, but with much more urgency in her voice.

"I must be dreaming. This can't be real!" I exclaimed, feeling like someone beset by an ugly nightmare in that period of mental twilight when the mind struggles toward consciousness as it seeks to throw off the burden of sleep.

"It is not a dream," she assured me. "It is a vision of what might be. Such gifts are afforded to only a very few."

"I don't want to know what the future holds," I protested, sensing an imminent confrontation with the unknown. "I just want to see my aunt again!"

Yvette's features seemed to soften as she saw the look of exasperation in my face, and she addressed me in a gentle, motherly tone, as if she were talking to a distressed child.

"No one can predict the future, Holly. Even I can only glimpse the tiniest fraction of any given moment in time. And even then such moments are the most fleeting of shadows, ephemeral and constantly shifting in time and space. All I ask is that you accompany me now. Our time together grows short."

"I want you to take me to my aunt! Why won't you help me?"

She raised her hand to my face and with one gentle motion wiped away a tear that had fallen onto my cheek. For some strange reason I could not comprehend, her caress seemed to put my mind at ease, and I felt myself slowly beginning to regain my emotional equilibrium.

"What did you do?" I asked her, as I raised my hand to the spot on my cheek where she had touched me. "I...I don't feel so...afraid anymore."

"That is because there is nothing to be afraid of. I promised you safe passage and so it shall be." She took my hand in hers and led me to the stairwell. "I put my blessing upon you, Holly. For what you shall now see will test the limits of your mind's dimensions. But do not fear. The specters you see cannot harm you."




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 04



Seeing that her mind was resolute upon our course of action, and no longer feeling any desire to thwart her plans, now nullified by her calming gesture, I allowed her to guide me slowly down into the mysterious netherworld of semi-darkness as the cries of myriad unhappy souls welled up from beneath us, their groans becoming louder with each tortuous step. I noticed that the stairs had become small and irregular, having been hewn from out of the rock itself. We had to walk slowly and cautiously, lest we lose our footing and fall headfirst into the incipient void. 

As we approached the bottom of the stairwell, we were greeted with a gust of fetid air that, despite its warmness, sent a chill up my spine. And then, as I looked upward into the dim mist surrounding us with my mouth agape, the sound I expected to come out of it never arrived, and I stood transfixed at what my senses told me could not exist in the layers of earth beneath the looming, resplendent structure that sat directly above it.

We were standing at the entrance of an immense cavern, the depth and breadth of which extended beyond what my impaired vision could calculate. But what I could see of it made me think of the expansive vistas of the Sahara Desert superimposed upon a landscape of red, indigenous rock whose massive stalactites and stalagmites rose effortlessly from both the floor and roof of the cavern, forming an imposing patchwork of glacial-like pillars that seemed to extend into infinity. And in the midst of several of these giant pillars, encircled as it was like some mock oasis, stood a pool of stagnant, white effluence, whose composition I could not detect from mere observation, and whose surface was broken by an occasional bubble forced upward from it's boiling interior, sending thin wisps of steam rising up from its surface. 

"Come, let us take a closer look," Yvette said, as she took my hand and led me toward the seething pool. 

"It smells horrible," I said, reluctant to move any closer. "You go."

"You must experience this yourself," she said, seemingly impervious to the repellent odor. "Otherwise our journey is for naught."

Without waiting for any further word from me, she gripped my hand hard and pulled me reluctantly toward the foul-smelling lagoon.

Because I had been so awestruck by my surroundings, I had failed to notice that the wailing voices, which had recently effected a most hideous din, had all but stopped, and that we were now looking down into the murky liquid while an almost obscene silence loomed all around us. Yvette didn't seem the least perturbed by it, but the sudden realization of it made me turn to her with fear.

"It's so quiet now," I said. "Did the people run away?" 

She shook her head. "They are still here."

"Where? I don't see them."

"You must remember that you are seeing only a glimpse of the future. Time and space are always in constant flux. Be patient."

I was just about to question her further when we were suddenly engulfed by a tremendous blast of air: a bitingly cold maelstrom that broke over our heads like an all-consuming wave, forcing us back into one of the nearby stalagmites. The gale-like winds pressed against us unremittingly, and within this mysterious vortex I began to discern forms and shapes of things that were not readily describable, and which faded out of view as quickly as they appeared.

"What's happening?" I cried as my hand clutched her arm for support.

"They are coming. Hold on to me and do not let go."

I watched in horror as Yvette's long, auburn hair was violently whipped about in the hurricane-force winds, and pressed my body close to hers, unwilling to jeopardize our tentative physical connection. 

And then the wailing began. At first it was very soft, almost plaintive, but with each passing moment the cries of agony grew louder until it drowned out even the awful fury of the pernicious storm.

"Look!" Yvette exclaimed, pointing toward a shifting mass of color not more than ten feet away.

I watched in complete astonishment as the form whirled around and around like some obsessed whirligig, arcs of light emanating from what I supposed constituted its main body, and apertures forming around it that resembled something like human extremities shooting our from these very same holes, all born of the surrounding winds. And then, suddenly, the air grew calm, and what were moments before only indistinct, unformed images, became the mouths, eyes, ears, heads, and bodies of hundreds of men and women, some beautiful, some hideous, but all actively engaged in some clandestine enterprise known only to them. 

"Can they see us?" I asked anxiously, still gripping my guide's arm for dear life.

"No. To them we are nothing more than a passing shadow."

"All the men are naked."

"Of course. This is the Masturbatorium after all."

As the winds died down, I released my hold on Yvette and she once again led me to the murky pool, which was now surrounded by a group of 100 or so naked men who stood like sentinels around its periphery. The liquid seemed to boil more energetically than it did before, and the steam rose from its surface in great clouds that lingered over the landscape like a great mist.

"What is this?" I asked, looking from man to man. "What are they doing?"

"Watch."

I allowed my eyes to follow her gaze, which was directed toward the center of the effluence. The viscous substance that bubbled and churned so ferociously, and which seemed to coagulate into giant, whitish globs that occasionally spit upwards like a mini geyser, reminded me of tapioca that had remained too long on the stove. But as the milky fluid began to spill over onto the edges of the pool, I soon came to a horrible realization.

"Don't tell me that stuff is..."

"Yes," Yvette said, watching the men trying to evade the intermittent wash of white. "This is the sperm pool."

A group of women now made their way toward the overflowing semen, apparently unaware of our presence, and proceeded to instruct the men to masturbate themselves. I counted over 60 women in all, representing a wide spectrum of ages and body types. None of them wore the black robes of the Sisterhood, nor even casual dress, but instead were outfitted in the most garish leather or vinyl pants and blouse, often festooned with odd-looking metallic accessories of which even the most demanding dominatrix might approve. A few of the more aggressive-looking women held whips in their hands, their eyes intent on doing some mischief. Some of the women looked young, about my own age, and some were quite old, even ancient looking. Most of them were more or less attractive—a few were even beautiful, but some were downright hideous, their faces deformed by some unknown demonic agency that was reflected in their inchoate stares. I felt no hint of warmth or pity from any of them, but rather a cold and calculating intelligence that seemed to permeate the group's collective mind.

"Shoot all of it into the pool and don't miss a drop, otherwise you'll be flogged," said a very tall, imposing woman with jet-black hair that fell down to her waist.

To emphasize her point, she took the whip that she held in her hands and flicked it sharply over the back of one of the men, causing him cry out in pain.

"Now!" she commanded.

In an instant all the men fell to masturbating themselves under the watchful eyes of the women. The men, like their tormentors, represented a diverse age group, and were dissimilar in body type and attractiveness. All of them however, possessed very large penises and testicles. 

"Why are they doing this?" I asked Yvette, as the men rapidly jerked their cocks, some of them groaning with lust, others groaning in pain, as an occasional lash fell across their backs in an effort to induce them to stroke harder.

"It is a form of punishment the Sisterhood inflicts upon those who bear false witness against them," she replied. 

"Punishment? It looks like they're enjoying themselves."

She frowned. "They will not be enjoying themselves for long. Watch and see."

Those women who were holding the whips walked in between the rows of men, checking to make sure that each masturbator was performing the task correctly. The slightest hesitation was greeted with a lash across the back or the buttocks. The more apathetic among them felt the lash several times, and these men cried out in agony as thin rivulets of blood poured forth from their open wounds. I took pity upon these men, whom I hated to see so cruelly treated.

"Can't you do anything to stop this?" I asked.

"One can not change the future. One can only change the present in the hopes of changing the future."

"Are all of those men guilty of crimes against the Sisterhood?"

"Some of them are, but not all. Some are merely being taught to fear the Sisterhood by way of example."

"To keep them under control?"

"Yes."

"Why don't they fight back?"

"Some of them do. But most succumb to the Sisterhood's mental programming methods and, of course, physical punishment."

Soon the cavern was echoing with the mixed sounds of pleasure and pain as the 100 or so erect penises began to approach orgasm. The whipping ceased after a time when it became obvious that the men would rather obey orders than suffer the lash. One hundred hands flew up and down their respective shafts; like well-oiled pistons they coaxed and teased with machine-like precision, unrelenting in their efficacy.

"You!" shouted a blonde woman with a whip to the man next to her. "Hold that thing down," she said indicating his penis, "and aim the spurts into the pool, or else I'll flay you alive!"

The man immediately did as he was told, a look of utter fear upon his face.

Realizing that the men's orgasms were imminent, the women moved closer to their subjects, teasing and taunting them mercilessly as the masturbatory frenzy continued. Some of the women took it upon themselves to actually fondle the men's genitals, hoping to hurry along the process.

The sight of so many men masturbating themselves at one time was extremely erotic, even if utterly perverse. But what was even more exemplary was the way in which this eroticism affected the women themselves. Knowing they had accomplished their task, the women began to relax a little and allowed themselves to enjoy the spectacle without further recourse for punitive action. I, myself, was captivated from watching so many huge penises being stroked up and down at lighting speed until the crystal clear liquid began to drip from the little slit atop the head of the penis onto the men's hands and shafts. I know this must have stimulated the women too because a few of them decided to replace some of the men's hands with their own, furiously pulling on the huge organs while trading jokes with their compatriots. Throughout all this, Yvette remained impassive, displaying neither amusement or distaste for what I considered an entirely unprecedented spectacle.

"They are going to ejaculate any second now," Yvette said without removing her eyes from the scene. "Watch closely."

There was no other place to look. I had now become so turned on by this display of masculine prurience that I could hardly wait to see the barrage of ejaculations I knew were now on their way. 

"I love to watch a guy cum," I said aloud, thinking about the way I had forced multiple orgasms out of Delvin's huge cock the year before.

"Do you?" Yvette smiled, watching as my face turned crimson. "So do I."

"You do?" I asked, surprised.

"Most certainly. I have masturbated many men to climax."

Suddenly several of the men let out huge groans all at once.

"Look!" Yvette said. "There they go!"

No sooner had she finished speaking than several enormous jets of sperm flew up and into the air high above the crowd, climbing effortlessly skyward in a 90-degree trajectory toward the center of the milky-white pool. As these first few spurts landed into the murky mixture, other cocks began to explode, sending their hot, creamy contents flying full speed to meet head on with other of their fellow victim's contributions. It was quite an impressive display of ejaculatory prowess as dozens of salvos of cum splashed into each other midway on their journey into the steaming pool. The women were delighted to see so many cocks climax at one time, their humiliating laughter serving to enervate, rather than detract, from the men's explosive orgasms.

"That's right," said the woman with the jet-black hair. "Get it all into the pool you miserable bastards! I want to see every cock completely drained!"

She walked around and in between the men, making sure that all the sperm was landing in the pool. At times she would allow her hand to tug on the men's scrotums, or simply run the handle of her whip between someone's ass cheeks, all the time her face displaying infinite contempt for these naked masturbators. Other women fondled the men as well, often insulting them to their faces, calling them "pieces of shit," or "pathetic assholes," even as they were in the throes of orgasm.

"Keep stroking!" another woman with short brown hair commanded, finding one man still unable to climax. "Work it harder! Harder!"

The man, a small, wiry, dark-skinned submissive with a huge penis, did as he was ordered and soon sent an amazing supply of sticky semen shooting across the surface of the pool. This was followed by six or seven more violent bursts, some of which collided with other volleys of sperm, creating droplets of white effluence that bounced and danced in the air before the eyes of the amused women.

"I love this!" the woman with the short brown hair laughed as she watched the little man's hand ferociously pull on his penis, sending yet another long jet of semen sailing into the pool.

"Men are such wretched pigs," a girl not much older than myself complained.

"Fucking wankers!" said another girl about the same age.

I watched as she went around from man to man, smacking their asses with her open palm even as the cum shot out in streams from their collective cocks.

When the last cock had finished delivering its creamy contribution to the mix, the woman with the jet-black hair ordered the men to remain where they were. The pool was now looking more milky white than ever before.

"What's going on?" I asked Yvette.

"Listen."

The woman with the jet-black hair now addressed the men with a voice laden with contempt.

"You pathetic creatures don't deserve to be called 'men'," she said with a smirk. "But your paltry contribution to the sperm pool will have to suffice." She called to one of her associates, a blonde girl of nineteen or twenty dressed in tight-fitting black leather pants and blouse. "Are they ready?"

"Yes, Marie, all is in order," the girl replied, barely able to suppress a laugh.

"Tell them to bring it out."

The young girl disappeared behind a massive rock formation that appeared to form the entrance to another smaller area, and for a short time it was quiet within the cave. Then Marie spoke up again.

"Although, as of yet, none of you miserable pieces of excrement has actually committed a crime against the Sisterhood, we deem it fitting that every so often those who have disobeyed our rules be punished by example. What you will witness here today need not happen to you, if you remain obedient."

Some of the women laughed as she finished her sentence, turning their attention to the creaking sound coming from behind them. I could see nothing at first, but the loud, scraping noise reminded me of something heavy and metallic being pulled along the surface of the stone floor with a slow, deliberate motion.

"What's that sound?"

"I don't know," my companion admitted dourly. 

We didn't have to wait long for an answer.

From out of the mouth of the cave, two rows of naked men, ten on each side, came walking out holding a massive rope in their hands, their bodies straining and drenched in sweat. Behind them a huge metal tower standing almost thirty feet in height was towed along with great effort: a framework of metal beams that supported a central lever that could be lowered or elevated by means of a control panel attached to the lower section of the tower. The lever itself was about fifteen feet in length and jutted out from the middle of the device at a 45-degree angle. Fastened to its end was a small chair in which a naked and terrified man sat. 

When the women saw the man's horrified expression they burst into gales of laughter, as each step brought him and the terrible device closer to the edge of the pool. The other men were ordered to make way for the new arrival as the machine was placed in a pre-selected position wherein the metal struts at the base could be locked into position in the stone floor. Having secured the device, the men who towed the machine were instructed to join the other men milling around the pool.

"Look at him cringing like a dog!" Marie said, addressing the man in the chair.

The men remained silent, observing their counterpart with nervous anticipation.

The hapless man's hands and feet were secured with ropes to the metal frame of the chair, and his entire head was held in place by a assembly of leather straps than ran under his neck, chin, and forehead and fastened to the back of the chair. He called out to Marie in a loud voice, begging to be forgiven for his disobedience. But she, like all the other Sisters, was indifferent to his pleas.

"The more you call out," she told him, "the lengthier the punishment."

He made one, last, vain attempt for mercy, but sensing the intractability of his tormentor he fell silent, as the raucous cheers of the women rose to a deafening roar. He struggled with his bonds but to no avail. Beneath him loomed the lake of viscous, white effluvia—now seething and bubbling more violently than before, a terrible concoction of years and years of accumulated sperm heated to a hateful temperature. The thought of what was about to occur filled my mind with revulsion.

"I really don't want to see this," I said to Yvette as I turned my head away.

"You must see it," she said firmly. "You must bear witness to these crimes and remember."

As the jeers of the women began to subside, Marie ordered one of her associates to stand next to the control panel. Once this was done, Marie then addressed the man in the chair.

"You are being punished because you disobeyed a direct order from one of the Sisters. Disobedience cannot be tolerated. However, as this is your first offence, the punishment will be lenient. Let this serve as a reminder to the rest of you," she said turning to the group of men assembled near the pool, "that the same fate awaits you should you be found guilty of insubordination."

"Dunk him! Dunk him!" one of the older women shouted.

Soon the entire Sisterhood took up the chant as Marie directed her associate to press the button that would lower the lever down into the murky slime. The associate did as she was told, and with a violent jerk the lever began to descend.

"Teach the bastard a lesson!" I heard someone scream over the din.

"Let him eat cum!" a thin, waspish-looking Sister shouted.

Seeing that the lever was now slowly making its way downward into the pool, the man struggled even harder to free himself from the chair. His face became twisted with fear.

"No! No!" he screamed as the lever made its inexorable descent. "Please! For God's sake, no!"

His voice could hardly be heard over the thunderous laughter and jeering. The male spectators looked on with a mixture of pity and awe, most trying to look away from the awful sight. The Sisters however were enjoying the spectacle immensely, and taunted the frightened man even more as the lever came to rest on the surface of the pool.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 04



"Lower it all the way down!" Marie laughed joyously.

"No!" the man screamed as his feet touched the hot liquid.

Within seconds the lower half of his naked body was below the surface and he cried out in pain.

"It's hot! It's hot!" he yelled over and over again.

"Shut up you son of a bitch or we'll leave you under there forever!" Marie threatened.

I looked quickly at Yvette to see her reaction. There was none.

"How can you remain so indifferent to all this?" I asked.

"You must remember that this is only a vision of what might be, not what will be."

"I don't care. I still find it repulsive."

I had always found cruelty in any form extremely distasteful, but seeing these women, these supposed "enlightened" Sisters, behave in such a barbaric fashion made me view them as far less evolved than the men they were persecuting. In my view, punishment never seemed to be a very effective tool for getting people to act ethically. A system of rewards based upon support and encouragement seemed to be a far more fruitful approach to the age-old question of social conditioning. 

The lever had now been lowered so far that the man's entire body below the neck was submerged in the hot, steaming vileness. His face was contorted in pain and tears were running down his cheeks.

"Let me out! Let me out!" he pleaded.

Marie's answer was to lower him further into the pool.

"Drink!" she ordered as the lever descended.

The fluid rose up above his chin, and as it reached his mouth I saw him inhale a great draught of air even as the sperm rose up above his nose and eyes and finally over his head entirely, completely submerging him.

"Ten, nine, eight..." Marie began counting as the others joined in. "seven, six, five, four, three, two...one! Lift him up!"

The Sister at the control panel pressed a button that slowly lifted the lever out of the pool as the entire assemblage cheered and applauded. As the man's head came up out of the wash, a great stream of sperm shot out of his mouth. He coughed and spat up even more of the milky effluence as though his mouth had become a lotion dispenser. His entire face and body was awash in semen and I watched as he took in great gulps of air, grateful to be removed from the awful liquid.

"And again!" Marie announced gleefully.

The man's face grew horrified at the thought of a second dunking as he tried to free himself once again.

"No, please!" I've learned my lesson," he implored. "I'll never do it again!"

On and on he went, hurriedly trying to get the words out even as the lever once more made its way down into the pool.

"I promise Sisters," he shouted as the liquid once again cascaded over his body. "I promise to obey! I promise..."

It was too late. The sperm had now covered his mouth and nose and he was once more totally submerged.

The women were delirious with joy as they heard the man's final words dissipate into the molten glue that now covered his body. Again Marie led the countdown and the man was then released up into the air, his feet resting on the pool's surface.

Before the man could utter a word, he found himself once again on his way into the pool, still coughing up sperm and screaming in agony. And the more he screamed, the more pleasure the women seemed to take from it.

"Not again," I uttered, shaking my head with disbelief. "It's disgusting."

I watched in horror as the man's body once more disappeared into the brackish liquid. This time he didn't even have enough time to utter a single word before being submerged. This, of course, made all the women cheer all the more loudly, and to their delight, Marie let the count go to twenty.

"They'll kill him," I said, feeling great sympathy for the tortured man.

For what seemed like an indeterminable time, they kept the man submerged. Only when I heard Marie say, "Let him up!" did the lever finally rise above the surface, but this time the man barely moved. Layers of thick, creamy sperm dripped off his body in disgustingly huge clumps, hitting the surface below with loud smacks. His eyes were closed but from his mouth poured out rivulets of semen. He tried to cough up as much of it as he could, but he must have swallowed several pints of the horrible brew. It appeared the punishment was over.

"Can we please go now?" I asked Yvette. "You've made me sick to my stomach."

"I'm sorry you had to see this, but it was necessary."

"What kind of people could allow this to happen?"

She looked at me in her cryptic fashion but said nothing.

With the punishment now concluded, my guide led me to another set of stairs leading to the floor below. She warned me that from here on in, the things that I would see and witness would take on an ever more disquieting appearance, but that I should not allow myself to be troubled by them but only to watch and learn. This was little comfort to me after what I had just seen, but I nevertheless wanted to accommodate her wishes, as I felt that I had something to learn from it all—something she felt compelled to teach me.

The staircase was much like the one we had used to arrive at the floor above, except that it formed one, huge, winding arc that seemed to go on forever. When we finally set foot on the rocky surface at the end of the stairway my feet were actually tired. 

During our descent the strident cries of people in distress greeted us, with an occasional jeer or command rising above the rancor. It sounded to me like there were hundreds of voices echoing throughout the gloomy stairwell, some wailing, others laughing, but all tainted with the sound of some otherworldly malignance. At some point during our journey I began to experience a profound fear, and I startled Yvette when I suddenly grabbed her hand for reassurance.

"Do not be afraid," she said in a soothing voice. "Nothing can harm you here."

"It's the voices. They sound so awful."

"Let us see," she said, dragging me reluctantly behind her.

I was not prepared for what now loomed before me—a vast subterranean chamber that was more than twice the size of the one from which we had just exited, and filled with hundreds of men and women positioned in various places within the immense cavern. The men of course were completely naked. Some were chained to the rock face, spread-eagled and left unattended. Others were being tortured with the lash or forced to act as living furniture for their mistresses, one man's body even used as a human bridge to span a three-foot gap between two adjacent platforms over which the women constantly trod. 

I saw all kinds of devices being employed in which to entrap the men, some of which I had never seen before. Some, like the rack or the Iron Maiden I had seen in history books, but the bulk of the other contraptions were something that could only have been invented by some demented and perverse genius. I could not fathom their design or purpose other than those poor souls who were trapped inside them appeared to suffer great agony, and Yvette had to use all her healing skills upon me to keep my mind from delving into madness.

The women seemed to go about their torturing business with great relish, salivating over every wound inflicted upon their foes, either verbally or by physical attack. Many of the men's backs were a disgusting mosaic of open wounds and welts that formed a canvas of black, blue, and red—testament to the unbridled rage of their whip-bearing tormentors. Bodies were torn on racks, stretched on the wheel, and, worst of all, cut into tiny fragments on a thing called the "harrow," a device with hundreds of exquisite, razor-sharp blades that made machine-like incisions into the epidermis and then worked its way by degrees downward into the deeper tissues. It was so gruesome that I was felt like I was going to retch.

"What in God's name did these men do to deserve this?" I cried. 

"These are the men who employed physical violence upon the Sisterhood. It is the second greatest offense a man can commit."

"The second greatest offense?" I asked bewildered. "What's the first?"

"You will see."

"Are they going to die?"

"I suppose that would depend upon the severity of their transgression."

In one corner of the cavern a man was being forced to sodomize another man, while another was sitting bent over at the waist, his long penis with its tip firmly planted in his mouth while two women furiously masturbated him.

"He called me a whore," one of the women said menacingly as she roughly tugged away at the swollen shaft.

"And he called me a bitch," said the other woman. "Can you imagine that? This little piece of shit calling me a bitch?"

The two angry women were almost twice the size of the man, and while one of their hands was occupied with jerking him off, their free hands kept both his legs up toward his midsection and simultaneously forced his head down upon his cock so that they could force as much of his prick into his mouth. The more buxom of the two women, a brunette with a very beautiful face, grabbed his hair and began to shove his head up and down very quickly once she sensed he was nearing orgasm. The other woman responded by gripping his cock firmly under the corona, pushing the tip of his cock as far up as she could into his gasping mouth.

"Hey girls!" the brunette said to several women standing nearby. "Come and watch this. The son of a bitch is going to pop!"

Six or seven women quickly ran over to watch the spectacle, leaning in closely to observe the forced milking.

"We're going to watch you eat your own sperm," said the brunette. "And I hope you choke on it you fucking bastard!"

With several more vicious pulls on his hair, she forced his head down and held it there while the other woman fisted him with a series of rapid bursts. I watched as his huge balls convulsed and rose up in toward his body, and knew that the sperm was now on its way up through his tortured shaft. The women knew it too and laughed mercilessly as the man's face turned red in his effort to breathe between the unrelenting stroking.

"If I see one drop of sperm," said the brunette, "just one, we're going to do it all over again."

The man made some feeble gesture of understanding and prepared himself for the onslaught.

"He hasn't ejaculated in two weeks," said the woman pumping his prick to the other women standing around. "We made sure the fluffs got to him several times each day without giving him release so that his sperm buildup would reach its maximum potential."

"Oh, boy," said a young girl of about nineteen. "So he's really going to get a mouthful!"

The others laughed at her comment but stopped once they saw the man's throat begin to convulse.

"Here it comes!" laughed the brunette, as the first ropes of creamy sperm began to splash about in his gulping mouth.

The brunette held his head in place as the other woman kept stroking his climaxing cock. I could see his eyes bulge out of his head as the torrent of hot, liquid seed shot into his mouth, and in between swallowing his own semen he had to fight for a second's worth of air to breathe.

"He seems to like the taste of his own goo!" a voluptuous blonde offered, unable to take her eyes from the scene. "I love it!"

"Drink it all down you miscreant!" a middle-aged Sister rasped. "We don't want to see one drop!"

It must have been extremely difficult for the man to comply with his tormentor's wishes, seeing that his position was not conducive to keeping the sperm from escaping his mouth. But comply he did, managing to swallow so quickly and effectively that not one drop of cum was visible. This seemed to gratify the Sisters to no end.

"That's it, keep swallowing," the brunette said, looking pleased. 

"Mmm...I'll bet it tastes like vanilla pudding!" the woman masturbating him squealed with joy, as her hands brought forth yet another creamy eruption.

As the man continued to swallow load after load of cum, the women derided him without mercy, some even offering to squeeze his balls or help masturbate him to get the most sperm from his cock into his mouth. His orgasm must have lasted almost thirty seconds, but it seemed to have lasted much longer. Nowhere was there to be found a trace of sperm.

Finally, his throat stopped contracting and the brunette released her grip on his head.

"Get up and go back to your cell, you fucking pig! And if you ever speak to anyone of us in that tone of voice again, I'll make sure you find yourself there on the rack!"

The man cowered before his female superiors as he made a quick and ignominious exit out a nearby doorway. 

"I never thought that women could do such things to a man," I said as I watched the group disband.

"Why?" Yvette replied. "Men have done far worse to women."

"Yes, but it doesn't make it right."

She didn't reply but I saw her mouth curve up into a slight smile.

"What?" I asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Come, we must leave now."

Taking my hand, she led me to another flight of stairs not far off from where we were standing. I was puzzled by that enigmatic, Mona Lisa-type smile she had given me, but she would not divulge what it was she was thinking, even when I pleaded with her to tell me.

"Some things are best left unsaid," she finally replied. "Leave it at that."

"Why? Did I do something to offend you?"

"No," she laughed. "You have behaved exactly as I expected you to behave."

"What does that mean?"

"Don't you know?" she replied, as if I possessed the power to read her mind.

The flight of stairs that led us to the next floor comprised all of twenty steps, for which my tired legs were most grateful. It was rather disconcerting to find that instead of an immense cavern-like environment, such as that which existed on the upper floors, this area was no larger in dimension that a small banquet hall. In fact, the room was laid out much like a dining room with tables full of all different kinds of food, prepared in such a way as to be reminiscent of a medieval feasting hall, and replete with a long dais upon which sat all sorts of delicacies. Lit torches adorned the marble walls and tapestries hung down from the rafters, emblazoned with the emblems of some unknown character. There were three chairs positioned on one side of the table facing us, and in them sat three men busily feeding themselves. They were, like their counterparts above, completely nude, and they said nothing to each other as they feasted in a most rapacious manner upon the food in front of them.

"Who are these men?" I asked Yvette.

"They are the betrayers," she replied solemnly. "By their treachery many Sisters have met their deaths."

"Why are they being treated so well then? I don't understand."

"You will."

Several women bearing whips then entered the room and began instructing the men to eat quickly.

"Hurry, hurry," one of the women said. "Your Mistress will not be pleased if you don't eat enough. Eat! Eat!"

And with those words she, and the rest of the women, began to whip each man in order to make him eat faster. It was a sickening sight to see each man gorge himself without restraint while being continuously whipped. I had never seen such an example of wanton gluttony in my life.

"How can they stand the pain?" I asked.

"Their need to eat is greater than their fear of the lash," Yvette replied.

Before my horrified eyes each man soon began to expand under the watchful eyes of his tormentors. In cartoon fashion, the huge gulps of food soon manifested themselves as increases in bodily dimension until all normal appearance had been lost, and all that remained were three human-looking beach balls.

"How can this be?" I uttered.

"Time is condensing," Yvette said with some alarm. "The vision is dissipating."

"This can't be real," I uttered, willing myself to wake up from this horrible nightmare. I forced myself to turn away.

"No! Don't look away!" she admonished me. "Keep your eyes open!"

Even as she spoke, the scene began to waver. Light, color, dimension...all were blending into each other in kaleidoscopic fashion until all that was visible was one great wash of white. But in that one instant before the final dissolution occurred, I saw someone, no...something jump out from the midst of it. A great golden thing that moved within the miasma, its huge jaws wide open and ready to engulf the naked prey below. And then I suddenly heard myself calling out to the unsuspecting men to flee. But, as they were now nothing more than oversized beach balls, all they could do was roll around on the floor in a mindless display of fear. And as I saw the great jaw close down upon the terrified victims, the whirling vortex began to increase with each second, and my screaming continued until I found myself face to face with the loathsome Beast, its hideous face half human and half something else, reaching out with its many arms toward me.

"No!" I screamed, instinctively raising my arms up to protect my head.

Suddenly my guide's hand swept before my face and the frightful apparition, so close to swallowing me up, withered away. And I heard Yvette's voice—distant, hollow, but still audible, as if the words were being carried on a breath of wind.

"Remember what you have witnessed..."

And then the white backdrop of condensed time exploded into a thousand tiny fragments and my eyes opened to stare into the blaze of the rising sun.

************

All of it had been a dream. As I lay in my bed, half my body straining out of the disheveled covers, I noticed that my pillow was wet with perspiration and my heart was beating rapidly in my chest. My arms had been thrown above my head as if to ward off a blow, and I knew that had I not woken up just then, I might have died in my sleep from the sheer fright of the powerful vision. Every sight, every nuance, every pitiable scream now came back to haunt me in vivid detail. And as I shielded my eyes from the harsh light of the morning sun, I was nonetheless glad for its brilliance, as it provided me with a welcome measure of solace for one who had just awoken from a dark and hellish nightmare.

I rose out of bed and prepared my bath, deciding that I would take my time and enjoy the feel of the water against my skin. As I bathed I thought about the poachers who had been apprehended in my dream. I could not fathom why I had dreamt such a thing until I remembered that my aunt Phoebe had complained to Lenore that she had been having trouble recently with poachers, and that my aunt had found an effective way of dealing with the problem. What solution she arrived at she never mentioned, so in my dream I must have filled in the gaps with my own idea of how to handle the problem. But no. I distinctly remember Angelique making a reference to people she referred to as "hired men" whom she had enlisted to trap these poachers, but this statement was made during the excitement of the night before, when my attention was being constantly diverted. I couldn't be sure if I had heard her correctly or if I had imagined the whole thing.

When I was finished dressing I went downstairs and found my aunt and Lenore sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. My aunt was wearing a pair of white shorts, tennis sneakers, and a simple, blue blouse. Lenore was similarly dressed but she was wearing a pale pink halter-top. Two tennis racquets lay side by side on the counter top, and half-eaten eggs and toast remained on their plates.

"Well, you're up early today!" my aunt proclaimed as I made my entrance into the kitchen. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"What you're having is fine with me," I said, giving my aunt a kiss on the cheek.

My aunt told the cook to prepare breakfast for me as I sat down beside her.

"Good morning, Holly," Lenore said cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 05



At this point, the woman whom Angelique had pointed out to me earlier as being the distant cousin of my uncle Pierre stood up and addressed the angry girl.

"Did it ever occur to you, young woman," said Charlotte, "that Mr. Villon's inhibitions might prevent him from succumbing to your will?"

This question, hurled at my cousin from out of nowhere, and from a woman whom Angelique regarded as beneath contempt, left her momentarily speechless. I thought my aunt was going to reply, but it was Lenore who spoke first.

"What is your point, Charlotte?" she asked.

"If this man was unable to produce a sperm sample for the doctor, what makes any of you think he would produce one in front of all these women? It is obvious that his shyness is greater than his need to ejaculate."

Before Lenore had a chance to respond, Angelique turned to Charlotte with a hateful stare.

"He's not shy!" my cousin rasped. "He's just a fucking asshole who needs to have his balls kicked down his throat! But none of you here seems to understand that!"

"Shut up, Angelique!" my aunt said. "Go and sit down!"

"I'm going to make that bastard pay! You'll see. I can conquer any man!"

"I've no doubt you can conquer anything," Charlotte said with a wan smile, "except your own arrogance."

Before my cousin could retort, my aunt pushed her forward in the direction of the door. It was an ugly display of impropriety gone awry, and my cousin, the usually resolute and impervious master at arms, was found to be lacking. I almost felt sad for her as she was forced to sit between her mother and Lenore, looking like a defeated warrior who now had to settle for terms that her pride would never allow her to accept.

Mr. Villon was sitting quietly by himself while Dr. Monroe, nurse Alicia, and the two assistants conversed amongst themselves. He looked sad sitting there all alone, his failure to produce the much needed sperm sample, and the unanticipated attack upon him, reflected in the look of dejection upon his face. 

Lenore had called for a short intercession in which she and my aunt took Angelique into an adjoining room. I never found out what transpired during their conversation, but when my cousin came out again she looked as defiant as ever, refusing to acknowledge her defeat as anything more than an apparently successful attempt at subterfuge perpetrated by the duplicitous patient, focusing all her contempt into a singular, hateful glance that she now cast upon him and the rest of the room.

I saw Charlotte look toward Angelique a few times and then turn to her associates and murmur something to them, causing them all to laugh. I know my cousin was aware of this little game Ms. Anjou was playing, but she would not allow her pride to be sacrificed any further by the antics of someone whom she despised. Like a lioness who, after a kill, enjoys the feast while the vultures are kept at bay, so she regarded Charlotte and her entourage: aware of their presence, but totally contemptuous of their race. 

At one point I made eye contact with the beautiful woman, but instead of seeing any hint of dislike in her face, her expression softened as she looked at me, and ultimately a gentle smile spread across her face, a smile that made me think of her ancestor Yvette, my erstwhile guide and mentor. I thought it only polite to smile back, and I did so, much to her delight. And the more I watched her, the more I felt that somehow Angelique must be wrong in her estimation of this woman, who now, once again, was the center of attention amongst her small group of friends—laughing, joking, and enjoying their company as much as she was enjoying theirs. I knew that at some point I would have to introduce myself to her, but now was not the time. I had been purposely segregated from the rest of the Sisters so that I might partake in this little test of theirs, which so far had resulted in one casualty, and which I hoped would not result in another.

Seeing my aunt, Lenore, and their colleagues still conversing, I took it upon myself to approach the diffident Mr. Villon and introduce myself. Halfway on my journey toward him, he lifted his head up and stared at me intently, sitting up straight in his chair and adjusting his robe so that he would appear more presentable. Dr. Monroe and Alicia smiled curiously at me as I took a seat beside the wary patient, as if trying to figure out why I had chosen to strike up a conversation with him. For his part, Mr. Villon remained quiet, even after I had greeted him. 

It had occurred to me from the beginning of this test, or so-called "punishment," that his shyness would have to be conquered if any positive results were to be expected. It seemed that no one had taken the time to actually question the patient as to the cause of his inhibition, and employing verbal and physical intimidation, as Angelique had done, not only proved ineffective, but had also revealed a severe lack of judgment on her part. I was not about to succumb to a similar fate. I quickly surmised that I would have to get at the root of his problem if I were to pass this test and obtain the coveted sperm sample. And the only way to do that was to get inside his head.

"Did my cousin hurt you?" I asked him.

"No," he replied softly.

"She doesn't like it when things don't go her way."

"That's no reason to get angry," he said meeting my gaze. "I am no stranger to bad luck myself, but that's no excuse to hurt other people."

"I agree. But you humiliated her. She'll find a way to get back at you for that."

"She can try," he said, his voice thick with scorn.

"You're really not a submissive man, are you?"

Mr. Villon looked at me as one would look at a clairvoyant who had just revealed to him the secrets of the universe.

"You are very perceptive, mademoiselle...."
"My name is Holly McKenzie."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," he said, graciously.

"And you don't like to be pushed around either."

"True again."

"So why are you here?"

"It's simple, really," he replied. "I love women and I enjoy pleasing them."

"Any submissive would say that," I said of his feeble attempt at disingenuousness. "Tell me the truth."

He paused a moment before replying, aware, as I was, that Dr. Monroe and nurse Alicia had moved closer to us in order to hear what we were saying.

"You're not very subtle, doctor," the patient said to the intruding physician. "You can hear what I have to say. I have nothing to hide."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Villon," Dr. Monroe replied. "I'm not trying to be rude. But I would like to help you if you will let me."

Mr. Villon smiled broadly at the beautiful woman and invited her and nurse Alicia to join us.

"Please go ahead with your line of questioning, Holly," Dr. Monroe said with a cheery smile. "Oftentimes, we doctors get too clinical and fail to really understand a patient on a personal level. And I think we have failed miserably in your case, Mr. Villon. And for that I am truly sorry."

She said these words with such heartfelt sympathy that Mr. Villon's face suddenly brightened up.

"Thank you," he replied. "That means a lot to me."

Doctor Monroe placed one of her hands over his and smiled. And as she continued to let her hand linger over his, I wondered why I had previously regarded this woman with such disdain. Surely, my cousin's influence over me had something to do with it, but this was not the "jealous bitch" she had described—far from it. She was a warm and compassionate human being, whose only desire was to be of help to someone in pain.

"Do you mind if I continue?" I asked him.

"Go ahead," he replied with a newfound sense of enthusiasm. "Ask me anything."

I first asked him to give me a truthful answer to my previous question.

"I am not lying when I tell you that I love women and I love pleasing them," he began. "But I also wanted to get into Ms. Anjou's scholarship program. And one of the ways to do that is to be of service to the Sisterhood. That's why I took the oath of servitude."

"But when you took that oath," Dr. Monroe cut in, "it was explained to you that you would have to be naked in front of clothed women and sometimes 'perform' for them on command. Knowing that you are shy, didn't you realize that this would be a problem for you?"

Mr. Villon thought for a moment. "It's only a problem for me when I'm around strange women," he answered. "Once I get to know someone, the shyness is gone."

"And then you would be able to ejaculate?" 

"Yes."

"That's weird," I said. "Most men would give anything to stand up in front of a huge crowd of strange women and masturbate for them. You're just the opposite."

He laughed. "Oh, what I would not give to be able to do that! But alas, my inhibitions..."

"Your inhibitions can be conquered," I assured him. "People do it all the time."

"The Sisterhood won't allow him to go around making friends with everyone just so he can provide them with a sperm sample," nurse Alicia remarked. 

"There may be another way," I said. "Do you feel relaxed now, François? I mean, now that you have had a chance to talk with us and know us a little better?"

I think he felt grateful that I had addressed him by his first name, encouraging familiarity between us.

"Yes. I do feel relaxed around you," he replied. "I even feel relaxed around the doctor's assistants too," he added, with a nod in their direction.

"And you don't feel anxious or nervous or anything like that?"

"Absolument pas!" he said, resorting to his native tongue. "I feel comfortable with all of you."

At that moment I heard Lenore call out my name in a loud voice, as if she had already called it out several times before and was growing angry at not getting a response.

"If you don't answer me this time..."

Several women in the audience began laughing.

"I'm sorry Sister Lenore," I said quickly. "I'm here."

"I can see that," she replied. "But you're not listening to me."

"I'm listening now."

She ordered me to return to my seat, but said nothing about the fact that I had been conversing with Mr. Villon, for which I was grateful. After she got the audience to quiet down a little, she once again began to talk with my aunt, who now seemed preoccupied and uninterested in what the Sisterhood leader had to say now that Angelique had succeeded in quashing any hopes she held of her daughter's rise to prominence based upon her recent failure with Mr. Villon. My aunt respectfully nodded her head and looked dutifully attentive, but I could tell that her heart was not in it. Now and then she would turn to look at her daughter, who was now casually looking over some papers that Justine had handed to her, and I could read the disappointment in her eyes. I think Lenore eventually realized that further conversation with my disinterested aunt was pointless and stood up to make an announcement.

"Doctor Monroe," she began. "Is the patient able to continue?"

"Yes, Sister Lenore," the doctor replied.

"Then move him back onto the platform and let's get this over with. I'm sure our Sisters have better things to do than spend an entire afternoon waiting to see if this man will ejaculate or not. Get him up there!"

As Dr. Monroe and nurse Alicia accompanied Mr. Villon onto the platform, Lenore turned to me.

"I am now placing the responsibility for obtaining this man's sperm in your hands, Holly," she said, issuing the edict with all the comportment of an empress seated upon her throne. "If you fail, he will be sent to the lower levels to await further punishment. I'm sure both you and he would not want that."

"No, Sister Lenore," I replied. "Not if I can help it."

"Very well. You have my authority to use whatever means necessary to obtain the sperm sample. You may proceed."

Lenore resumed her seat and the entire room fell silent, all eyes now focused upon me. I knew that I would only have one chance to prove my theory before being summarily ridiculed and dismissed, and I could only guess at what further unknown punishment would await Mr. Villon should I fail. I wished I had had more time to talk with him, to get to know him a little better, to understand the depth of his psychosis. As it was, I would have to rely upon my own innate sense of judgment to present my case to the Sisterhood, and hope that these intelligent and insightful women would be open-minded enough to allow me the latitude to circumvent some of their rules for the sake of getting at the truth. 

I saw Angelique glaring at Mr. Villon from across the room; her intense stare cutting through the air like a knife. And if that knife could have carved a hole in the young man's chest and removed the heart, it would have, leaving a gaping wound into which the ridiculed girl could pour all the shame, insult, and fury she now felt at being made to look a fool. 

My aunt was looking only slightly more dismal than my cousin, painfully aware that her latest bid to increase her daughter's prestige in the eyes of Lenore had now become a lost cause. Several times she tried to consult with her daughter, but Angelique would have nothing to do with it. My cousin remained steadfast in her hatred of Mr. Villon to the exclusion of all else. And now, as I rose to address the crowd of expectant women, Angelique's menacing stare rested upon me, as if defying me to rise to the challenge of Mr. Villon's preservation, warning me that serious repercussions would follow in the wake of my possible success.

"François," I said, addressing the naked man. "Please put your robe back on."

The fact that I had called the young man by his first name caused some of the women to mutter under their breath, the import of their whisperings decidedly negative. Lenore looked like she was going to say something to me, but quickly decided against it, even when my aunt and Angelique looked as if they were going to protest my decision to address Mr. Villon on familiar terms.

As the young man tied his robe about him, I asked that the conference table be removed to another room, which Lenore reluctantly ordered to be done. Several Sisters were employed in this endeavor while I subsequently had Dr. Monroe, nurse Alicia, and the two assistants accompany Mr. Villon to a chair in the middle of the room, which I then instructed him to sit in. I watched the patient closely, looking for any signs of fear or mistrust, but he simply looked at me and smiled timidly, happy to no longer be standing naked on the platform. I then asked the women to pull up their chairs in a circle, effectively surrounding him on all sides. I, Dr. Monroe, nurse Alicia, and the two assistants took up seats immediately next to him, constantly offering words of assurance to minimize his anxiety.

"Can we make it darker in here?" I asked Lenore.

With a nod to Justine, the overhead lights were extinguished with a light tap of the assistant's finger on a nearby wall panel. The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights was now reduced so that the room's illumination was cut by about one half. We now sat directly between the borders of light and darkness, our bodies casting long shadows across the floor and walls, lending the room a somewhat more eerie but softer atmosphere. With a smile to Mr. Villon, I began.

"All of you know François," I said, feeling my cousin's eyes upon me. "Now I would like him to get to know all of you."

One stern-looking, rotund, old woman sneered. "That is ridiculous! Are we to start addressing our servants by their first names?"

Several other women also voiced their objections to my request, but before I could offer my rebuttal, Lenore broke in.

"Please, all of you, be quiet," the Sisterhood leader commanded them. "I promised Holly that she could use any means to obtain this patient's sperm sample and I expect all of you to comply with her directions."

"But she asks us to ignore our own rules of conduct," one old woman complained. "I refuse to acknowledge any familiarity with this man."

"He is just some stupid slave," said another woman with a slight slur in her speech. "A god-damned non-entity as far as I'm concerned."

Lenore shook her head in dismay. "One of you is just plain foolish," she said looking at the old woman, "and the other has had too much to drink. Unless either of you can come up with a way to procure the patient's sperm sample, I advise you to keep your mouths shut and follow the young lady's direction."

The two women looked dumbly at one another but offered no further resistance. I now turned my attention to Mr. Villon.

"I am going to invite the women to introduce themselves to you and I want you to feel free to answer any questions they may have. Can you do that?"

"Yes... mademoiselle."

"Holly, please. Call me Holly."

"Okay, Holly."

I looked around the room searching for some friendly faces and was surprised to find that one of them belonged to one of Charlotte's odd group of devotees.

"Yes, you," I said pointing to the woman. "Please introduce yourself to François and ask him any questions you like. Please use first names only."

She was a pretty girl of about 25, dressed in a striking blue blazer and matching skirt that firmly embraced her supple, hourglass figure.

"My name is Adriana," she began, "and I want to know if you were born with that penis of yours or if you did anything to make it so big."

Many of the women chuckled at her question and even François himself could not suppress a smile.

"I suppose constantly tugging on it when I was a child may have helped, but otherwise it's simple genetics."

This provoked even further laughter from the crowd.

"I'm glad to see you have a sense of humor," Adriana said. "So, this tendency toward gigantism runs in your family?"

"Yes, mademoiselle," he replied. "My father and my two brothers all have...how do you say it...big dicks."

His emphasis on the last two words threw the audience into fits of laughter. Adriana tried hard to keep a straight face amidst all the merriment but it was useless.

"As big as...yours?" she blurted out.

"At least," François replied with a huge grin.

"Well," she said coyly, "I hope you'll have the good sense to introduce me to them!"

The crowd was once again in an uproar. Despite their gloomy expressions, both my aunt Phoebe and Angelique could not help but laugh at Adriana's suggestive quip. Angelique tried to seem unaffected by the lewd questioning by covering the bottom part of her face with her hands, but I could tell she was laughing along with the rest of us, enjoying the lewd repartee in spite of her suppressed hostility toward the timid, young man. I, myself, was pleased to see the effect humor was having not only on the crowd, but also upon François himself. He looked around the room several times, gauging the women's responses to his answers and looking immensely pleased with the results. The laughter seemed to act as a restorative, helping to assuage his shyness while putting the women in a more relaxed and tolerant mood. 

Several more women, including Felicia Antonetti, who delivered one of the most impassioned speeches about humane treatment of those who served the Sisterhood, engaged François in mostly friendly, and often wanton, conversation, and he responded to all this attention with a most compliant attitude, which appeared to please the Sisters greatly. Quite a few women had a chance to question him about his sexual habits, and especially about the remarkable organ that lay hidden just underneath the flimsy bit of fabric that comprised his robe. At one point he recalled an incident that had occurred when he first discovered masturbation, and the entire room was filled with laughter. The inquisition continued for about twenty minutes and would have continued if the Sisterhood leader had not intervened.

"I have a question," Lenore said to François as the laughter in the room slowly died down.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 05



"Yes, madame?" he replied, his exuberance fading somewhat at the cool intonation of her voice. 

She took a long look at him, as if seeing him for the first time, and I think it was the first time that she actually began to see him as more of a person than simply as an object of disdain. She took a deep breath and exhaled, letting her eyes gaze around the room before finally settling upon the handsome patient.

"What I want to know is...is there any correlation between the size of man's penis and the amount of semen he ejaculates? I have seen men of average size shoot enormous amounts of sperm, while larger men often shoot less. What is your observation?"

François seemed pleased that the imposing Sisterhood leader was now treating him with a semblance of courtesy she had previously denied him. I knew that she was desirous as me to get the young man to deliver the long-awaited sperm sample, and even if such courtesy, extended as it was to an inferior, was only a well-disguised pretence, it served its purpose.

"I can't speak for other men," the patient began, "but in my case, madame, I usually shoot enough sperm to fill a cup."

The women groaned at this seemingly impossible statistic.

"A full cup?" Lenore asked, not fully accepting his claim either.

"Yes, madame. I don't stop ejaculating until I fill it up to the top. Voila!" 

There was a great amount of discussion that ensued among the women upon hearing this admission, and although most of them refused to believe that any man could perform such a feat, there were some, like Charlotte Anjou, who seemed to believe that it was possible.

"Sister Lenore," she began. "On my visit to India several years ago, my friends and I went to visit a village where the local holy man performed a religious rite where he would masturbate himself in front of a crowd of women—all virgins—who would collect his sperm in a large bowl and bathe themselves in it to preserve their youthful appearance. His cock was just as big as the one hanging between this young man's legs."

Lenore didn't seem fully convinced. "Well, Dr. Monroe," she said, turning to the physician. "I'm glad you decided to use the larger beaker."

Some of the women laughed.

"If you don't mind," Lenore said to Charlotte, "I'd like to reserve judgment on this until I see it for myself."

Greta Hofsteddar, a woman whom I recognized from her earlier appearance at my aunt's home in San Diego, suddenly spoke up.

"But you have seen it before," she said to Lenore. "Don't you remember a few years ago when we had my husband perform for my birthday? His prick is almost as big as this man's, and he filled up an entire cereal bowl full of cum."

Lenore thought for a moment, then her face suddenly lit up.

"Oh, yes!" she answered. "I do remember now that you mention it. Corn flakes wasn't it? And he filled up the bowl even though most of his sperm landed on you and me!"

The two women enjoyed a long and hearty laugh.

"He gave me a cream rinse!" Greta joked as she ran her hands through her long, blonde hair.

"I remember that too!" Lenore chuckled. "It was a most impressive cum shot."

It was nice to see Lenore so at ease and happy after all that had transpired earlier. The lewd and lively banter seemed to put everyone in a good mood. Even my aunt was slowly beginning to abandon her melancholy attitude.

"And speaking of cum," she said. "I hope we are going to see some soon. Do you hear me, uh, François?"

"Yes, madame," the young man replied, looking hopeful that his newfound acceptance with these women would provide his mistress with the coveted sample.

I felt that the mood in the room had now reached a point where I could now institute my final plan in order to get François to ejaculate. I was taking a big risk— depending on these women to support me in my endeavor when their normal reaction would be to ridicule the inferior male. But these women also wanted to see me succeed. Or at least some of them did. Certainly Lenore herself, who had chosen me as her successor, and the patrician-looking Charlotte, who had previously put Angelique in her place while displaying nothing but congeniality toward me. There were others, too, who desired a successful conclusion to this drawn-out "punishment": some wanted it to end solely because they had other engagements looming, and others who wanted to see if the young man's claims of ejaculatory prowess were indeed true.

All during the session I noticed that François would sneak a peek at me every so often, as if admiring me from afar. Even when we got a chance to speak, his voice was always gentle and musical, and more than once I watched as he struggled to overcome his timidity and dare to look directly into my eyes. In that moment I knew that we had established some emotional connection. And I was now going to use this advantage to the fullest. He was mine for the molding.

"François," I said. "Do you feel a little more comfortable now that you have had a chance to talk with these wonderful ladies?"

"Indeed, mademoiselle...I mean, Holly. Much more comfortable."

"Good," I replied. "I would like to ask you some more questions if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

His equanimity throughout the entire question and answer period impressed me greatly. Although his shyness was still apparent to some degree, he seemed much more relaxed and cooperative now that he felt that his manhood was not being compromised. The women no longer appeared to him to represent a threat. Not like the rapacious Angelique, whose unforgiving method of sperm extraction could do nothing but achieve an even further retreat from his willingness to comply with the insensate demands of an indestructible will. I had seen the major flaw in my cousin's approach, but she, supremely convinced of her own infallibility, was blind to her own harsh, unfeeling treatment of the man, attempting to force out of him by her own will the seed of his lust, rather than coax it out by degrees tempered by patience and gentleness.

I pulled my chair out so that I was sitting facing directly in front of him. He looked at me curiously but did not seem in the least bit intimidated.

"Dr. Monroe," I said, addressing the doctor first. "Would you and your assistants kindly remove your lab coats please?"

She looked at me inquisitively, expecting further explanation. But when it wasn't forthcoming, she simply shrugged and removed her coat, instructing the two brunettes to do the same. I then asked nurse Alicia to remove her nurse's hat and frock, which she quickly did. François seemed pleased to see these four attractive women in normal business attire and, as I had surmised, the removal of their medical uniforms helped him to relax even more. In his case, the cold and clinical procedures previously carried out by Dr. Monroe and her staff most likely had an adverse affect upon the way he had responded to treatment, resulting in the botched exam. It was not uncommon for a person's blood pressure and heart rate to increase when in the presence of a physician, and this, coupled with his innate shyness, certainly would have hampered his attempt to produce the sperm sample. I just couldn't afford to leave anything to chance. I then instructed one of Dr. Monroe's assistants to remove the uniforms and place them in the exam room. The beaker, another item that could possibly contribute to his anxiety, was kept hidden behind Dr. Monroe's chair, out of the patient's sight. I was now ready to begin.

"Well François," I began. "You appear to be more calm now. More relaxed."

"Oh, yes," he smiled. "You and these lovely women...these Sisters...have made me feel much better. Thank you."

"I'm very happy to hear that. Now, I am going to ask you some very intimate questions and I want you to answer me honestly. Will you do that for me?"

The handsome boy gave me a very warm smile and looked at me as if I were the only woman in the room. 

"I will be most happy to," he replied.

His face, his mannerisms, and his lilting voice all indicated that he had developed a crush on me. It seemed incongruous, given the circumstances, that a man as timorous as he could allow himself to experience such feelings of attraction. But it was apparent to me, and probably everyone else, that François felt a special attachment to me. I, myself, could not deny that I was immune to his good looks or boyish charm. But I had a job to do, and I could not allow myself to be influenced by whatever vague stirrings of passion he may have felt toward me, not when it might interfere with my duty to the Sisterhood. 

"I would like you to tell us the most sexiest thing that ever happened to you," I said to him. 

His eyes lit up for a moment. "Well," he began, "there is really not much to tell...except for that one time..."

"Yes, that one time... go ahead."

"I...uh..." he muttered aloud, seeming reluctant to continue.

"You can tell me," I said moving a little closer to him. "Please."

I could tell that he was a little reticent to reveal whatever secrets he possessed, but after a few more encouraging words from me and some of the women, he finally confessed.

"It is a very decadent story," he said, looking down at his hands. "I am almost ashamed to tell it."

"There's no need to feel ashamed. No one here is going to judge you."

As I said this I looked at Lenore, who gave me a reassuring smile. Even though he seemed to be willing to open up to me and the group, I had to prompt him several more times in order to get him to relate his tale. Thankfully, I found an unexpected source of help in Charlotte.

"I love lewd stories," she said to François. "Please share it with us."

"Yes, please, François," Janet Walsh said, showcasing her spectacular legs so that he could get a good view. "All of us here enjoy hearing sexy stories. Tell us."

Several other women, including Lenore herself, implored him to convey his prurient tale to us, and being that his own natural tendency was to please a woman, he finally let go of whatever inhibitions he had left and began his story.

"It happened on my eighteenth birthday," he began. "My stepsister Gabrielle, who is two years older than me, had three of her girlfriends from college come to stay for the weekend at our house in Paris. Our parents were away visiting in America and had left the house in her care. Well, one day I was surfing the Internet looking for pornography and I saw a picture of a beautiful, naked woman and I started to masturbate..."

"I've caught my husband doing that more than once!" one women commented suddenly.

"Please!" Lenore said to the woman. "Don't interrupt!"

The woman, an attractive, middle-aged blonde, responded with a frown while several other women looked at her askance.

"Please go on, François," I said.

"Well," he continued, "I had not heard my stepsister come home because my door was closed, or at least I thought it was..."

"Don't tell me she caught you!"

"She and her three friends! The door was not completely closed, and somehow when they opened the door downstairs to come in, the wind opened my bedroom door a little too. I was too busy to notice."

"With a prick that size I'd say you were pretty busy too!" my aunt jokingly observed.

He laughed. "I guess you are right, madame. All my blood went from my head to the little head down there."

"Not so little," she reminded him.

"No, not so little," he said. "But I was at that point almost ready to cum. And what man can think clearly at such a moment?"

"No man I ever met," Justine quipped. 

"What happened then?" I asked him.

"All of a sudden I hear this screaming laughter and then the door goes flying open. The four girls come waltzing into my room to get a better look at what I'm doing and there I am with my pants and underwear down to my ankles with a picture of a naked woman on my computer screen. It was embarrassing but very exciting at the same time. Does that sound strange to you?"

"No, not really," I replied. "Maybe you wanted them to catch you."

He thought about that for a moment. "Perhaps."

"Please go on."

"Well, of course, I try to pick up my pants but it's too late. They see me with my big dick sticking out a mile long and my stepsister's three friends go into fits of laughter, but Gabrielle acts very nonchalant. She tells the other girls that she has seen me masturbate many times before and I look at her like she's crazy. 'Oh, François,' she says, 'your door does not lock properly. I have watched you stroke that monster many times!' And then she laughs and all the others laugh too, but my erection does not want to go away."

"But you are usually so shy," I said, feeling closer to understanding his fetish. "Most guys would lose their erection under such circumstances. Why do you think you stayed hard?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "But I think it may be that I enjoyed having all these clothed women around me, paying close attention to my penis."

"It's hard not to notice it," I smiled. "And of course you were at home, and it was your stepsister after all...so you must have not felt threatened."

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "I was completely unafraid because I was around people I knew. But I was extremely horny at the same time. My heart was beating very fast, but I did not try to cover myself at all. I just stood there like a grinning idiot, enjoying them enjoying me."

I snuck a glance at Lenore, who seemed pleased at the results of my inquiry. I don't think she, or any of the other Sisters, expected François to be so forthcoming. But his detailed description of his past sexual encounter with four women provided a most intriguing story, and even those Sisters who had professed to have other engagements now decided to stay and await the outcome of his lurid tale.

Angelique watched the events transpire with the eye of an eagle. Her anger had subsided somewhat, but I could still sense a hint of vengeance in the perpetual frown she now wore exclusively for all to see. My aunt appeared to be sorely disappointed with her daughter's negative attitude, but she had the good grace to accept Angelique's failure and move beyond it to champion my own efforts, seeing that the good of the Sisterhood was more important than catering to the bruised ego of a vindictive young girl. It must have been extremely hard for her to have witnessed her daughter's dissolution at the hands of the very same man I was now manipulating with the gentle and deferent skill of a competent psychologist: a skill set that my cousin, in her arrogance, would never have thought to employ. 

"So," I said to François. "You were standing there half naked with your penis...your big dick (I said the word "dick" because I had noticed earlier that he used the term himself and that he seemed pleased by it) hanging out for all the girls to see. What did you do then?"

"It was not so much what I did," he replied. "It is more what they did to me."

"Oh, really?" I said. "And what was that?"

It was very quiet in the room at this point, and everyone, including myself, seemed intent on not missing a word of his explanation.

"They...ordered me to continue what I was doing before they came in."

"You mean masturbate?"

"Yes."

"While they watched you?"

He looked sheepishly around the room and seemed embarrassed when some of the women began to giggle.

"I could not believe they would ask me to do such a thing in front of them, but Gabrielle and the other three forced me down onto the chair and told me to jerk off to the image of the nude woman on my computer screen. I was so excited and ashamed at the same time but I could not help myself."

"Most men find masturbation to be a very private act," my aunt broke in. "But we teach them that once they have decided to devote their lives to serving the Sisterhood, we are the ones who control their bodies. You know this, don't you François?"

I don't think he appreciated having his tale interrupted by being reminded of his servile role, but there did not seem to be any hint of resentfulness in his reply.

"Yes, I know it, madame," he said. "I am most willing and able to serve the Sisterhood, and I want nothing more than to cater to your every wish. But I am not a submissive man." At this point, he turned to face my cousin, who was wearing a huge scowl on her face. "And no amount of coercion will ever make me do what my conscience will not allow."

Angelique bit her lower lip but said nothing. Her eyes sparkled with an unusual intensity, a sudden glimmer of malice focused in our direction. His words caused some stirring within the Sisterhood ranks, but Lenore appeared entirely unaffected by his sudden and uncharacteristic boldness.

"We have had men like you before," she began. "All served the Sisterhood very well and for many years. You are one of those men who enjoy serving and pleasing women because it brings you great satisfaction. That is all well and good, and there is room for you here. It is not necessary that you submit blindly to our will, although many of our servants wish to be treated so—they want to be controlled. Since Holly has shown to us that you possess an uncompromising spirit, I will not order you to be further punished should you fail to produce the sperm sample. Such punishment would be pointless. However, you will be cast out, never to return. I leave the choice to you."

A new feeling of uneasiness crept over the young man's features although he tried hard not to show it. I knew that the thought of him being forever dismissed from service to the Sisterhood would be far more injurious than any form of corporeal punishment the Sisters could inflict. The Sisterhood had become for him his raison d'être, and the thought that he might be "cast out," as Lenore had put it, could not but trouble him greatly. The Sisterhood leader understood this, even before I, myself, had grasped its implications. Whether this new threat would serve to make him produce the sperm sample or not, along with the momentous decision to reveal it, was highly questionable and a big gamble on Lenore's part. I almost wish she had said nothing, seeing how far I had progressed with François. But the die had been cast, and there was nothing to do but continue the game.

Angelique looked at me with a sinister grin, no doubt hoping that Lenore's warning would result in François' failure to ejaculate, resulting in his, and my own, ultimate humiliation and dismissal. She made no effort to hide her disgust for the man, or for my impromptu methods used to provoke him to climax. Her earlier attempts to convince her mother and me that she felt little or no disappointment at being denied the chance to become the older woman's protégé was nothing more than a sham—a clever performance carefully thought out and executed by a mind determined to achieve its goal at all costs. Her recent actions had made this point disturbingly clear. If I failed at this critical juncture, I would lose credibility in Lenore's eyes. Such a failure might not result in my forfeiting my current status within the Sisterhood, but it certainly would not improve it. And even more disturbing, it would give Angelique the opportunity to turn my defeat into her own personal victory by default, which she could then flaunt before me and everyone else until those hypnotic eyes of hers had convinced the whole world that I was only some upstart girl from America whose charm had momentarily blinded the better instincts of her beneficent but naïve Sisterhood mentor. As much as I hated to admit this fact to myself, I could no more deny its veracity than I could deny Angelique's uncompromising nature. From this moment on, I would never look at her the same way.

"François?" I began. "Would you please continue with your story?"

Fully aware that his fate was now on the line, he took a deep breath and resumed his tale. But instead of the halting speech he had employed earlier, he now spoke out in a more demonstrative way, using his hands to embellish a point, or substituting a French word for an English one when he felt the word did not fully communicate his meaning. In effect, his storytelling approach became suddenly more visceral and engaging. My questions, too, were handled with quick and descriptive answers, which delighted me to no end. I know he was trying very hard to prove to us, and more importantly to himself, that he would not allow his inherent shyness to destroy his chances at becoming a servant to the Sisterhood, and my only concern was that, in his haste to redeem himself, he did not falter or allow his newfound passion to interfere with the ultimate goal of producing the sperm sample.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 05



"...And it was Gabrielle herself who completely undressed me before the three other giggling girls," François related enthusiastically. "Of course I could have easily fought my way out if I really wanted to, but I had already surrendered to them in my heart, and they knew it."

"So you really enjoyed the fact that they had this control over you?" I asked.

"À qui le dis-tu?"

"I'm sorry. Please say it in English."

He smiled. "Of course. I mean to say only that it was incredibly exciting."

In his retelling of the story his eyes would widen every so often and sweep across the entire room to see what effect his words were having upon his listeners. I was happy to see that he was acting more confidently, and his excitement soon transferred itself to his captive audience.

"So, what happened next?" I asked eagerly, trying to avoid a lull in his presentation.

"Well, one of the girls—she had very long, red hair and a marvelous face—she tells me to masturbate myself and hands me a bottle of hand lotion. So, I put some of the lotion onto my hands and I begin to jerk off as I always do, as if they were not even there!"

"Incredible!" Greta exclaimed. "And you so shy!"

"Yes, madame," François replied. "But my head down there was doing my thinking for me!"

He pointed quickly to his crotch, which suddenly appeared to be harboring something large and menacing beneath the outline of its folds.

"You probably had to use a lot of hand lotion on yourself I'll bet," I said, as my eyes fell on his lap.

He looked down at the expanding area under the cloth and laughed.

"Well," he began, "there is a lot of area to cover!"

"We know! We know!" Estelle commented cheerily. "Keep going!"

François seemed immensely pleased that so many of the women were eagerly pushing for him to relate his story, and this seemed to animate him ever more.

"The next thing I know," he continued, "Gabrielle and the other three girls start to ask me all kinds of sexual questions. Embarrassing, but also very thrilling."

Janet let her hand fall down to rest upon the knee of her right leg, which was extended outward in our direction. "I assume they wanted to know how big your dork was?" she asked.

"Yes, madame," François replied. "And how many times a day I masturbate."

"And what did you tell them?" she inquired coyly. 

"About two or three times, madame."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "Your balls must produce a prodigious amount of semen."

"As I told you earlier," he said proudly. "I can fill a cup."

"Yes, I remember," she said, as her hand began caressing her lower leg.

I could tell that Janet was getting turned on by this sexual exchange with François. I think he realized it too, and judging by the now apparent erection that had manifested itself in the course of their conversation, I think he wanted it to continue, and so did I.

"Then they started to call my penis funny names," he said to her. "They used a lot of American slang words like cock, prick, dork...

"Schlong?" Janet added, gleefully.

"Yes, and...a very strange one I don't remember." He paused for a moment, looking annoyed at himself for not recalling the term. "I think it was something like...peck...peck..."

"Pecker!" I blurted out.

"Voila!" François laughed. "That was it! Such a funny name!"

Everyone laughed at my sudden outburst, but Janet seemed perturbed that she had not been the one think of the name first.

"There are quite a lot of names to describe the penis," she said nonchalantly, her gaze falling upon his crotch. "In addition to the ones already mentioned, there is also shaft, tool, Johnson, dick, meat pole...oh the list is endless. My husband calls his a 'randy, rampaging, rump reamer'!"

Her admission seemed to amuse the crowd to no end.

"Well, it's true!" she laughed, attempting to sound convincing.

"So, tell us François," I said, trying to get back to the heart of the matter. "What happened next?"

"Well, Gabrielle sees that I need more lubrication, so she squirts some lotion into her hand and begins then and there to apply it to my cock."

"This is your stepsister we're talking about, right?" Lenore asked.

"Yes, madame."

"A very kinky thing for a stepsister to do was it not?"

François chuckled. "Indeed it was, madame! And I was completely shocked. But the most amazing thing of all is that she did not just apply the lotion. No, she begins to rub it into my skin, and then she invites all the other girls to rub me too!"

"What a bloody tart!" Marge exclaimed.

"I'll be it felt great," I added.

"Oh, Holly, let me tell you," he replied, clutching a loose fold of fabric in his hand. "I felt as if every part of my body was dead except for this big thing between my legs. Four pairs of hands tugging and pulling on my cock and balls this way and that! It was a most incredible sensation!"

Without thinking, he let his right hand drop into his lap, his fingers lightly touching the huge bulge beneath the robe. "Most incredible!" he said again.

Charlotte watched the young man's fingers toy with the lump under his gown and giggled.

"Shame on you, François," she said teasingly, "You have a hard on."

The young man blushed a little, but he was beyond denying what was plainly obvious to all of us.

"Yes, madame," he replied. "I'm as hard as a rock."

This brought forth a chorus of moans from the audience.

"Well, don't be selfish," she said with feigned annoyance. "Whip it out so that all of us can see it."

"Yeah," a short, busty woman shouted. "I want to get a closer look at that thing!"

"Me too!" said another.

Several other women threw their comments into the mix of slurs and taunts, all of which seemed to heighten his arousal by varying degrees. François drank in every jest, every sexual innuendo like a man dying of thirst. Their jibes seemed to vivify him, adding fuel to the sexual furnace that comprised his libido. 

He looked at me several times as if seeking direction while the audience cajoled him and begged him to remove his robe. Sensing he was anxious to comply with the women's demands, I told him to stand up and take off his gown. He seemed a bit reluctant at first, but goaded by the constant barrage of cheers he finally rose up from his seat and with one graceful flourish, let the robe fall from his shoulders and onto the floor. Everyone in the room gave him a thunderous round of applause as once again the towering pink shaft stood at full mast, jutting out from between his legs like some impossible monolith.

"C'est qqch qui ne se voit pas tous les jours!" said a woman at the far end of the room.

C'est peu dire!" another woman answered.

I asked François to interpret what they had said.

"They said you don't see something like this every day," he replied, quickly growing accustomed to being on display.

I asked him to sit down again so that he could resume his story, but the women kept teasing him.

"Tell me something, François," Felicia asked him. "How do you manage to walk with such a huge penis?"

"Well," he replied, "it's not always the way you see it now. If it was...I'd probably need a wheelchair to get around!"

Felicia laughed and stole a look at my aunt. "Now we know what you saw in this man," she said. "And you didn't have to look further than his groin!"

My aunt, despite the disappointing day she had had so far with Angelique, managed a smile. "That's right, and he's all mine!" she said with a laugh.

Dr. Monroe, seemingly anxious to acquire the sperm sample, turned to me just then and suggested we let François reenact his episode with Gabrielle and her girlfriends with the intention of getting him to cum.

"He really seems to enjoy telling this story," she remarked. "May I suggest that you have him continue and we'll help him along?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Alicia," she said turning to the nurse. "Would you mind getting some of that new prescription cream that we sometimes use to help keep our patients erect? You know where it is don't you?"

"Yes, doctor," Alicia replied with a grin. "I used it on a patient just yesterday."

Alicia waltzed off into the adjoining room and came out moments later holding a large metallic tube in her hands. Dr. Monroe took the tube from her, inspected it, and then handed it to me.

"I had a negative reaction from him the first time I tried to masturbate him," she admitted. "He seems to like you a lot. Maybe you could apply some to his penis."

"If he'll let me," I said, feeling a little uncertain.

"I really don't think he's going to mind. Sometimes a man just needs a helping hand."

I laughed at her comment but I really didn't want to wind up masturbating him. I wanted him to prove to himself that he could do it on his own, in front of all these lewd and raunchy women, without help from anyone. And I knew the women would enjoy watching him manipulate that enormous piece of hardware simply as spectators, with no physical involvement to divert their attention from his wonderfully freakish penis.

"Okay," I said. "I think it's time we brought this whole thing to a head."

"Aptly put," Dr. Monroe said, chuckling at my unintended pun.

When François saw me apply the cream to my hands he sat up straight in his chair looking expectantly at me.

"I'm going to rub some of this stuff all over your penis," I said to him. "And then I want you to begin masturbating yourself while you tell the rest of your story to us. Will you do that for me, François?"

I asked this in the sweetest way possible, keeping my voice soft and melodic but not without a touch of coyness.

"Yes, mademoiselle," he replied earnestly. "I will do it for you."

Dr. Monroe looked at me and winked, as if to say her opinion about the young man's attraction toward me was correct after all.

I asked the women to remain quiet for the duration of his story, fearing that if they kept questioning him it would interfere with his concentration. This they begrudgingly agreed to do, though a few of the more feisty among the group continued to shout catcalls now and then. Lenore looked a bit impatient but said nothing, preferring to let the unusual scenario play out to its hopefully satisfactory conclusion. 

My aunt Phoebe sat back in her chair looking pensive. As for Angelique, she sat quietly next to her mother, behaving like some haughty queen who had seen her last opportunity for success crushed beneath the feet of her familial rival. In such an unfriendly light did she regard me, as though I were some lowly vassal who had mistakenly found her way into the royal court: a court presided over by a contemptuous and willful sovereign desirous of consigning her formerly loyal subject to the dungeons for daring to challenge her authority. But I could not allow such negative thoughts to deter me from my duty. The time I had with the patient was not limitless, and I knew that Lenore would not allow my efforts to continue for much longer without substantial results.

I knelt down in front of François, and took both my hands, now slick with the cream, and applied the fragrant lotion to the upper side of his very long shaft. I rubbed the lotion into his skin using small circular movements, as if I was waxing a car. He purred softly as my tiny hands glided effortlessly up and down, over and under, his erect organ, taking particular delight when I held the base of his shaft with one hand while using my other hand to cover the area that comprised his glans. Because his penis was so large, it could not help but remain parallel to the floor, despite the fact that my handjob had made him completely turgid. 

"I hope you're not forgetting his balls," I heard Angelique suddenly comment in a derisive voice.

"Don't worry Angelique," I replied without stopping to look up at her. "I have him firmly in hand."

With that I grabbed the giant prick in one hand and lifted it up while I let my other hand massage the two huge balls that rested directly underneath it. Angelique continued to watch but made no further comment.

"How does that feel, François?" I asked, tugging softly on the smooth testicular skin.

"Incredible!" he said, leaning back in his chair with his eyes half closed. "You are very skillful mademoiselle! I mean, Holly!"

I continued to work on his cock for several minutes more, paying close attention to the tiny area of skin just below the glans where I knew it was most sensitive. I let my thumb play with the little strip of flesh in a teasing fashion, which seemed to excite him greatly. Finally, with my knees beginning to hurt and my hands tiring, I saw the first tiny bead of pre-cum exude from the tip of his penis and knew that it was time for him to take control.

"Okay, big boy," I said rising. "Keep stroking and finish the story."

He let out a groan when I removed my hands from this cock, but quickly let his right hand take over. Dr. Monroe, nurse Alicia, and the two brunettes stood up behind him to watch his progress while I pulled up my chair to his immediate left, anxious to hear the remainder of his erotic tale.

"So there I am," he began, "masturbating myself for the four girls, just as I am now for all of you, and I am looking at a picture of a nude woman on my computer screen. My stepsister asks me if I have other pictures of nude women on my computer and I say 'no.' Of course she does not believe me."

His hand continued to stroke his penis, slowly but firmly. Both his legs were now fully extended before him, as if to add support for the mighty tool that reached outward almost to his knees. His breathing became more labored as he related the lurid tale, and I think he was purposely taking his time to wait until a certain moment in the story before he would allow himself to cum.

"Gabrielle demands that I show her the other pictures, but I have software that makes the pictures invisible to anyone without the password."

"Did you have more naked pictures?" I asked him.

"Oh yes," he replied taking in a large gulp of air. "Thousands of them. Over 10 gigabytes!"

"From porno sites?"

"Yes. And some pictures..."

"Yes?"

"And some pictures of Gabrielle and her friends in the backyard pool...all of them... naked."

As he said these words his face grew visibly more excited and the tempo of his stroking increased.

"I photographed them all one afternoon when they thought no one was around."

At this point I had to wonder whether it was the special cream that was responsible for his massive erection or the unbridled lust he was feeling in telling the story that made his hand now fly fast and furious over the fleshy terrain.

"Gabrielle...she commands me to give her the password, but at first I refuse."

"What did she do?" I asked.

"She does an amazing thing!" he exclaimed, as his fist pumped his cock hard. "She...she grabs my cock in her hand and starts to jerk me off herself!"

"Really?"

"And the other three girls cheer her on!"

His chest was heaving up and down at this point, and his words were coming out in shorter sentences now.

"And I watch her do this to me... and I can't believe it. But it feels so fucking good that I don't want her to stop!"

"You liked the feel of your sister's hands on your cock?" I asked, hoping to further fuel his fetish.

"It was better...than anything I have ever felt...in my life!"

"Did she make you cum?"

He paused only momentarily to let out a chuckle, but soon resumed his previous pace.

"Oh, my God! She made me almost cum seven times! Each time she brings me to the brink...and then takes her hand away! Horrible!"

"Because you wouldn't give her the password?"

"Yes...yes, because of that."

"But she got it out of you didn't she?"

"I could not take it any more," he replied with a low moan. "On the eighth time I finally gave her the password... and she finds the pictures. She and her friends got so mad that they gave me a spanking..."

"You must have felt very humiliated."

"I was, but I got excited even more!"

To accentuate this he pulled on his massive organ with increased speed. I noticed that many of the women in the audience had moved their chairs in closer to watch the young man unashamedly masturbate himself, the formerly reluctant and timid patient now a brazen masturbator, seeking sexual fulfillment in a room crowded with women.

"After each of them takes turns spanking me, Gabrielle orders me to jerk off to the pictures I took of them. 'You are a pervert and a pig!' my stepsister says to me. 'For your punishment I want you to shoot your sperm all over the computer!'"

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Nothing!" he cried, his eyes looking across the room at the crowd of women anxiously awaiting his eruption. "I could do nothing because... my stepsister takes my penis in her hands... and masturbates me very quickly."

His face was now a bright red and he was struggling to continue with the story. I think every woman in the room knew that he was now on the brink of orgasm, but what word or recollection of events would compel him to spill his creamy seed none of us could guess.

"And I am so dying to cum...just like I am now...that I could do nothing to stop it."

"She was forcing you to cum," I said.

"Yes! And I leaned back and let her do it to me!" 

François pulled furiously on his prick, his enormous balls bouncing back and forth from his energetic performance as he recalled the event. 

"And then," he stated with an air of finality. "One of the other girls...Renee...she holds my balls hard and laughs as Gabrielle... strokes just the tip of my penis and points it right at the monitor screen."

François mimicked this same procedure even as it was apparent he was about to ejaculate. 

"One, two, three...very quick bursts and..."

"And what?" I asked teasingly.

For a moment it appeared as though he couldn't answer and then he caught his breath, still stroking his cock like a demon.

"Oh, she makes me do it...all over the keyboard...all over her hands...and the hands of all the other girls! I shoot my cum everywhere and they all laugh!"

As if on cue, several of the women in the room started to laugh as well, as did I, finding his story humorous as well as sexy. It was the missing piece of the puzzle that finally made the picture complete.

"Your sister gave you a handjob in front of all her friends," I said, laughing along with the others. "Your computer must have been one hell of a sticky mess!"

That was it. His fetish now lived out before a captive audience, he was now ready to add his final coup de grace to the proceedings. 

His buttocks rose several inches off the chair as we watched his cock rear back and spit out a long, creamy jet of white paste that sailed over the heads of the women closest to him, only to find its target in the hair of one of Charlotte's companions. Along the way, droplets of the whitish fluid cascaded high into the air, making contact with anyone or anything in its path. Delvin Wade had produced amazing orgasms, but nothing close to this.

"He got me!" cried the woman who had been hit.

The entire audience broke out in gales of laughter, but Charlotte seemed more impressed with the young man's powerful orgasm than amused by it. She quickly offered her friend a fistful of tissues to help remove the sticky goo from her hair.

"The jar! The jar!" Charlotte shouted at us as the giant prick released another burst of semen, this time landing right on Janet's long legs.

The startled woman looked down and laughed heartily at the winding trail of sperm that began at her knee and ended in a viscous puddle at the tip of her black patent leather shoes.

"Bloody good that was!" Marge exclaimed.

In our gaiety, we had failed to remember the beaker in which to catch the patient's sperm. I looked at Dr. Monroe and she smiled back at me, thinking I was referring to the humongous cum shot. Then it dawned upon her, without me saying a word, that we had allowed ourselves to be so captivated by his story that his precious sperm was escaping from us even as we were gleefully watching it shoot off into the void.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 06



Suddenly a high-pitched squeal reached our ears. 

"Let me through you damn fools!"

It was Janet Walsh, dressed in a very short black skirt that showed almost too much of her astoundingly beautiful long legs. She was carrying a dish of ice cream in one of her hands as she forced her way through the growing number of spectators. She was so flustered by the time she finally approached us that she didn't even notice what was going on with the waiter and Dr. Monroe.

"Can you believe it?" she said to us as she held the bowl of ice cream in front of her. "All these wonderful desserts and not one ounce of whipped cream!"

All of us, including the women from the other table, turned to look at the leggy brunette. Even the waiter, annoyed that Dr. Monroe had yet again released his penis, gave her a dour look. 

"What is it?" she asked with a confused look. "What did I say?"

As her eyes darted back and forth between us, the women began to giggle in unison.

"Okay, what the hell is…?"

Suddenly her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened as she beheld the mammoth prick hanging just inches away from the doctor's face.

"Well, fuck me!" she exclaimed. 

Her expression and the way she enunciated the words caused all of us to explode into fits of laughter. 

"I'm sure he would like to fuck you!" my aunt squealed, almost unable to speak because she was so irrepressibly amused.

"Would he indeed?" Janet replied. "Not with that bestial thing!"

"It's not so bad once you get your hands on him," the waiter said to her.

"Him? Me get my hands around him?" she exclaimed. "Not on your life buddy!" 

"Come on," he said teasing her. "Put down that ice cream and give it a few tugs." 

"I'll tug those ornaments off you, that's what I'll do!"

The waiter sized her up and down. "I'll bet you look great in the nude."

Janet let out a long laugh. "That's something you'll never see bucko!" 

"All right, that's enough!" Dr. Monroe warned the waiter. "Another word and…"

She abruptly released his penis.

The waiter just stood there as if in pain.

"Get the picture?" she asked.

He nodded, dumbly.

Without another word, the doctor resumed her manipulation of his genitals while the rest of us continued to watch. It was obvious she was going to get him to ejaculate, but how long it might take I couldn't guess. I took a moment to look around the room and noticed that the other waiters were also engaged in various forms of sexual interplay with their female clientele. On the dance floor, and right underneath Porky's nose, a burly waiter was receiving a vicious blowjob from a tall, buxom Sister. Porky and his band, obviously unused to seeing such outlandish sights, managed to conduct themselves with aplomb, seeming to understand that such events were part of the Sisterhood ritual.

A few tables away two of the waiters were having intercourse with Zula. One of the men was fucking her in her asshole while the other had his cock buried in her mouth. She was entirely dressed, with the exception of her panties, which had been removed and were now draped over one of the waiter's heads. The women at her table looked on with approval at the debauched sight.

"Look at that black bitch go!" Janet exclaimed. "She may not be very talkative, but she sure knows how to make her body perform!"

All around us acts of sexual depravity were taking place—and this all happened in a relatively short span of time. Or so it seemed. With my attention being focused upon the waiter and Dr. Monroe, I was not aware as to what was going on around me. In fact, no one was. It was Janet who had to inform us that the long Viennese dessert tables, from which she had gotten her ice cream, had been wheeled out fifteen minutes ago, and that another table of delicacies—in actuality a floating array of French and Italian pastries—was now on its way onto the floor.

On every side I could hear the sounds of people being brought to orgasm. Sometimes his or her wails of pleasure were long and drawn out; other times a litany of filth might be shouted hurriedly as someone reached climax. All this sexual energy in the air seemed to fuel Dr. Monroe's desire to get the waiter to cum. She stroked him now with purposeful intent, wrapping one of her arms around his waist as she masturbated him with her right hand. The huge tool hung over the edge of the table like a drawbridge, a clear stream of pre-cum clinging from the slit at its tip.

"Oh, look at that!" Lenore said suddenly.

She pointed to the dance floor where a long table—the pastry float—was being wheeled into place. Upon the float were several statues, replicas of ancient Greek gods all dressed up in flowing white robes and adorned with garlands of flowers. The statues were displayed in various reclining positions and surrounded by a mass of fanciful cakes, assorted pastries, and fruit. 

Despite the sexual activities taking place around them, many of the women rushed up to the table to get their hands on these delectable-looking desserts. As the mob of women jostled each other to grab one of the exotic edibles, a loud groan escaped from the waiter's mouth. 

"Oh shit!" he yelled. "You're gonna make me cum!"

"Yes I am," Dr. Monroe sang, as she laughed and increased her tempo.

Janet stood watching the doctor with casual indifference. The ice cream in her bowl was already half melted away.

"I wish I had some fucking whipped cream," she said quietly to herself, her gaze transfixed on the waiter's greasy pole.

Lenore looked at Janet and frowned. "I don't want to hear you complain about whipped cream ever again. Give Joanna your dish."

Janet groaned. "Oh, fuck Lenore. Don't tell me…"

"Give her your dish!"

The foul-mouthed brunette shrugged and gently flung the bowl onto the table.

"I'd prefer 'cool whip' actually," she said, as the doctor placed the dish in front of the waiter's cock.

"How about some 'hot' whip?" Dr. Monroe grinned, pointing the tip of his penis into the bowl.

The waiter looked as stiff as one of the statues on the pastry platform. Holding his ass firmly with one hand, the doctor shook his cock as one might shake a can of whipped cream, her actions building up the inside pressure of the fleshy canister until one light touch of the finger would send the contents flying into the air. 

Knowing that he was on the brink of orgasm, all of us grew quiet, hoping to witness a tremendous release of sperm. Lorraine was sitting on the opposite side of Dr. Monroe, not directly in harm's way, so she thought nothing of craning her head forward to watch the doctor's long fingers tease the thin strip of flesh just under his glans. It was a mistake.

Even as Dr. Monroe grasped the end of his cock just beneath the corona, I knew Lorraine was in trouble. Screaming like a wounded animal, the waiter grimaced, and the great prick, formerly held securely in place by Dr. Monroe's firm grip, was now pointing several inches above the bowl of ice cream and straight at the unsuspecting French girl. The doctor's handjob had been so vigorous that she wasn't paying much attention to where she was pointing the mammoth tool.

I tried to warn Lorraine but it was too late. With her mouth wide open in astonishment at the doctor's amazingly effective but haphazard handjob, and leaning the top part of her body even further in to get a better view, I watched as a sudden eruption of hot and gooey semen flew across the table right into the girl's open mouth, hitting the back of her throat and splashing into her upper palate, exuding in great gobs over her lips and onto her chin. It happened so fast that she didn't even have time to turn her head in order to avoid the disaster. This initial attack was followed by a succession of creamy spurts that seemed to go on forever, all of which found their way into her face, hair, arms, and all over the front of her evening gown.

"Arrête! Arrête!" she screamed, as she finally managed to duck her head under the table.

Needless to say, the roar of laughter was deafening.

Muriel and several other women came to her aid at once, grabbing handfuls of napkins and tissues so that they could help her wipe away the abundant sperm that clung to her body in large clumps.

"Oh, Lorraine!" Lenore cried. "Moment mal choisi!"

She then burst out laughing harder than before.

"Merci beaucoup, docteur!" Lorraine exclaimed, as she raised her head up in time to see the doctor coax yet another gigantic load of sperm out of the waiter's convulsing prick. I watched as the long jet of cream sailed out over a startled Justine's head and into the wall behind her, impacting upon an oil painting of Ella Fitzgerald, hitting her squarely in the eye. This spectacular feat earned the young man a tremendous round of applause, yet only a tiny portion of sperm had actually landed in the bowl.

"Sorry!" Dr. Monroe said to everyone as she laughed and masturbated the waiter furiously, unsuccessfully trying to control the direction of the thick, white stream.

But even as the waiter continued to ejaculate, something else was grabbing our attention.

On the dance floor a mass of women were shrieking with joy as they stood around the pastry float. Their voices were so loud that it caught the attention of the entire room. From what I could see, the statues were no longer on the float but were now on the floor itself, surrounded by these crazed women.

"What the hell is going on over there?" my aunt said, quickly rising from her chair.

Dr. Monroe, having wrung the last few drops of cum from the waiter's now completely drained prick, and her hand dripping with his semen, ordered him to bring us a round of drinks and a bunch of napkins. As he walked away she gave him a hard slap on his ass and looked out toward the dance floor.

"I think they're licking the damned statues!" she exclaimed.

"No, they're not licking them," Lenore said. "They're trying to fuck them!"

Felicia and the women from her table had already run off toward the dance floor to see what was going on. Now it was our turn.

As we rushed up to join in the melee, a man approached my aunt and took her aside. It was her friend 

"Phoebe," he said in the midst of trying to pry one drunken sister off a prostrate man. "You've got to do something about this. They're going to hurt the guys. Call them off!"

Before my aunt could act, Lenore had already assessed the situation and ran up onto the stage and addressed the frenzied mob.

"Hey, you drunken whores!" she yelled at them through the microphone. "Get away from those boys—now!"

The volume and intonation of her voice was enough to grab everyone's attention, but her usage of the term "drunken whores" made some of the women laugh.

"But they're so delicious!" said an elderly Sister, her face smeared with frosting.

"Get back to your seats or I'll take away those awards and every other privilege you own!"

All the women stood completely still for a moment and looked at each other dumbly. Knowing full well that the Sisterhood leader would have no trouble fulfilling her threats, they slowly began to slink off, leaving behind a trail of thick, white frosting that clung to their hair, clothes, and shoes. As they retreated to their respective tables, what remained were two young men: one black, the other white, the others had run out the kitchen door. The black man was a bit larger than the white man, and far more muscular, so it was through his efforts that both men now rose to their feet, the remaining frosting falling of their bodies in big clumps. Both of their faces, however, were covered over with the sticky white substance, making their features indistinguishable.

"Holly," Lenore began. "This was supposed to be a surprise. My gift to you for doing such a wonderful job today and for showing us that results don't necessarily need to be obtained through punishment and humiliation." She paused briefly to wipe some frosting off her arm. "Of course, there's nothing wrong in that either."

Some of the Sisters laughed at her comment, but not all.

"In any event, I hope you will enjoy the rest of the evening. And as for the rest of you unruly bitches, leave those boys alone!"

Lenore turned to say something to Porky, whose exuberant expression indicated that he thought this whole affair more amusing than anyone, and then walked off the stage toward the nearest table of women. Once some sense of order had been restored, Porky began to lead the band in a rendition of "Moonlight Serenade," looking every now and then at the two disheveled statues dripping with frosting and laughing heartily at the ridiculous sight. 

As I began to walk back to my table with my aunt and the rest of our party, I felt a wet and sticky hand reach out to take mine and turned around sharply.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, pulling my hand away from the white boy.

Both he and the black man looked at me through the layers of frosting covering their faces and smiled.

"It's me, Holly," the white man said, stepping forward. "It's Craig."





Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 06



"I love to watch these bastards squirm," Marge giggled as she extended her legs out before her. "Look at this guy," she said to Angelique, noting the man next to Jacques who looked like he was in pain. "Oh, he's not going to last much longer, I can tell you that!"

Marge had always had an uncanny notion of being able to predict the exact moment of a man's ejaculation. This fascinated Angelique, who herself could never rightly determine when, or even if, a guy was about to cum or not. She would never admit this to anyone of course because that would be a declaration of weakness. Instead, she would guess when the moment of ejaculation would commence, and she was, incredibly, often right.

"Gee, Jacques, you're holding up pretty well," Angelique said, bending forward to take a closer look. "But you," she said to the man in the middle, "you look like your going to cream any second."

The man in the middle was at least 20 years older than his counterparts. Angelique figured him to be in his early 40s: a married man with six kids who had fallen upon hard times and was looking for a way out of his misery by attempting to become the next "Long Shots" champion. She didn't think it was going to be his year.

"Time?" Angelique asked Marge.

"Going on one minute," the woman replied, looking at her watch.

Angelique watched the man's balls rise upwards to caress the underside of his penis and giggled.

"I don't think you're going to make it Louis," she observed.

"Right now!" Marge concurred.

No sooner had the words escaped her lips than Louis' prick started to shoot out long strands of sticky white sperm. Marge and Angelique reacted with joy as the man's cock ejaculated uncontrollably, sending rope after rope of white-hot sperm careening into the sides of the cylinder. He looked like he was having a heart attack.

"No wonder you have so many fucking kids!" Angelique squealed. "You're a premature ejaculator!"

The two women doubled over with laughter as Louis continued to coat the walls of the device with his sticky spunk.

Now it was between Jacques and the little, curly-haired man.

Bertrand, or "Bernie," as he liked to be called, was a man in his early twenties and had worked alongside Jacques as one of the laborers on the Anjou vineyard. He was a rather cute-looking man but very insecure with women. Of course, Angelique loved to humiliate men like this, and she relished the thought of laying into him.

"You little prick," she said to Bernie as he fought valiantly to prevent his ejaculation. "It's no use trying to fight it. I can see that your balls are full. Shoot it out for me. Shoot out all that nasty semen."

Not wanting to let Jacques off the hook either, Marge held her open fist in front of the sweating man and moved it back and forth, mocking him.

"Wouldn't you rather have my hand pulling on your big schlong?" she teased him. "Come on you bloody bastard! Give me your sperm!"

Jacques closed his eyes and turned his face away, trying to block out the offending vision. He wanted desperately not to ejaculate because he really enjoyed being humiliated in this way: at the hands of two beautiful women whom he knew he could never possess. The very thought that they were forever beyond his reach is what made his humiliation so powerful, and he wanted to keep reliving this experience in whatever myriad forms it took, so that he would be deemed worthy to remain in the wicked women's service: adoring them, serving them, worshipping them. He would continue to work in the vineyards for low pay just so he could be their human footstool. No other kind of existence was possible for him.

"How much time?" Angelique inquired.

"Three minutes left."

The machines continued to move up and down the fleshy terrain of the men's penises while the special lubricant worked its magic. Both men were fighting hard not to cum, their eyes shut tight as if trying to imagine anything else than the image of the incessant milking machine that was working hard to rob them of their vital juices. Another thirty seconds went by and both women took bets on who would be the first to relinquish his load.

"The little shit is going to lose it first," Angelique said confidently as she watched for the telltale rise in the little man's balls.

"I bet you a hundred francs that your foreman cums first," Marge said.

But as she said these words, it was apparent that Angelique had guessed correctly.

Bernie was losing the battle. Unable to withstand the constant stroking of his cock, the semen of which had not been allowed to be released for almost seven days by his giggling tormentors, he surrendered himself to the overwhelming pleasurable sensations of the whirring machine and fell back in his chair.

"Here it comes," Marge said, knowing she had lost the bet.

"Balls up and in," Angelique laughed. "Sperm up and out."

As if in dutiful obeisance to the willful girl's observation, Bernie's body froze as his prick reared back and fired out several salvos of milky semen, the spurts hitting the far end of the cylinder one after the other.

"Ha!" Angelique said clapping her hands. "I won!"

Marge said nothing, but she continued to watch Bernie shoot his cum, delighted that the cylinder was now almost half full.

"What a fucking huge load for such a little man!" she said, almost praising him.

Angelique was happy that she had predicted correctly and asked Marge the time.

"Five minutes…now!"

"Excellent!" Angelique exclaimed. 

She moved in closer to Jacques, who was now on the verge of orgasm himself.

"There may be hope for you yet mother fucker!" she said to him, her voice dripping with disdain.

In response, the handsome young man delivered the most powerful cumshot of his life, the jets of his lust splashing about inside the cylinder as if they had a mind of their own, demanding release from the confines of their artificial prison. 

"You fucking pig! You filthy pervert!" Angelique laughed, as the creamy semen coated the bottom and sides of the cylinder, filling it up to near capacity with his lustful offering.

"I think we may have a winner here," Marge remarked as Jacques' orgasm slowly began to subside.

Angelique turned off the device and sat admiring the almost full cylinder of sperm.

"Maybe," she replied. "But all we did was weed out the best of a bad lot. I think we may need a secret weapon."

Marge turned both her remote control units off and placed them on the counter behind her. "What secret weapon?"

"Not what…who," Angelique smiled as she got up and walked toward the door.

Marge looked at her friend expecting further clarification, but sensing none was forthcoming, she shrugged and got up.

"What about them?" Marge asked.

"Leave them here. We'll come back for them in the morning."

Marge followed her friend out without a word.

"Goodnight, you sick fucks," the hateful blonde girl said as she turned off the lights and closed the door.





Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 06



"We could use a few more bottles," my aunt replied.

The first outfit I modeled for them was a lovely black, satin, tube dress with a simple ruffled hem that hugged my body like a leotard. As I walked from the main room into the back room where they were congregated, I was greeted with several catcalls and whistles. Craig just stood there open-mouthed.

"Wow!" was all he could say, as his eyes followed my every move.

"You look simply stunning!" my aunt said.

Everyone seemed to agree.

"I have never seen anyone look so good in this dress," Sylvie said, admiring me. "It was made for you, Holly."

I took a look at myself in the full-length mirror and liked what I saw.

"It makes me look so thin," I noted with pleasure.

"You're already thin," Lenore said. "It makes you look elegant."

"Sexy," my aunt chimed in.

"Thin, elegant, and sexy," Justine added.

"Wow!" Craig said again.

I tried on several more dresses in succession, at one point surrendering my better judgment to Sylvie, who insisted that I should model a pink chiffon dress that made me look more like a prom queen than the sleek, sexy woman I was trying to portray. But it was the dress I had tried on first, the black, satin gown, which got the highest approval rating. 

"Thank you, Lenore," I said when I returned from the fitting room. "You are way too generous."

"Nonsense. You're going to need a new gown to wear to your aunt Phoebe's indoctrination ceremony. It's only three weeks away you know."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot," I said, suddenly remembering that my aunt had imparted this information to me weeks earlier. "But I thought you were already a full-fledged Sister aunt Phoebe." 

"I am," she replied. "But the Sisterhood has certain rituals that everyone must observe. I can't say anymore in mixed company."

She stole a glance at Craig, making it clear that we should drop the subject.

After all the details of the purchase of the dress had been attended to, Sylvie asked us if we would like to go downstairs so that she could show us her workshop, to which we all readily agreed. The tiny, creaking, wooden staircase led down into a cool, almost dank, but well-lit room with a cement floor and overhead florescent lights. Along either side of the room stood two, long, wooden tables that contained a wide array of various fabrics and patterns. In the far corner sat two girls with short, blonde hair busily sewing garments together on their electronic sewing machines. They were twins, about eighteen or nineteen years old and very pretty. When they saw us come down they looked up from their work momentarily but said nothing. For a while, only the buzz of the machines could be heard.

"These are my grandchildren, Julie and Juliette," Sylvie announced with pride. "Everything you see upstairs was made by them. Your dress, too, Holly."

Sylvie ordered the girls to stop sewing and to quit their work for the day. After they had been formally introduced to us, Sylvie asked them to retrieve some items from the refrigerator in an adjoining room.

"Bring out some Brie and fruit and set it up on the table for our guests," she said to the twins. "A few more bottles of wine too. Make one of them white."

Both girls promptly left the room to do her bidding. I noticed that both of them, although friendly and polite, were not very talkative. I thought the handsome young boy standing next to me might be the cause of their shyness and was proven right when I caught the two of them staring at him and giggling intermittently. I could hear their giggles even from the adjoining room. 

The girls returned a few minutes later with a few bottles of wine, a huge bowl of fruit, and a plate of cheese and bread. Chairs were spread out around one of the tables and Sylvie invited all of us to sit down and eat.

A little way into our meal and Sylvie, who had been eyeing Craig now and then, finally struck up a conversation with him.

"You know Craig," she began, "besides my late husband and my son, I think you are the only other man I've ever allowed in this workshop."

Craig seemed impressed by this. "Thank you for inviting me, ma'm. It's a…a real nice place. Good cheese too."

Sylvie laughed. "That's a man for you. Always his mind on the food."

"Or sex," Astrid quipped.

"Yes, sex," Sylvie agreed. "Feed them and fuck them, eh?"

All of us laughed at her comment, but I had never gotten used to hearing an older women use such untoward language, and I found it especially odd that she would use such a word in front of Julie and Juliette.

"May I ask how you came to know this group of hedonists?" she asked Craig while looking directly at my aunt and Lenore.

"It's a long story," he replied, biting off a mouthful of bread. "Kind of a weird story, too."

"Oh, that's fine. I love to hear weird stories."

"Well," he began, "this doctor back in Sweden, Dr. Swensen…she created a drug to help men with…well, with erection problems…"

He was interrupted just then by the twins, who seemed to find this information amusing and giggled loudly.

"Now, hold on," he said, defending himself. "I don't have that problem, okay? I got the drug illegally and was using it to enhance my…"

At this point he stopped and shook his head.

"I really don't think this is appropriate," he said, looking at the two young girls sitting across from him who seemed to be hanging on his every word.

"No, please," Sylvie insisted. "My girls are adults. They understand everything about sex. More than you probably. Finish your story."

I could tell that Craig's inherent shyness was going to be somewhat of an obstacle, but he persevered nonetheless.

"See, this drug—it's called 'EJAX-472'—is a drug that increases male fertility. It helps the man to produce more sperm."

"More sperm?" Sylvie asked incredulously. "Don't they produce enough of it already?"

Everyone found this comment amusing.

"Not the men with fertility problems. Without the drug they can't ever hope to have kids."

"But how did you get your hands on it?"

"It was stolen from the doctor's laboratory, and the dude who stole the stuff sold it to the doctor's sister's husband."

"Bonnie Olmstead," my aunt interjected. "She's an acquaintance of mine. My daughter Angelique and I visited her recently at her home in Stockholm."

"So the woman Bonnie…her husband…"

"Philip," Craig said.

"He sold you the drug and you actually took it?"

"Yes."

"And what happened to you?"

Craig hesitated for a moment.

"Please," Sylvie said. "You don't have to be shy around us."

"Well…several things started to occur. My sperm count went through the roof and… I found I could ejaculate really far."

"Really?" Sylvie asked, her interest piqued by this piece of news. "How far?"

"About ten to fifteen feet."

The twins exploded with laughter. I thought Sylvie herself was going to fall off her chair. Having seen both Craig and Barney perform such ejaculatory feats only recently at the Masturbatorium, neither Lenore, my aunt, nor I found this statement particularly difficult to accept. However, Astrid and Chantal, although not laughing, were stupefied at Craig's revelation.

"I've never heard of such a thing in my life!" Chantal exclaimed.

"Ask Ms. Anjou. She was there. She saw it," Craig said.

"Is this true, Phoebe?" Sylvie asked, totally bemused.

"Yes, it's true," my aunt replied flatly. "I was at Bonnie's house when Craig, his friend Barney, and even Bonnie's husband Philip, himself, gave us a demonstration. They were all under the influence of the drug."

Sylvie frowned. "I find this hard to believe. What kind of demonstration did they give?"

"It was something Bonnie cooked up for Dr. Swensen's birthday party. All the men wound up ejaculating in one way or another. It was actually quite enjoyable."

The twins looked at one another and snickered. 

"And you say these incredible ejaculations were all due to the effects of this EJAX drug?"

"Yes," my aunt replied.

"In all my years in the Sisterhood I've never seen a man shoot his sperm more than three of four feet at most." 

Lenore toyed with a piece of fruit on her plate, looking pensive. "But then you haven't been to a meeting in many years have you? We've since developed some methods of our own to increase a man's ejaculatory abilities. In fact, that's how the 'Long Shots' contest got started."

"I've heard of this contest," Sylvie acknowledged. "And this time I am going to attend. And Julie and Juliette are coming too."

Both girl's faces immediately lit up.

"If they have any aspirations of becoming Sisters," Justine said, "now is the time to acquaint them with our practices."

"It was my fault," Sylvie admitted. "My business took over my life. And I've worked these two darlings half to death in the process. But that is going to change."

"I'm glad to hear that," Lenore said. "We've missed you at our meetings."

Estelle seconded her superior's sentiments. "I think you'll be fascinated at how far along the Sisterhood has progressed during your absence," she said to Sylvie. "It will be nice to have you back."

For the next half hour Lenore and the others brought Sylvie up to date on the Sisterhood. She listened attentively to what they had to say, often responding with surprise when she was told of certain programs my aunt had instituted under the banner of the "Philanthropic Society," which acted as a non-profit organization for the benefit of young French people. She also found it immensely amusing to learn that there were many new devices that had been incorporated into the Sisterhood rituals—unusual and prototypical devices that were designed with the specific intention of controlling men.

"It can do that?" she blurted out at one point upon learning what an 'Extractinator' could do.

"It sounds positively diabolical," Chantal commented.

"We have yet to use it," Lenore said. "But we shall soon."

The wine flowed freely throughout our conversation. My aunt, despite her earlier observation to Sylvie that she had to limit her liquor consumption, completely ignored her own prohibition and indulged herself without constraint. Whether she drank because she felt comfortable in the presence of her friends, or whether her impropriety was due to some underlying symptom related to her recent estrangement from Angelique, she paid no heed to my warnings to stop drinking and, in fact, encouraged me to drink along with the rest of them.

Craig was not immune from the friendly, yet insistent, demands of my aunt either. Each time his wine glass was emptied, she would fill it up again. He would protest, but his good-natured attitude would not allow him to refuse her. After several glasses of wine, he was quite giddy, and I had to step in on his behalf, even as my aunt was ready to pour him another glass.

"No more aunt Phoebe," I insisted. "I want to spend some time together with him and I'd prefer he wasn't drunk."

"Nobody's drunk around here," she said, putting down the bottle.

"You are!" I said. "Please stop."

At first she looked offended, but then her face quickly softened when she saw how upset I was.

"I am not drunk, Holly," she said, making certain to pronounce every word succinctly. "I am just feeling…good!"

"But she's right, Phoebe," Lenore said. "You can't hold your liquor. And I don't want you getting sick. Lay off."

I don't know if my concern over her self-indulgence was what prevented her from drinking further, or if it was Lenore's admonition, but my aunt pushed her glass of wine away and didn't touch another drop during the remainder of the time we were there. Sylvie encouraged her to eat some bread, which she did, to help alleviate the effects of the alcohol. However, by this time everyone, including myself, had had enough to drink so that our conversation began to focus upon other, more intimate, subjects.  

It was the twins, whose silence the wine and my persistence had finally managed to conquer, who suddenly began dominating the conversation, the lascivious context of which was avidly pursued by these two unlikely candidates. I expected Sylvie to be surprised by their casual sexual banter and uncharacteristic loquaciousness, but she obviously was accustomed to such behavior because she didn't seem in the least bit bothered by it. In fact, it was Sylvie who encouraged them to talk openly about the outrageous experiences that took place in their store. The girls related several stories to us, one more ribald than the next, and I found myself both amused and enthralled by what they had to tell. 

"You would be surprised how many famous people have come walking into our boutique," Julie announced. "They come from all over the world. Celebrities, movie stars, musicians… We even get men sometimes."

"I thought this store only sold women's clothes," Craig said.

"Yes, it's true that we sell mainly women's apparel, but we get the occasional order for men's clothing too."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Well, like business suits, shirts, and some novelty items."

"Novelty items?" 

"Yes, we supply some of our Parisian distributors with a special line of men's bikini briefs, thongs…"

"Thongs?" Craig interrupted her. "You make men's thongs here?"

"Once in a while, yes. But they are usually ordered as a specialty item. We don't make a lot of money on such things."

"Would you like to see some?" Juliette asked him.

"Yes, miss, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all," she said cheerily.

As Juliette went to retrieve the items of clothing, Julie related a very lewd story to us involving one famous American actor who had come into the store looking for a dress for his equally famous American mistress who had accompanied him on his quest.

"He was very handsome," Julie recalled. "Better looking in person than on the movie screen. He had the woman try on about a dozen…"

"Twenty one," Sylvie said, correcting her.

"Yes, that's right. Twenty-one different dresses, and he bought every one of them for her. Finally she sees this black negligee and tries it on and she looks…beautiful. She's so happy that she takes him by the hand and leads him into the fitting room. And there they proceed to have sex. How do you like that?"

"And how do you know they were having sex?" Justine asked. "Maybe they were just kissing and being playful."

"No, they were having sex. I know because we have a tiny camera placed in each stall to make sure no one steals anything. And after they left, we found some semen stains on the bench."

Astrid paused in the midst of biting into a slice of cheese. "You mean he fucked here right there in the stall?" 

"Yes," Julie replied. "First he fucked her and then she sucked his penis."

"A slut like her probably has a lot of experience giving blowjobs. Are you sure she blew him?"

"Yes. That's how his semen got all over everything."

Lenore seemed titillated by this little vignette. 

"And where were you when all this was going on?" she asked Sylvie.

"I was in the back room watching the whole thing on television."

"And you did nothing about it?" I asked her.

"What was I to do? The man already spent over $70,000 on her dresses. Was I going to tell him to get out?"

"If that happened in America, and he was found out, it would make the front pages in all the celebrity tabloids," I said.

Sylvie dismissed the whole idea with a wave of her hand.

"Your country is very backward when it comes to sex," she said. "Almost primitive…and hypocritical. It is the nature of mankind to behave so. It has always been that way and so it shall remain. Bon sang ne saurait mentir."

Lenore smiled. "I haven't heard that one in a long time."

"What does it mean?" I asked Sylvie.

"It means that: whatever is bred in the bone comes out in the flesh."

"Meaning that we can't help but act according to our nature?"

"It is the fundamental rule of all life. But you Americans are slow to learn it."

"Well, not all of us," my aunt laughed, as she took a mouthful of bread.

Juliette returned just then with a large cardboard box full of clothing. She put the box down on the table and began to remove items from it, describing each one as she held them up for all to see. I was amazed at the variety of men's bikini briefs she passed around to us. The array of colors and styles was vast. 

"We sold a pair of these black bikinis to that guy who models for Calvin Klein. He's very popular now."

She passed the bikini brief to Craig and waited expectantly for his reaction.

"These are really nice," he said, running his hands over the satiny fabric.

Juliette smiled. "And what do you think of these?"

She handed Craig an emerald-green thong that looked like it was made to fit a young girl. The tiny bit of fabric seemed incapable of covering his ample equipment, yet he was quite enamored of it.

"I could definitely see myself in this," he said, excitedly. 

"Do you like it?" she asked him.

"Oh yeah, they're all great. How much do you want for the green one?"

Juliette looked at Sylvie, unsure of how to answer him.

"Take it," Sylvie said to him. "It's a gift."

"I appreciate that ma'm but I don't feel right not giving you something for it."

"No, no, I insist. Enjoy it."

Craig grinned from ear to ear. "Thank you ma'm. I appreciate this very much. "I'm going to wear it on the beach tomorrow."

"I'll bet you will look very handsome in it," Juliette said.

Julie suddenly looked disappointed. "Yes, but we won't be able to see how it looks on him."

"My friend Barney and I will be spending some time in Ville-Lumière tomorrow. Then we're going to hang out at the Paris-Plage. Why don't you both come by and I'll model it for you?"

Juliette looked forlornly at Sylvie.

"You can't go to the beach," Sylvie said. "We have several rush orders going out tomorrow. I need both of you girls here all day."

The disgruntled twins heaved a heavy sigh and began to debate the issue with Sylvie, reminding her that she had recently promised them some time off.

"I need you here tomorrow," she said emphatically. "You can go to the beach the day after."

"I won't be in Paris the day after tomorrow," Craig said. 

"I'm sorry girls," Sylvie told them. "There is nothing I can do."

I could see that both Julie and Juliette were greatly disappointed at being deprived of seeing Craig in a thong. I, myself, was anxious to see him in it, especially after getting a good glimpse of his magnificent body during the sessions attended by Dr. Swensen and her associate, Dr. Hellstrom, the latter of whom had so masterfully brought his huge penis to a thrilling climax.

I could still see the startled look on Angelique's face as the incredible burst of sperm, launched from Craig's tool with amazing force, flew out and over the heads of several rows of women, only to make contact with my cousin and I, soaking us both with its creamy effluence. The sight of Angelique spitting out huge globs of sticky semen from her mouth filled me with great pleasure, even while I, myself, was being similarly christened. She had always been averse to allowing any part of her body to come in contact with sperm, so much so that it had almost become an obsession. So, when it finally did happen, I had felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction. 

As I recalled these events, I started to feel quite horny. Maybe it was my recollections, or maybe the wine, or both, but I had a strong desire to see Craig model his new thong, and I thought it would be nice to provide a thrill for the twins, who would otherwise not be able to enjoy seeing the outline of his giant prick trapped within the confines of the miniscule piece of fabric.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 07



Julie's left hand immediately grasped the base of his shaft while her right hand continued to stroke him with hard, rapid movements. She moved her head back slightly and to the left in order to get a better view of his orgasm.

"Catch it! Catch it!" she screamed, as I watched Craig's entire body freeze under the girl's insistent tugging. 

The first spurt of semen shot out so fast that it startled everyone, especially Julie. 

"Hurry! You have to catch it!" she laughed as her hands brought forth the second eruption of hot cream.

This time the trajectory of the cumshot was much higher and had drifted to the right. Sylvie was there.

"Got it!" she exclaimed, as the sperm hit the rim of her glass first before collecting in a pool at the bottom.

Julie was overjoyed at seeing all three of us jockeying for position with our wineglasses extended before us, trying to anticipate when the next load of sperm was going to be fired.

"Oh, God!" Craig cried as two huge ropes of sperm followed one upon the other.

I somehow managed to outmaneuver Juliette, and caught the first of these ejaculations head on into my glass. I had to quickly move my glass into vertical position to prevent the cum from dripping out, but I succeeded in doing it. Juliette, who watched as the bulk of Craig's offering landed on her arm, leaving only a modest amount in her glass, captured the next spurt.

"Another one!" she demanded.

As if in obeisance to her command, Craig's cock reared back and fired off another thick and creamy salvo right at her, which she successfully trapped in her glass.

"Ha!" she laughed as she looked down into the glass. It was half full.

Craig continued to shoot his sperm at us, sometimes high into the air where we had to fight each other to get at it. One jet of semen was completely trapped in Sylvie's glass, thanks to her quick maneuvering. This was followed by a succession of spurts that were fired off at random, some of which I managed to catch, but most of which Sylvie's agile hands succeeded in obtaining. Juliette caught the final stringy load. All of us laughed as we watched the bulk of it splash onto the outside of her glass and dribble down onto her fingers. Craig was completely spent, but Julie was absolutely enervated.

"Look at my hands!" she said, as she raised them up for us to see. "You had a lot of stuff inside you, Craig!"

"I guess so," he replied breathing fast. 

Sylvie handed her a napkin. "You were superb!" she said.

"Absolutely!" I added.

"Okay, you were good," Juliette said begrudgingly.

Receiving such praise from us put Julie in a very happy mood. She carefully wiped the sperm from her hands with the napkin and then retreated to the bathroom to further clean up. The three of us looked into each other's glasses, curious to see which one of us had caught the most sperm.

"I guess you win," I said to Sylvie, seeing her glass almost completely full.

"You played very well," she replied. "You almost got as much as me."

Juliette looked disappointed. "I only caught one load. But if my sister had pointed his cock more toward me..."

"Don't start," Julie shouted from the bathroom. "You had as much chance as they did."

"No arguments, please," Sylvie warned them. "The game was played fair and square."

Sylvie and Juliette soon joined Julie in the bathroom to remove traces of semen that had struck their clothing or hands. I had, however, miraculously remained unscathed.

"I think we better be going," I said to Craig, as I watched him clean his prick with a napkin.

"Yeah, it is getting kind of late."

He quickly dressed and then poured himself a glass of water. He took one sip and smiled. I hadn't realized that I was staring at him the whole time.

"Something wrong, Holly?"

"I would like you to be my champion at the 'Long Shots' contest," I told him.

He smiled again and took another sip. "I'm your man," he said.

************

After Craig and I said goodbye to Sylvie and the twins, he drove me home as promised. I had a chance to learn a little about him during our hour-long drive, and the more I heard, the more I knew I had made the right choice in making him my champion.

"So you were married to her for how long?" I asked him.

"Six months," he replied.

"What happened?"

"Cheryl was a great girl, but the marriage just didn't take."

"Was it true what you said about your penis being too big for her?"

"That was part of it, but the truth is we just rushed into it before we had a chance to really get to know each other. I guess that happens to a lot of people."

"I guess so," I replied. "But I wonder if we ever really do know people as well as we think."

He shrugged. "Probably not."

Craig seemed not to want to talk about this aspect of his life so I changed the subject. In due course he told me all about his experiences with the EJAX-472 drug: how it had changed his life and how it had led him, inadvertently, to me.

"I know I did a stupid thing by taking that damned illegal drug," he said. "But as weird as it sounds, it opened up a whole new world for me. I wouldn't have met you otherwise."

I chuckled softly. "I guess I should be grateful for your stupidity."

"Yeah," he agreed. "The one time when my 'other' head made the right choice. But I don't want you to think I usually make decisions that way."

"Well, Dr. Swensen must have seen something in you for her to take you on this trip. And your friend Barney too."

He smiled. "Some people might think she was using me and him like guinea pigs. You know, like pitting us against your aunt Phoebe's studs in order to rack up some new statistics. But Christiana's not like that. She actually invited Barney and I to come along because it was her way of saying 'thank you' for helping her with her experiment. She wanted us to enjoy ourselves."

"That was very nice of her," I said. "It's too bad she had to leave. She seems like a very fascinating person."

"She's a great lady," he emphasized. "Maybe one of these days you could visit me in Stockholm. I'm sure she'd love to see you again. Not to mention me, of course."

"I'd love to," I replied. "Speaking of your friend, Barney...where is he anyway?"

"He has family living here in Paris so he's staying with them. Mostly he hangs out with me at the hotel though."

"Do you think he's going to compete in the 'Long Shots' contest?"

"I don't know. He hasn't said that much about it. Why?"

"Why?" I asked, surprised. "Because he stands a good chance of winning. Both of you do. And there is a lot of money involved, too. He'd be crazy not to enter."

"Barney is a great guy but he's not always forthcoming. I'll ask him tonight when I see him."

Craig's mouth dropped open when we reached the top of the hill overlooking my aunt's estate and surrounding vineyards. The vast stretch of cultivated lawns and gardens loomed before us like an imposing patchwork of emerald green framed beneath the vista of a cloudless, crimson sky, within which stood the magical fairytale castle of the proud Anjou family.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "It that it? Is that your aunt's estate?"

"I know!" I laughed aloud. "I can hardly believe it myself. It's like living in Disneyland."

"You know, the last time I was here it was late at night and I couldn't see much. Man, was I missing the picture or what?"

"Well, my dear Craig, you'll be getting to see a lot of this place in a few days. Training for the contest begins next week."

He let out a loud whoop. "I can't wait! And you're going to be training me, right?"

"I'll be your principal trainer," I said. "But I will also have other women to assist me."

He seemed to like this idea immensely. "The more hands the merrier!"

As we drove up to the front entrance I saw my cousin ride by on Antares. I thought she might stop to greet us as we approached the front gate, but she ignored us and rode off toward the coral.

"That was Angelique, wasn't it?" Craig asked.

"That was her."

"She didn't look too happy."

If I had only known about the schemes my cousin was clandestinely hatching at that moment I would never have mistaken her taciturn appearance for anything but the arrogant scowl it really was. 

"We had a falling out," I said, as I watched her and her mount vanish behind the tall hedges. "This is her way of punishing me."

"Maybe you could try talking to her."

"I intend to. But I don't think it's going to change anything."

"You never know," he said. "She is family after all."

"Yes, she is," I concluded, dismally.

He took his right hand off the wheel and placed it over mine.

"You know what I like about you, Holly?"

Before I had a chance to respond, he went and answered his own question.

"You give a shit."

"What?"

"You give a shit," he repeated. "Everything matters to you."

"Yes, it does," I concurred. "I suppose I'm just an intense person."

"Intense, passionate, beautiful, smart...you're just an unbelievable girl. And you've got the greatest hands..."

He raised one of my hands up to his face and kissed it.

"You'd better treat them nice," I advised him. "These hands are going to be demanding a lot from you."

He moaned softly as my other hand lightly brushed his thigh.

"Like they did today?" he asked, as I gently removed my hand from his grasp.

"Today was just a warm-up."

"A warm-up?" he asked surprised. "Shit, I better hold off on coming for a while!"

"Until next Monday. That will give you four days to conserve that precious cum of yours."

He laughed. "I'll try not to jerk off."

"You have to be here to start your training at 9:00 AM," I told him. "And don't be late or you'll be disqualified."

"Anything for you, Holly," he said, looking at me with a sudden, burning desire.

I gave him a kiss and got out of the car. He held onto my arm until the last moment, reluctant to let me go, and asked me if I wanted to go back to his hotel. As much as I wanted to go with him, I also knew that he would try to initiate sexual intercourse, and although I liked him very much, I simply didn't know him well enough to relinquish my virginity to him. It simply didn't feel right to me. I explained my feelings to him and he seemed to understand, although I knew he was disappointed.

"Do you want to meet me and Barney at the beach tomorrow?" he asked. "I'll wear my new emerald-green thong for you."

The chance to spend some time with him at the beach, and in an environment where I would be relatively safe from being pressured into having sex—or worse, from having to turn him down—appealed to me greatly.

"Sure," I replied. "What time?"

"Ten o'clock. I'll meet you by the main entrance."

"I'll be there."

I gave him some further details about the contest and then we said goodbye. He remained in the driveway until I had let myself into the house and then drove off. The mark of a gentleman, I thought.

************

I was so tired after leaving Craig that I went upstairs and went straight to bed. My adventures in Paris had completely tuckered me out, and I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The following morning I found neither my aunt, nor Angelique, anywhere in the house. I had overslept, and now that I was running late I decided to forego breakfast and call a cab, as Jake was nowhere to be found. After I had showered, I hurriedly put on my white bikini and threw on a white cotton blouse over it. I arrived at the beach a few minutes late, but Craig was waiting for me by the main entrance, already outfitted in nothing but his emerald-green thong and receiving appreciative looks from many young women—and some men. Barney wasn't with him.

"Wow! You look great!" he remarked, as he surveyed me up and down. 

"So do you!" I replied. "Green suits you. What there is of it anyway. Where's the big man?" 

"He couldn't make it," he replied. "He said he had other plans."

Craig didn't seem too happy about his friend's decision not to come and dug one of his heels into the sand.

"Other plans," he said derisively. "Come on. How could anyone pass this up?"

"Did you ask him about the contest?" I asked. 

"He's not going to do it," he replied with a frown. "In fact, he's leaving for Montreal in two days."

"Montreal?"

"That's where he's from."

This news surprised me. "I thought you two guys were having such a great time here. Why is he leaving?"

"He told me that he had some personal business to take care of back home and left it at that."

"Personal business? Did he give you any details?"

"None. Which really bothers me because I know Barney pretty well, and it's not like him to be so evasive."

"What are you going to do?"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm staying. But if he wants to leave I can't stop him. I just feel like he's hiding something from me."

The beach was already crowded, but we staked out a spot for ourselves on one end close to a small outcropping of rock. Craig had brought a blanket, sunscreen, sandwiches, and several bottles of chilled water that he kept in an insulated container—everything we'd need for the next several hours as we sat lying in the hot sun.

"I'm sorry I didn't think to take anything with me," I said. "I was running late."

"You made it here, that's all I care about," he smiled, as he placed the blanket down on the sand. 

For a while we said nothing to each other. I allowed him to put sunscreen on my back and then I did the same for him—all as we watched the green-blue waves gently roll onto the shoreline not fifty feet from where we sat. A short distance away a young couple lay side by side locked in a passionate embrace; they seemed oblivious to everything going on around them as their bodies lay intertwined on the sand. Craig and I watched them for a few moments in silence, and then we positioned ourselves next to each other with our backs to the sun. 

At intervals, a gentle, cooling breeze would sweep across the water and caress our heated bodies, offering a temporary respite from the sun's merciless rays. We remained quiet for some time until, finally, the combined effects of the sun, waves, and wind forced me to doze. All around me I heard the sound of people's voices being carried on the wind, and every so often the plaintive cry of a gull would reach my ears. At some point I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I heard was Craig's voice urging me to wake up.

"Holly, look!" he said in a hushed but excited tone. 

He put his hand upon my arm and shook me gently. 

"What is it?" I asked, raising my head up.

"Our friends are doing it."

I followed his gaze to the couple we had noticed earlier. Both of them were fucking under cover of a blanket, and the girl's occasional cries of ecstasy filled the air. Strangely enough, no one around them seemed to care about the indecent act being performed under their very noses. Even when the girl's intermittent yelps became a steady drone, no one seemed to pay them any attention. It was odd, to say the least, but then again, this was a French beach, and the French were nowhere near as uptight about such things as their American counterparts.

"Wow!" Craig remarked, reaching under his thong. "I'm getting all excited just listening to her!"

He shifted his body a little to the left so that I could see his crotch. 

"You're as hard as a rock!" I laughed.

"It doesn't take much to get me going," he admitted, as he tried to move his now enlarged penis into a more comfortable position within the thong. 

As he manipulated his cock, I noticed that there was something opaque attached to the end of it.

"What is that?" I asked.

"I have a condom on," he replied.

"Why?"

"For times like this when I get a hard-on and I start to leak. I don't want to get my thong all messy. I feel embarrassed."

"Are you leaking now?"

"Yes."

"Pull the blanket over us."

"What for?"

"Just do as I say."

Without another word, he took one end of the blanket and wrapped us up in half of it, leaving the other half on the sand to protect us from the heated surface. I put my arms around and him and drew his face close to mine. 

"Make love to me," I said to him.

"Are you serious?" he exclaimed. "You want me to..."

"No, I don't want you to fuck me. I want you to kiss me and I'll jerk you off into the condom. I'm feeling horny, too, you know."

Before he had a chance to reply, I placed my mouth on his and gave him a long, passionate kiss. At the same time I pulled his thong down and began to masturbate him with both hands. 

"I wish I were inside you," he moaned, as I stroked him hard with one hand while my other hand played with his huge, cum-filled balls.

"Play with my clit," I said, tonguing his ear. "But don't put your fingers inside me."

"Oh, God," he whispered excitedly as his hand reached down toward my pussy.

His fingers made contact with my clit almost immediately, and he stroked me with an even, consistent tempo, just as my own hand performed the same motion on his stiff prick. 

"Is it true that you're really a virgin?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Oh, wow," he said, driving his cock in and out of my fist with increased speed. "You're just fucking beautiful all over."

Suddenly his face darkened.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"The contest, remember? I thought you told me not to jerk off."

At this point I really didn't care about the contest and told him so.

"Whatever you say, Holly," he said pulling me closer to him. "But are you sure..."

"Oh, Craig. Just shut up and make love to me!"

He kissed me really hard then, and I clung to him for dear life as his arms drew me even closer to him. I think my admission of being a virgin actually served to stimulate him even more, but I wasn't sure why. Despite its size, I wanted so much to feel that enormous cock deep inside me, but I was not yet ready to surrender myself to this man completely. For now, the present form of sexual stimulation would have to suffice—for both of us.

"We're being watched," I said.

Craig tilted his head to one side toward the young couple. "They seem to be enjoying it."

"They had their fun," I said. "Now it's our turn."

For the next several minutes we hardly came up for air, as both of us found it next to impossible to stop kissing. Then, without warning, I felt a tremendous wave of pleasure overcome me, forcing me to clamp my thighs tightly together over his incessantly moving hand.

"Oh, yes!" I moaned loudly in his ear. "Just keep doing that...yes, that's it!"

I wasn't aware that I had stopped tugging on his prick, but I had. All that mattered to me was the incredible sensation that was now engulfing my body like a huge tidal wave. I was coming all over his hand.

"Oh, my God!" I cried.

As his powerful and agile fingers brought me to orgasm, I drove my tongue deep into his mouth and groaned. My climax seemed to go on forever and in the midst of it I heard him whisper several times, "I love you." I knew Craig was very fond of me, as I was of him, but people were known to say such things during the height of passion, and I didn't take it to mean anything more than that. As I came down from my orgasm I relaxed my grip upon his hand and he pulled away.

"No, don't go anywhere," I said. "Let me finish you off."

"You already did," he said smiling.

"You came?" I asked surprised.

"Yes, ma'm. I came right along with you."

"You did? But I stopped stroking you."

I watched as he reached down and slowly removed the condom from his now semi-erect penis. It was full of sperm.

"See? You got me so excited I couldn't help myself."

"Amazing," I said, seeing how much of the condom was actually filled with the creamy fluid. "You'd better bury that thing now."

He proceeded to dig a small hole in the sand next to where he was sitting and threw the soiled condom in it and quickly covered it up.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 07



"I have planted my seed," he laughed, as he patted the sand down with his hand.

"Just as long as nothing sprouts," I said, jokingly.

Toward mid-afternoon we decided to leave the beach and have an early dinner at one of the local restaurants. Both he and I had gotten quite a bit of sun and we were both beginning to feel a bit tired, so we chose to eat lightly. After dinner, he happily offered to drive me home, and we arrived at the estate around 6:00 PM.

"Thanks for taking me home again," I said, as I leaned over to give him a kiss.

"You're welcome ma'm," he replied, with a grin.

"You know I meant what I said yesterday about conserving your sperm. It does make a difference in the contest. I shouldn't have attacked you."

"Don't worry about it. I promise you that whatever sperm I have left will remain there until Monday."

Craig had told me earlier that he had made plans with some friends of his that would preclude us from seeing each other until the day of the first training session. Neither of us was happy about it, but it was probably for the best. If we were together every day I doubt I would have been able to keep my hands off him.

We kissed a few more times and then said goodnight.

As I walked into the foyer I heard voices, very loud and very angry, emanating from down the hall. It sounded like they were coming from my aunt's study, and I recognized the voices as those belonging to my aunt and my uncle Pierre. My uncle's speech sounded slow and slurred, as if he was drunk. From that distance I couldn't make out much of what they were saying, though I knew they were certainly arguing. When I heard Angelique's name mentioned once, and then twice, I decided to find out what was going on. 

The parlor, which was adjacent to the study, was vacant and dark, and I quietly stole down the hall and entered it, taking position behind the half-open, curtained door that divided the two rooms. My aunt was seated at her oak desk, legs crossed, a black, leather valise on her lap. Standing across from her was my uncle, somewhat unsteady and dressed in a charcoal-gray suit. In his hands he held a bottle of his own vintage wine. It was almost empty.

"I swore to Angelique that I would never step foot in this house until all of you came to your senses," he said. "But I see that will never happen without my intervention, and so I am here whether you like it or not."

"Have I ever stopped you from coming to visit with us? Have I Pierre?"

"No, you have never stopped me. But something must be done about this Sisterhood business. These men always coming and going...and naked I hear too! Fine surroundings for our daughter and our niece! Il est honteux!"

"The ways of the Sisterhood are not for you to understand or criticize," my aunt retorted. "The men who serve us choose to do so—they are not compelled. And they are well rewarded for their services. They are naked so as to exemplify their subservience to us. Angelique understands this as does Holly. And you are making me late for my dinner engagement."

My uncle threw his hands up in the air. "To hell with your dinner engagement! You are probably going to eat with that bitch Lenore and her entourage of whores. I'm talking about our daughter. She has not been the same these past few weeks since Holly arrived. I don't know what happened, but I am going to find out."

"How do you know what Angelique is going through and why should you care? You never did before."

"I spoke to her two days ago. But I don't suppose she would have told you."

"No, she didn't."

"Well," he said, "she is not the same, that's all I can say. Not the same at all. I can hear it in her voice. I am very worried about her."

"It's true she has been acting cold and distant lately, but she refuses to talk to me about it. What I don't understand is why you have taken such a sudden interest in her welfare."

Some of my uncle's anger seemed to dissipate momentarily, as if somewhere a bell had sounded signaling the end of a round of fighting. In the subdued light of the sole tiffany lamp that sat on my aunt's desk, his face seemed very old and sad. He stood for a while contemplating what he was going to say, and before long he reached for a nearby chair and sat in it. His voice sounded dry and brittle.

"I failed the both of you," he began, "and for my transgressions I have paid dearly. The only thing I have left is my daughter. She is all that I love in this world, not you, not my money, not my power...just Angelique. And I will not allow you or this accursed Sisterhood of yours to subvert her any further. I will stop you Phoebe. I will use any means necessary to protect my child."

My aunt's face at first registered pity, then hurt, and then indignation. 

"Let me tell you something, Pierre," she said. "Because of my love for you—which you have succeeded in almost completely erasing—I kept your worst offences from ever being made public. The dirt that I have on you, beyond your many acts of infidelity, is enough to ensure that you will spend the rest of your life in prison." She waited a few moments to let these words sink in. "I could have crucified you! But I didn't. And do you know why?"

He shook his head but did not meet her gaze.

"I didn't because I wanted our daughter to be spared the shame of seeing her father publicly humiliated; to see the proud and noble Anjou name dragged in the mud for all of France to see. And let me assure you that this moodiness of hers..."

"It is not moodiness," he broke in.

"Whatever you want to call it... moodiness, temperament...was not a result of her involvement with the Sisterhood. It is something else."

"Something else?" he sneered. "You mean to sit there and tell me that this female supremacy nonsense that you practice has not gone to her head? What girl would not put on airs and act as if she were superior to everyone when she can snap her fingers and have an army of naked men at her command? Men whom she sees are to be used and abused and ridiculed and humiliated, all to satiate the whims of a teenage girl! Do you not think this is evil and perverse?"

My aunt Phoebe nearly laughed in his face.

"You fucked a multitude of women behind my back, and even had children with some of your mistresses. You lied, manipulated, and blackmailed people to make your business a success and let your marriage and child go by the wayside. And one of your good friends got into a fight trying to protect your so-called good name and got shot in the back for it. So don't you dare tell me that the principles your daughter and I adhere to are evil and perverse. We are trying to make the world a better place by putting females in control of society because men like you have made a mess of it!" 

"Ah yes, men like me! After I gave you this estate and the vineyards and everything else!"

"You didn't give me anything, Pierre. You bought me off to save your own skin. It doesn't absolve you from your sins."

"I made a mistake and I admit it," he said feebly.

"You made a mistake?" she snarled. "You did a lot more than that my dear husband!"

"I am not going to apologize to you again!" he said, raising his voice. "I don't care what you do with your own life, but I want Angelique out of the Sisterhood!"

"Whether she stays or leaves is her decision. She is of legal age and she needn't answer to you anymore."

"We'll see about that. When will she be home?"

"I told you, I haven't talked to her for the past three days."

He let out a low, hollow laugh. "You see? There is a problem."

"Yes, there is a problem," my aunt replied, rising from chair. "But it's not what you think. Now will you please leave? My car is waiting."

My uncle slowly got to his feet and placed the bottle of wine on the end table next to him. She watched his plodding retreat toward the door leading out into the hallway with disheartened interest, as if witnessing the final laborious steps of a broken man on the last legs of his journey. For a moment I thought she was going to say something to him, but instead gripped the valise tightly in her hands and took a few steps toward him. Hearing her footsteps, he turned to face her, smiling forlornly.

"I could bring legal action against you," he said. "If the authorities knew what was going on here they could close down your operation. The Sisterhood would be no more."

My aunt was not intimidated. "And I could also put this in their hands," she said, coolly, as she waved the valise in his face. "There is enough information here to ruin you."

"I could suffer nothing worse than losing my child."

"Leave Angelique alone or I promise I'll turn this evidence over to the police," she said, threateningly. 

"Then we shall both go to Hell together," he answered back, his voice almost breaking. "Au revoir."

It wasn't until the front door closed that my aunt sat back down in her chair and hastily threw the valise into a drawer and locked it. She then put her head down on the desktop and cried. It was unnerving for me to see this strong and confident woman reduced to tears. Although my uncle had long since fallen out of love with her, she still had feelings for him, as was evident by her reluctance to prosecute him. I knew, as he most probably did, that this reluctance was not engendered so much by her wanting to protect her daughter from any punishment Pierre might incur from his breaking the law, as she claimed, but rather from her own desire to see him prosper, which she viewed as proving far more beneficial for Angelique's sake as for the sake of the love she still continued to bear him.

Presently, she ceased crying and quickly tidied up her desk and left for her appointment. I then went upstairs to my bedroom and contemplated the implications of my uncle's threat. 

It seemed to me that he would be the one to suffer the most, because even if my uncle could expose the Sisterhood for being a criminal organization, which it was not, my aunt might choose to retaliate simply because he had dared to threaten her. It was conceivable that the French authorities could make life difficult for the Sisterhood, or rather their parent organization, the Philanthropic Society, by maintaining constant vigilance upon their activities once Pierre had warned them. This, in itself, would prove extremely problematical for an organization that had prided itself on generosity and benevolence as a front for far more audacious activities. So although the threat of imprisonment was a frighteningly real possibility for my uncle, the equally distasteful prospect of the Sisterhood being placed under perpetual scrutiny by law officials was just as intolerable. It was a situation in which no winners would emerge.

Angelique was the catalyst; my uncle, the unknown variable. Would he act on his threats? Would his newfound love for her provoke him to strike out against the Sisterhood in the belief that he was rescuing his daughter from the clutches of a group of demented female supremacists as he, no doubt, viewed them? More importantly, would he risk his own freedom and fortune to win back his daughter's love and trust, especially since, given her headstrong and uncompromising temperament, there was no guarantee whatsoever that she would ever return his affections?

After I had showered and dressed, I went downstairs to get myself a snack and something to drink. Around 7:30 PM the phone rang. It was Craig. We talked about our eventful day at the beach and how much he was looking forward to participating in the "Long Shots" contest. I had taken the call in the parlor, which was situated at the far end of the hallway just off the kitchen, and was laughing so hard over something he said that I hadn't heard the front door open and close a few minutes later. Just as I was hanging up the phone I noticed someone standing by the doorway in the shadows. Startled, I immediately jumped out of my seat.

"What's so funny?" my cousin said in an unfriendly voice.

"Oh, it's you!" I said, relieved. "I was on the phone with Craig."

"Where's my mother?"

I wasn't about to reveal myself to her as a snoop, so I decided to lie instead of telling her what had transpired between her parents.

"I don't know. She wasn't here when I got home."

I noticed that she was holding a small, metallic suitcase in her hands and she looked very tired.

"Did she leave any messages?"

"Not that I know of."

She paused for a moment and then turned to go.

"Wait a minute," I said moving closer to her. "You've been avoiding me and your mother for three days now. Don't you think you owe us some kind of explanation?"

I had no sooner said those words than I felt those strange hypnotic eyes trying to bore a hole right through me.

"I don't owe anybody anything," she replied in a supercilious tone. "But if you must know, I spent the day at my father's house in Nice."

This was, of course, a lie.

"I thought you and he weren't getting along."

"We're getting along fine," she lied. "And I had to get away from here. I'm sure you know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean. Why don't you explain it to me?"

At first I thought she was going to reply, but she rudely turned her back on me and made a hasty exit toward the stairs. Angry over her lack of courtesy, I ran after her and grabbed her by the shoulders, causing her to drop her suitcase. As it hit the floor the locks sprang open revealing a collection of assorted mechanical devices that appeared cylindrical in shape with human-looking lips attached to pairs of moveable metal arms.

"You idiot!" she yelled, pushing me away.

She quickly got down on her hands and knees and drew the suitcase to her. I watched as she checked each cylinder in turn, making sure nothing had been damaged. When she was certain nothing was amiss, she refastened the locks and stood defiantly with her suitcase once more in hand at the bottom of the stairs.

"What the hell are those things?" I asked.

"None of your fucking business!" she exclaimed, as she made her ascent up the staircase.

"Okay, so you're pissed off at me because I won the contest. That's what this is all about isn't it?"

She kept walking without acknowledging me.

"I'm talking to you!" I yelled after her.

Still, she kept going.

"Oh, let me guess. It's because Lenore chose me over you, right? Is that why you're treating me and everyone else like shit?"

At the top of the stairs she halted and stood with her back toward me for several seconds. She then turned around slowly and looked down upon me much as a tyrant might look upon a pusillanimous subject cringing in the dirt.

"I don't care about the contest, or Lenore, or the fact that my own mother, who was supposed to have supported me, chose to favor you instead. As much as those things anger me, I must force myself to live with them. What I can't live with is the fact that you betrayed me—you, of all people: sweet, naïve, cousin Holly—my best friend. Who would ever have thought that you were such an ambitious bitch? Well thank you for finally revealing your true colors because now I know who the real enemy is—it's you!"

I listened to her diatribe as one might listen to the ravings of a fundamentalist preacher—those misguided fanatics that appear on early morning television who now and then, with handkerchief in hand, are forced to wipe the spittle from their mouths as they ardently expound the virtues of their faith to a rapturous audience of like-minded zealots. She looked impervious perched upon the topmost stair, almost unreachable, like a goddess, daring me to ascend the steps to Olympus so that she could cast down more epithets upon me, certain that one of them would eventually hit their mark and send me hurtling into oblivion.

"Are you out of your mind?" I said, angrily. "I never betrayed you. I only did what I had to do to pass that stupid test!"

"You could have helped me to win," she said, "but you didn't. You wanted all the glory for yourself."

"That's crazy! If you couldn't figure things out on your own then what obligation did I have to help you? If I did it would have been cheating."

Angelique dismissed my explanation with a well-timed guffaw.

"It would have been cheating!" she said, mocking me. "Like it fucking matters."

"It does matter and you know it."

"You like to think that it was just a test," she said smugly, "but it was more than that. It was the determining factor to see who would ultimately lead the Sisterhood after Lenore steps down. Up until then I still had a chance. I'm the natural leader, not you. But Lenore can't see that. Neither can my mother. But I thought you understood. Well, it's all right. I don't need them anymore, and I especially don't need you." 

"That's great," I said, unable to contain my disgust. "So all this pretending to accept second place—all of it was just an act?"

"I had to bide my time. I had to see if you were on my side."

"On your side? You weren't the one chosen. I was."

"You're not a leader!" she screamed at me. "You don't deserve the honor that fool Lenore bestowed upon you! And there are many other Sisters who feel the same way!"

"So what are you going to do about it, huh, Angelique? Have you got some weird plan in mind to get me out of the way?"

She gave me a sinister smile but remained silent.

"Fine. Have it your way. But your mother deserves better."

"She can go to hell, and so can you."

The goddess cast one last contemptuous glance at me and turned sharply down the corridor. I heard her high heels clicking in perfect rhythm as she marched toward her bedroom, which was then followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. I had no desire to climb those stairs up to my bedroom, afraid that whatever negative energy she had left behind might also contaminate me. Instead, I headed for my aunt's study and found some innocuous book to read—anything to take my mind off the sickening feeling I had in my stomach from my encounter with the demon that had taken possession of my cousin's soul. 

I opened the book and promptly put it down. It suddenly came back to me that both Pierre and Angelique had invoked Hell's punishment in the course of a single evening, and had wished upon their loved ones this unenviable fate with no more compunction than if they had bestowed upon them their blessing. This may have been my uncle's way of dealing with situations over which he had little control, but it certainly was not the way my cousin would have behaved. As disturbing as this thought was, there was something even more troubling about the way in which Angelique had acted toward me. It was some aspect of her personality that I had not recognized right away, its importance dimmed in the fury of our confrontation. But now, with my anger ebbing, I was able to analyze the situation in more depth, and what I discovered during my analysis was a profound truth made blatantly conspicuous by its very absence. That casual approach toward life she often exhibited, that striving to find the humor in any given situation—that was all gone. Even her laugh, as boisterous as it was, had been devoid of warmth. In fact, nothing about her even suggested a hint that those wily machinations of hers—so often resulting in a harmless but uproarious conclusion—were present in her personality. My uncle had been right: Angelique had changed, and the change had been concurrent with my victory over her. Or rather, the seeds of her metamorphosis had already been planted long ago, and all she needed was the right catalyst: me.

I decided to sleep in the guest room of the first floor rather than go upstairs to my own bedroom and chance another encounter with her. For hours I lay awake pondering my next move. It was clear I was now Angelique's enemy, but what was I to do? Should I strive for reconciliation or pack my bags and return home? Should I discuss the situation with my aunt, who was, herself, already beset with her own personal problems, not the least of which was her ostensible estrangement from her daughter? What about my promise to Lenore and the Sisterhood? I had to talk to someone about this issue, but whom? 




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 07



It dawned upon me that there was one person who knew a lot about Angelique but who was sufficiently removed from the situation to provide an objective opinion—Charlotte Anjou. Although there was no love lost between her and my cousin, Charlotte did possess an uncanny insight into human nature, as well as professing to be able to see into the future, and she might be able to explain the recent anomalous behavior of my cousin in such terms that an attempt at reconciliation could be made—if I decided to pursue such a course of action. I pulled her card from my purse and dialed her number. After we had exchanged pleasantries, I gave her a brief explanation as to the reason for my requesting a visit, and she told me to stop by her house in the morning to discuss the matter. Following my unpleasant encounter with Angelique, it was refreshing to hear a warm and friendly voice. 

Charlotte had told me not to worry, that she would indeed be happy to offer whatever advice and help she could. Knowing this provided me with great comfort, and I soon felt myself relinquishing the tensions of the day that had dwelt so heavily upon me. But as I drifted toward sleep, another image insinuated itself upon my dwindling consciousness. I tried to will it away but it fought to reassert itself. It was something I had encountered in a previous dream: a splash of golden radiance, of normal time condensing into fragments, of some indistinct apparition moving within the whole, and a tiny voice imploring me to remember.

************

"Hey, Craig!" said the voice on the other end of the phone. "It's Barney."

It was 3:00 AM and Craig had been in a dead sleep, his adventures at the beach finally catching up with him. He was so tired he could barely extend his arm out to reach the lamp by his bedside. He had finally picked up the phone on the third ring, cleared his voice a few times, and made a feeble attempt to sound alert.

"Hey, Barney," he replied. "What's up?"

"Look man, I'm sorry I'm calling you so late, but I wanted to say I'm sorry for not showing up yesterday."

"Barney, it's 3:00 AM. Can't we talk about this later?"

"I'm leaving for Montreal now, man. I'm calling to say goodbye."

Craig sat up in his bed, suddenly wide awake. "You're leaving?"

"That's right. Got a 3:30 AM flight."

"I don't understand. What's going on?"

Barney took his time answering. It sounded to Craig that his friend was breathing heavily.

"Barney," Craig said. "Did you hear me?"

Craig thought he heard the sound of female laughter coming over the phone.

"I heard you, bro," Barney replied. "Look, all I can tell you is that my mother is very sick and I have to go home. That's all there is to it. I'm sorry I can't say goodbye to you in person, but that's how it is."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's...she's very sick, that's all I know."

"Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come with you?"

"No man, there's not enough time. I have to go now."

"No wait," Craig said reaching for the pen on his night table. "Give me your phone number."

"No time, bro. I'll call you when I get home."

Again, the raucous laughter reached his ears.

"Barney? Where the hell are you?"

"Sometimes shit like this happens, man," his friend replied, hastily. "You've been a good buddy to me, Craig. The best I ever had. God bless you, man. God bless you and take care of yourself."

"Wait a minute! Barney!"

The dial tone sounded loudly in Craig's ear. He put down the phone and tried to fathom exactly what had just transpired. A sick mother? That was one of the oldest routines in the book. And Barney had sounded more evasive than ever. But what was all that heavy breathing about? And the girlish laughter? Given Barney's character, it just didn't make sense for him to pick up and leave in such a fashion.

It was too late to try and intercept him at the airport and Craig never did get Barney's cousin's phone number in Paris. He didn't even know their last name. And Barney didn't carry a cell phone. Fortunately, Craig was going to be visiting with friends for the next several days. He was going to miss Barney a lot.

************

Barney Cole couldn't hang up the phone fast enough. The "hot lips" device attached to his penis had been stopped momentarily so that he could make a call to his friend Craig, at Angelique's insistence, and now the girl turned it back on to see how much longer it would take him to shoot his cum into the cylinder. He had already withstood two hours of continuous manipulation by the insidious device.

He was seated in a chair surrounded by seven women, one of them being Angelique's trusted lieutenant, Marge Davis. The other women were what Angelique referred to as "fluffs," a term given to women in the adult film business who were charged with keeping men in an erect state via oral stimulation of the penis, but who were, in their present capacity, Sisterhood wannabes who were selected to carry out Angelique's orders without question, even if it meant surrendering their bodies for whatever purpose their mistress saw fit.

This was the fourth level of the Masturbatorium: a dungeon-like environment with dirt floors and heavy with the stench of decaying things. Torches sat blazing in iron braziers attached to the concrete walls; there being no concessions to modernity whatsoever. This cavernous room, and the one below it, were the original rooms in which people had been tortured and killed during the unenlightened and bloody period known as the "Dark Ages." Some of the ancient torture devices had still remained, their metallic components almost completely rotted away with the passage of the centuries until only vague skeletons remained. These once formidable instruments of torture lay in a heap in one corner of the room, and surrounding them were huge crates that once contained surplus war rations belonging to the Germans, now emptied by the ravenous vermin that had long ago inhabited this dank, nether world.

Angelique did not like coming here. She did not like the idea that there may still be rats lurking about. But she had now obtained her secret weapon, and her secret could not be made known until the proper moment, and at her discretion. With the upper floors of the Masturbatorium now being decorated by a slew of Sisters in preparation for the "Long Shots" contest, she had no choice but to utilize this unsavory environment or risk having her secret exposed. This was something she could not afford to do.

In order to get Barney and the rest of her accomplices into the dungeon unseen, she was forced to employ the second of two underground tunnels that ran southward in parallel fashion for a distance of one-half mile and terminated in an above ground bunker situated within a grotto that had long been overrun with vegetation. This secondary tunnel, which was actually the first of the two tunnels built, had been constructed during the 18th century when many of the French nobility needed access to a speedy exit in case of invasion by rival factions during the Revolution. It had undergone many repairs during the intervening centuries but ultimately fell into disuse. During World War II, the Germans built another tunnel about a mile southeast of the existing one, a tunnel large enough to accommodate the army's huge transport trucks carrying munitions and supplies. This was the tunnel that was presently in use by the Sisters—a completely modern structure that served as a drop-off point to facilitate the passage of people, foodstuffs, and other assorted items that ultimately found their way into the Masturbatorium. 

Angelique had arranged for clandestine deliveries of items she had ordered from her Paris distributor to be brought to the old tunnel entrance—standard dominatrix accoutrements like chains, harnesses, whips, and an assortment of modern gadgets of which the "hot lips" device was one. Even larger machines were wheeled through the tunnel—futuristic-looking devices whose apparent purpose was not readily discernable even by discrete observation, but which could contain a man's body so efficiently that a myriad of functions could be performed on him via a simple, automated program. A few of these dastardly machines stood not far from where Barney sat, awaiting only the delivery of an electrical generator to set them in motion.

For all her insistence on her being cognizant of every activity going on within the confines of the estate, Phoebe was completely unaware that her daughter had been making efficient use of the ancient passageway. She knew that it existed but paid no attention to it. To her, the decrepit tunnel held no interest except as something that should remain sealed up forever. Angelique, far more resourceful than her mother, viewed it as a key element in her play for power. Not only did her use of it make her feel as if she had easily outwitted her mother, it also served to provide her with all the tools she would need to accomplish her goal—to obtain the preeminent position of power within the Sisterhood, and to vanquish the girl she had recently called her friend. And now, as she looked around at the assemblage of people and machinery she had chosen to suit her ends, the possibility of imminent victory over her traitorous cousin became very real.

Angelique had instructed all the women to dress in jeans, boots, and light jackets for this evening's entertainment. For even though the weather outside was hot and humid, the air of the dungeon was cool and fetid. Because of this, she had generously allowed Barney to keep his most of his clothes on, with the exception that his pants and underwear remain down at his feet while the experiment was being conducted.

Barney didn't seem to mind the coolness of the metal chair he was sitting on. In fact, he was sweating so profusely that it afforded him some measure of relief during his arduous ordeal. The women sat in a semicircle around him: Angelique, Marge, and another woman to his right, the other four women to his left. They had all patiently awaited the outcome of this trial, and if things went as Angelique hoped they would, these women would soon form the coterie of a much larger organization—a subset of the Sisterhood group or, more precisely, an offshoot of the established order based upon principles foreign to its parent organization, predicated upon rules and regulations formulated to serve the interests of one willful young woman.

"You handled that conversation with Craig very well," Angelique told Barney, as she punched in some numbers on the remote control.

The machine suddenly came to life, its twin metal arms driving the mechanical mouth up and down at great speed. Barney braced himself against the onslaught, determined not to let the device rob him of his sperm.

"I...I felt bad lying about it," he replied, using both hands to hold his body upright in his chair. "I don't like deceiving people."

Angelique watched his enormous black cock jiggle back and forth within the cylinder, the human-like lips exuding copious amounts of lubricating fluid as they propelled themselves along the entire length of his shaft.

"Sometimes it's necessary to lie," she remarked, in a matter-of-fact tone. 

"But it doesn't make it right," Barney said, breathing hard.

"There is no right or wrong. There is only that which serves the needs of the Sisterhood, and that which does not."

Upon saying this, she put the machine into high-speed mode. The sudden impact upon his penis caused him to nearly fly off his chair.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, employing all his strength to keep himself from falling over. "What are you doing to me?"

"Just a few more seconds and we'll be finished," she said, indifferent to his feelings.

Marge and the other women were getting a thrill watching Barney's huge torso tossed back and forth by the small and unimposing device. Their laughter, and the constant drone of the machine's motor, was the only sound filling the room. It soon became apparent, however, that the experiment had gone on far too long, and without any appreciable results.

"I think he passed the test, Angelique," Marge said, after almost a minute had passed.

"Just making sure," Angelique replied.

She turned the machine off and told one of the girls to remove the device.

Barney was tired and thirsty, but pleased that he was now, officially, the only man who had not succumbed to the "hot lips" contraption.

"I told you I could do it," he announced with pride.

"You performed superbly!" Marge remarked, as one of the fluffs gently removed the contraption from his penis. "Not a drop of sperm inside!"

Angelique smiled. "Now for the last stage of the experiment."

After Barney had refreshed himself with a glass of water, she ordered him to get up and stand facing the opposite wall. 

"I want you to face in this direction and keep both your arms behind your back," she told him. "Just do it the same way we practiced all week and let's see how far we've come."

She then instructed one of the fluffs, who was holding a tape measure in her hands, to stand about several yards away in a straight line from Barney's position.

"Last time he shot it about sixteen feet," she told the girl. "Let's see how well he does now. Keep your eyes on me, not his cock. I'll let you know when he's about to cum."

"Do you think we should use some lubricant?" Marge asked.

"No," Angelique replied. "It's not allowed in the contest so we shouldn't use it now. Just keep him steady while I jerk this black monster off."

Barney watched as the beautiful, blonde girl took his nineteen and three-quarter-inch tool in her right hand. Without much ceremony, and with Marge holding his hips to steady him, she began to masturbate him with hard, extremely rapid strokes, knowing that the two hours spent in the machine would have prepared him for a monstrous orgasm. He groaned aloud as his sperm-laden cock responded to her firm and unyielding grip. He knew that it wouldn't be long before her lovely hand would be coaxing out giant spurts of semen in hot, creamy surrender for all the women to see.

From the moment Angelique had asked him to be her champion he knew that he could not refuse her. He wasn't sure if it was her seductive smile, her flirtatious yet inviting sexuality, or her splendid pair of legs that won him over. Maybe it was all of these things and more. Barney had always had a passion for blonde, white women, and to him, she represented the finest of what her race had to offer—a treasure he could not pass up. His passion for her was such that it had forced him to deceive his best friend, and even to betray some of his own principles, one of which was his own lifelong penchant for honesty. The notion that he had acted on false pretenses continued to disturb him even as he was surrendering himself to the will of this arrogant girl. The few moments of pleasure he would derive from this "test" could not prevent the growing anxiety that continued to gnaw away at him: the knowledge that he had not been true to himself.

Barney's eight-year marriage to his ex-wife, Janine, had been a study in contrasts. She was an unrefined, taciturn, and ambitionless woman who found Barney's perennial upbeat attitude to life inexplicable. Their stormy marriage had been punctuated with frequent disagreements and emotional upsets, with Barney often assuming a placatory role. Eventually, her negative, energy-draining attitude to life began to siphon the life out of him, and their lovemaking ultimately became nothing more than a set of mechanical exercises performed by rote. He eventually fell into a state of depression wherein he found barely any satisfaction with sex at all. His desire to rectify this problem led him to the Swensen Research Clinic in Stockholm, where the doctors, in particular one very pretty, young, blonde researcher—Rebecca Hellstrom—proved instrumental in his cure. And now, as he watched Angelique masturbate him, her long blonde hair swaying to and fro in time with her masterful stroking, he thought of Rebecca and how wonderful it was to once more submit to the control of a beautiful, white woman.

"I can't take much more, baby," he said, spitting the words out between clenched teeth.

"Hold off just another second," Angelique commanded him. "I'm going to use my thumb and forefinger just under your corona."

When Barney saw her fingers grip the tip of his shaft, he felt his legs almost give out under him. 

"Oh, fuck!" he screamed. "Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Angelique was thrilled to see this powerful black man now completely under her spell. She looked up into his face and smiled wickedly, running her tongue quickly back and forth over her top lip. Barney groaned.

"Here it comes!" she yelled to the fluff with the tape measure. "It's the first spurt that counts, don't bother with the others."

Barney thrust his hips backwards and Marge tightened her hold on him as Angelique delivered the final strokes to his now erupting penis.

As she pulled up on him, a long jet of white-hot sperm shot out of his prick and flew across the room with amazing speed. Because the room was poorly illuminated, some of the girls didn't even see the cumshot. But, fortunately, the fluff with the tape measure did see it, and she quickly ran to the spot where his cum had landed and stood there waiting to see the remainder of his orgasm.

Angelique's hand was moving so fast that Barney was totally overwhelmed, his body rigid and flushed as he sank backward into Marge's waiting arms. The first shot had indeed traveled extremely far, and because it appeared that it had reached an unprecedented distance, Angelique decided to reward her champion by letting him experience the kind of orgasm only she believed she could provide.

Whatever methods she employed seemed to be highly successful because several successive shots of sperm landed not far from the first far-reaching jet. Two of the girls, standing to one side, had to dodge when one of the volleys sailed over their heads, but were nevertheless christened by three subsequent copious emissions that shot out with such force that a good portion of both their clothes became saturated with sperm. 

As Barney continued to ejaculate, Marge shifted her position a bit so that she could watch his orgasm. She let out an ecstatic cry of joy when, after she had whimsically placed her hand under his testicles, a tremendous explosion of sticky semen shot high up into the air above her head and splashed into the wall behind her. Angelique had seen this through the corner of her eye and laughed.

"Spit it all out you black bastard!" she said, pulling violently on his prick 

Another thick wash of white cream sailed out of his tortured organ in obedience to her command and struck the dirt several feet away. This was followed by another half dozen ejaculations, most of which reminded me of lotion being pumped out of a dispenser as it splashed over her fingers and trickled down onto his balls and Marge's tickling hand. 

When the last ejaculation became nothing more than a tiny dribble, Angelique removed her hand from his penis and wiped the sperm off her fingers with a towel. Barney fell to the floor in a heap. Never since his involvement with the EJAX-472 experiments did he experience such a powerful and voluminous orgasm. When it was announced that his first cumshot had reached the unheard-of distance of twenty-one feet, all the women, except Angelique, rewarded him with a round of applause. Instead, she gazed down upon his prostrate body and smiled proudly, as one who had just achieved a great victory. Her secret weapon was now ready to face the world.

************

Charlotte Anjou's house was a quaint, but unimposing, two-story wooden structure located just north of the Château de Versailles in Versailles, a large, suburban city approximately ten miles Southwest of Paris. This chic suburb was extremely compartmented; divided by large avenues that created the impression of several small cities ignoring each other. The area in which she lived had retained its very bourgeois atmosphere, and although it was a pleasant-looking neighborhood, I wondered why a woman of her apparent wealth and social position would not have chosen a more exclusive area in which to live.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 08



Craig looked a bit alarmed at the size of the lumbering contraption.

"Are you going to put me in that?" he asked, a little apprehensive.

"Don't be afraid," Zula laughed. "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

The apparatus had four connective arms that extended outward from its central section for the placement of a man's arms and legs. Once the subject was placed in a prone position inside the device, the upper portion of the maw was lowered onto his body, effectively "sandwiching" him in place. There were holes in the upholstery to allow him to keep his face, genitals, and ass exposed so that his trainers could manipulate these areas without any interference from him. Four hydraulic arms, attached to the four metal corners of the machine, allowed the machine to be positioned at various angles, and was operated by remote control.

"What a deliciously devious device!" Janet said, looking at it with a mixture of amusement and awe. "And to think," she said to Craig, "that you have to keep all that nasty sperm inside you while we work you over in this beautiful machine!"

"In effect," Felicia remarked, "you will be prevented from coming until the day of the contest: five entire days of being masturbated without release. I hope you'll be able to hold out."

"He'd better," Joanna observed. "Or we'll be watching from the sidelines."

"Don't worry, ladies," Craig said, trying to look brave. "I won't let you down."

"Zula, do you have today's training schedule with you?" I asked her.

"Right here," she replied, as she pulled a piece of paper from her pants pocket.

"Okay, good. Craig, I want you to get undressed and hang out for a few minutes while I go through the program with the girls."

"Okay, Holly," he said, good-naturedly. 

"The changing screen is right over there."

Janet laughed. "It's kind of silly, isn't it? Why bother using the screen when he's going to be completely naked in front of us for the whole week?"

"And doing things to his body he never dreamed possible!" Felicia added.

"I guess it is foolish," I said. "Craig, feel free to take your clothes off right here in front of us. We'll start in a few minutes."

"Whatever you say."

The girls had a hard time concentrating on my directives with my handsome friend undressing himself not more than a few feet away. When all he had left on was his blue bikini underwear, with his huge, inviting package on display, they started to act like juveniles, inviting him with lewd remarks to remove the last particle of clothing so that they could see what he was hiding underneath.

"Go ahead," Joanna said to him. "Take it off. We need to take a measurement of you anyway in your erect state."

Craig dutifully obeyed her instructions and began to remove the bikini. 

"There should be a tape measure somewhere on that table over there," the doctor said, pointing to a small metal-top table in the corner of the room. "Felicia, do you mind?"

Felicia was too busy watching Craig to pay the doctor much attention. In fact, all of us were having a hard time focusing on anything else. He was already partially hard, and it was obvious this was no ordinary penis that was soon going to make its debut for at least some of the women in the room. All of us had a good laugh as we watched his prick first bend downward and then bounce up again as he pulled down on his underwear.

"Oh, Jesus!" Zula exclaimed, her eyes focusing on his cock. "Did we get you excited already baby?"

"Yes, ma'm," replied Craig, looking a bit bashful.

Janet eyed him like a piece of candy. "I'm going to love working with that!"

Charlotte looked at me with a huge grin and then looked at Craig's slowly rising penis. "Impressive," she said to him, nodding appreciatively. "I like your tan lines, too."

Craig looked down casually at the small triangle of whitish flesh that had been protected by the thong and gave her a big smile.

"Get it nice and hard for the doctor," Felicia said to him.

"Felicia, the tape measure, please," Joanna insisted.

"Oh! "I'm sorry, Joanna," she replied. "It's just that...his cock is so huge!"

Joanna just stared at her, expectantly. "Okay. Okay. I'm getting the tape measure."

Felicia began to search in several of the drawers of a nearby table and came up empty-handed.

"I said on the table, not inside it," Joanna said. "Stop drooling over his cock and listen. It's right there on the table in the glass container."

"Oh, I see it," she said, reaching for the tape. "Sorry!"

"Keep stroking it," I told Craig. "After Joanna measures you we'll begin."

"You got it," he replied, jerking his cock at a steady, leisurely pace.

In just a matter of minutes he was fully erect. Felicia handed the tape measure to Joanna who then sat down on a stool beside Craig and placed the tape measure alongside his penis, extending the tape outward from the base of his shaft to its burgeoning tip.

"Just as you said, Holly," she said. "Twelve and three-quarters inches long."

"What's the circumference?" I asked.

She ran the tape around the middle of his cock and whistled loudly. "Almost three inches around. Wow!"

"That's one fucking big prick!" Janet remarked, moving in closer to inspect it.

"It's a beauty!" Joanna agreed.

"Well, since you're already down there," I said to Joanna, "why don't you start him off?"

"I'll be happy to," she said, laying the tape measure aside.

As she reached for a bottle of lotion, I instructed Craig to relax and let the doctor take control of his cock.

"We're all going to take turns with you tonight," I said. "But you are not to cum under any circumstances."

"I understand," he said, watching as Joanna squirted a generous amount of white cream into her palms.

"I want you to get used to each woman's technique. Once you do, you'll be able to improve your control."

"What about tomorrow? Are you going to be...?"

"Yes, I'm going to jerk you off for the judges. But don't worry about that now. Just let Dr. Monroe stroke you for a while. And then the other girls will jerk you off, too."

Craig sighed heavily as Joanna rubbed the cream into her skin and then placed both her hands on his swollen tool. Her short dress exposed almost all of her long, well-proportioned legs and the view was not wasted on Craig, who tried valiantly to keep his hands from touching those enticing limbs. He had mentioned to me a few days earlier that his own physician was a woman who resembled Joanna in several respects—short, copper-red hair, a turned-up, freckled nose, large blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. He also said that she liked to wear high heels to accentuate her already very long and shapely legs.

"You have a very handsome penis, Craig," the doctor said to him as her hands glided effortlessly up and down his shaft. "I find most guy's penises rather unattractive, and believe me, I've seen a lot."

"Thank you, doctor," he replied, gently rocking his hips back and forth in time with her strokes.

The girls and I stood around Joanna as she worked on his prick, admiring her imperious technique as one would admire the skillful ministrations of a master craftsman.

"Take a good look at his testicles," Joanna said, as she lifted his cock up and out of the way. "I don't think that pygmy has got anything on him, do you Zula?"

"Doesn't look like it," Zula replied, looking over the doctor's shoulder.

"Which is good news for us," Felicia said, smiling.

"Very good news," Joanna noted. "Bigger testicles hold more sperm. More sperm means greater pressure. And greater pressures ensures a more robust cumshot."

Having said this, she gave Craig's prick several quick pulls that made him moan.

"You obeyed my instructions, didn't you Craig?" I asked him. "You said you wouldn't come for three days."

"I...I kept my promise, Holly," he replied, trying to keep his breathing regular thereby forestalling the urge to ejaculate.

"I believe you," I said. "I'll bet you must really want to cum badly."

"Oh, yes, I do!"

"You also realize that if you cum now, your ejaculation won't be nearly as powerful tomorrow."

"I know."

"So you're going to let us know if you feel yourself losing it, right?"

"I...I promise."

Joanna's hands continued to pump him without pause. She licked her lips every now and then as she stroked him, and I think that if his prick was not already slick with lotion, she would have popped him into her mouth.

"Such a lovely penis," she said again.

"I'm going to let Dr. Monroe masturbate you for a few minutes more and then Janet is going to take over," I said to him.

"Yes, mistress," he replied, surprising me by his use of the word.

After Joanna finished with him, I had the other girls continue where she left off, masturbating him for five-minute intervals in quick succession. I had to admit that he displayed exemplary control. When it came time for Charlotte to stroke him, he almost gave in to her handiwork and had to ask her to stop. 

"I'm sorry, Holly," she said. "Masturbating him is making me very horny. I guess I got carried away."

Craig was breathing so hard he looked as through he had just run up a flight of stairs. "It's your technique, ma'm," he said to Charlotte. "Please slow down or I'm going to shoot off."

"You have to adapt yourself to her style of masturbation, Craig," I said. "Just as you did with me and Joanna. The judges want to see a vigorous masturbation technique; otherwise we'll be disqualified. Let Charlotte jerk you off a little more and employ that famous control of yours. You can do it."

With a little encouragement from the girls and me, he did manage to survive her blistering handjob, but I could tell that he was relieved when it was over.

"Charlotte is my second in command," I told him. "If for any reason I can't masturbate you, she will have to take over. That's why it's important that you become accustomed to her style."
"I'll do my best," he said, panting heavily.

"Zula. You're next."

Craig found Zula's hard and fast approach very difficult to withstand, but he managed to endure an intense five minutes of continual masturbation by her. Felicia then took over and brought him to even greater heights of pleasure, but Janet almost brought him over the edge.

"Oh, God," he told her. "I can't take much more of this!"

Janet laughed as she continued to milk him despite his protests. "Thirty more seconds big boy. Don't you dare give in!"

"Oh!" he groaned, as he thrust his hips forward.

And then it was my turn.

I knew that any determined effort on my part would result in an orgasm, so I allowed him a few minutes to rest and take a drink of water. I then had Joanna apply more lotion to his penis.

"Five more minutes, Craig," I said, as I wrapped my fist around his cock. "And then you go on the machine."

Before he had a chance to respond, my hands began flying up and down his greasy pole at top speed.

"Just think, Craig," I said as the other girls watched me tease and coax his shaft with both hands. "Tomorrow I'm going to jerk you off in front of 700 women. Does that turn you on?"

"Yes...I love it when girls watch me cum."

"Not only girls, but older women too. You know, like those older ladies who used to milk you when you used to clean out their pools. They'll be watching as you shoot your thick, creamy-white sperm for them. Isn't that exciting?"

"Oh, yes! Oh, God, yes!"

"That's why we're teasing you so much now. Because tomorrow you're going to show us an amazing cumshot, right?"

"Yes!"

"It's going to sail across the fucking room!"

"Ah! Holly!" he screamed. "You're making me crazy!"

He took in several great gulps of air, as if this action would somehow forestall his desire to cum. I then noticed that a tiny bead of pre-cum had formed at the tip of his cock and decided it was time to stop.

"Be careful," Zula said to me. "He's really close."

I gave him two hard and long pulls and then removed my hands and got up. It was time to introduce him to our newest mechanical device.

"Good job," I said to him as he fell onto the stool I had just vacated. "Rest for a while and then we'll get you on the machine."

"I won't survive," he said, out of breath.

"I'll make sure you do," I replied, patting him gently on the head.

While Craig took some time to refresh himself, the girls and I examined the remote control panel that sat on the table next to the "Extractinator." It was, essentially, a computer no larger than a standard laptop, with a keyboard and monitor that displayed a 3D replica of the device and what keys needed to be pressed in order to activate its many functions. Zula, being the most computer-adept among us, figured out its rather sophisticated program in a relatively short time, and then proceeded to give us a demonstration.

"I've seen similar programs but this one is a little more involved," she said, as she pressed a few keys in succession. "Basically, there are about a half dozen functions that we need to concern ourselves with. Here, let me show you."

Upon pressing one of the computer's keys, the top section of the giant maw was slowly lowered down via its hydraulic arms onto the bottom piece. Meanwhile, on the computer's monitor screen the 3D image of the machine faithfully reproduced this action. She then pressed another key that reversed the procedure, and this action, too, was simultaneously performed on the screen before our astonished eyes.

"Look at this," Zula said, pressing a few more keys.

Suddenly, the four hydraulic arms drew inward and then up, so that the entire assembly was hoisted into a vertical position. Another keystroke allowed the arms to further retract, enabling the human-encasing shell to be tilted and paused at any angle before reaching a fully horizontal position. Considering the size of the motor, all these functions were carried out with whisper-quiet operation.

"This is all very well and good," Charlotte said. "But just what does this thing do?"

"Oh, come on, Charlotte," Joanna said. "It does just what its name implies. It extracts sperm."

"You're not going to put me in that thing are you?" Craig asked me, looking worried.

"No harm will come to you baby," Zula said. "It's one hundred percent safe."

Charlotte wasn't impressed. "Why go through all the trouble and expense to use such a machine when you can get the same results from using your hand?"

Zula snickered. "This is why. Watch."

She pressed one key and a series of functions were carried out in succession. They all happened so quickly that I couldn't figure out what exactly was happening.

"Would you care to explain what's going on?" I asked Zula.

"No problem. Do you see that opening there? A robotic arm is going to come out."

We waited a few seconds but nothing happened.

"It should come out," she said, looking a little concerned.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Charlotte complained.

"Just be patient will you?" Zula said, pressing another key.

This last maneuver did the trick. From one side of the apparatus a robotic arm extruded slowly outward and folded itself at the elbow before stopping a few centimeters above the hole where the subject's genitals were to be placed. What startled me was that the entire arm was designed as a human appendage, the hands of which were composed of simulated human skin and shaped like a woman's hand, with anatomically correct and fully functional fingers. After we overcame our astonishment, we broke down and laughed at the sight of the mechanical hand that Zula had set in motion by hitting another key. The hand moved up and down on its metal axis with perfect, machine-like precision. All that was missing was a penis.

"Oh, Craig, you're in for a treat!" Felecia squealed.

He looked at the device with uncertainty, not fully convinced that he wanted to have anything to do with it.

"What if that arm malfunctions?" he said to us. "That thing could rip my cock off!"

"It has several failsafe mechanisms," Zula said. "And the lower arm will not extend beyond 45 degrees. Your cock isn't going anywhere."

"And what's that thing coming out now?" Janet asked.

"It looks like a plastic receptacle," Joanna observed. "For sperm collection I assume."

"How convenient!" Janet laughed.

The plastic container was moved into position near the hole by two small hydraulic arms. It seemed very efficient-looking to me.

"This machine can be programmed for hands-free operation for up to 30 minutes at a stretch. Then it automatically shuts itself off," Zula said.

"So, in essence," I remarked, "the subject is virtually a prisoner inside that thing, with no recourse to the use of his limbs whatsoever."

"That's right," Zula replied. "We can do anything we like to his body. Well, the genitals, ass, and face anyway."

Her eyes lit up as she said this, and I had a feeling she was anxious to get Craig inside it.

"We don't have to use our hands at all," she continued. "Once he's in the machine, the mechanical arm can take care of that chore. And the nice part of it is, the hand can be programmed to act almost like a human one, with all the nuances and subtleties of an experienced masturbatrix."

"Well, we'll have to see about that," I said, doubtful that any mechanical arm could ever accurately simulate the actions of its human counterpart to such a degree.

I had Zula return the assembly to its original position and then ordered Craig to get in.

"Do I have to do this?" he asked me, as the top portion of the mouth came to a silent halt.

"Do you trust me?" I replied.

"Of course," he answered. "But I'm not so sure about this machine."

"I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. If you find you don't like it, we'll stop it immediately and you won't have to go back in. Fair enough?"

"Okay," he said, with some trepidation. "I'll try it."

Using the hand supports that were built onto each side of the machine, Craig lifted his body onto the maw and placed his extremities in the appropriate spots and lied down. Once he was securely fitted into place, I instructed Zula to lower the top lip of the maw down over his body. In less than a minute he was lying comfortably within the confines of the machine, a little nervous but trying to be a good sport about it.

"How does it feel?" I asked him.

"Pretty nice," he replied. "But I can't move a muscle."

"The only muscle we want you to move is that big one between your legs," Joanna kidded. "Are you comfortable?"

"I thought it would be hot inside this thing, but I feel just fine."

"That's because there are ventilating holes running throughout the fabric," Zula said. "You'll be okay."

"I think we should give this machine a try," I told the girls. "Are you ready, Craig?"

"Anytime you are."

"Okay, Zula," I said. "Let's see if this 'Extractinator' gizmo can live up to its name."

Zula once again began keying in numbers on the control pad and within seconds the area around Craig's genitals began to vibrate.

"The vibration mode should help him to produce an erection," Zula informed us. 

"Wow!" Craig exclaimed. "It's like having a dozen hands working on your dick all at once!"

I could feel the vibrations through the floor, but the machine barely made a sound. 

"I can feel it working from here," I said. 

"Me too," Charlotte remarked. "But it's so quiet."

Joanna had told Craig to keep us alerted as to how he was feeling and to report any discomfort immediately. So far, he seemed to be doing fine. 

"It's really tingly," he reported. "God, it feels nice!"

Moments later we gasped as we watched the head of Craig's penis slowly begin to rise up from the center of the hole. 

"It's working!" Janet exclaimed.

Felecia laughed. "Look ma, no hands!"

Craig chuckled at her joke even as his prick continued to expand under the influence of the insistent vibrations. He was fully erect only moments later.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 08



"Instant hard-on," Joanna commented. "What's next?"

"We should put some lube on him now," I said.

"I'll take care of it," Joanna replied.

She took a small bottle of lubrication cream from the table and applied a small portion of it to Craig's penis. He moaned as she rubbed the lotion into his skin.

"Ready for some serious hand work?" Zula said.

"Might as well see what it can do. Go ahead," I told her.

She hit one of the function keys and the familiar robotic arm, which had previously been retracted, once again made its appearance from the angular compartment adjacent to the hole.

"Okay, Craig," I said. "We're going to try the robot hand on you now. Just lie perfectly still and let it do its work."

"You got it, Holly," he replied, with a little hesitancy in his voice.

I could see that he was a little tremulous as he watched the human-like arm flex itself outward toward his genitals on its metal pivot. But being the man he was—so eager to please, and inclined to not show fear in front of those he wanted to impress—he steeled himself for the intrusion of the artificial appliance, trusting in my competence and Zula's efficiency. And, as if in answer to his hopes, the fleshy-looking fingers descended upon his penis and then contracted themselves around the shaft, all in one, deliberately slow and precise motion. Craig, and the rest of us, heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"Any discomfort, Craig?" Joanna asked.

"Nope. It feels great. Keep going."

"Start him off slow, please," I said to Zula. "And keep it that way until I tell you otherwise."

Zula touched one of the keys with her finger, and with barely a sound the mechanical hand began to slowly rise and fall over Craig's glistening penis. As the hand reached its topmost position it would whir gently and then reverse its direction without a pause in its momentum. Once it reached the bottom, it would repeat the process all over again, effortlessly and with the utmost precision. Craig was moaning with delight.

"How does it feel to be totally out of control, Craig?" Zula asked.

"It's wonderful! It's like all these pleasurable sensations are centered...right in my crotch!"

"Do you want to take it up a notch?" I asked him.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"How fast can this thing go?" I asked Zula.

"There are 10 levels of speed with gradations in between. He's at level one now."

"Increase speed to level two," I instructed her.

The increase was almost instantaneous with Zula's pressing of the function key. The hand now moved at a quicker pace and Craig's breathing became more labored.

"Please explain what you're experiencing," Joanna asked him.

"Well, doctor...all I can tell you is that...it feels fucking great!"

"No pain or unpleasantness of any kind?"

"So far, no."

"It seems that the robotic hand has sensors inside it that can detect and compensate for the amount of pressure applied to his penis," Zula said. "As his dick gets closer to ejaculating, the hand grips the shaft more firmly, just as we would normally do when giving a guy a handjob."

"Cold, but efficient," Charlotte observed, laconically.

"Well I think this machine is fantastic!" Felicia said. "We don't have to spend hours and hours tiring our hands out working some huge dick like his."

"I will admit that it does appear to have its advantages, but nothing can take the place of a pair of nice warm, well-lubed hands to get the most out of a man."

"It's a tool, like any other," Joanna said. "I think we can safely increase the speed now, Holly."

"Zula? I said. "Increase speed to level three."

Once more, the motor driving the mechanical hand whirred gently as the up and down motions increased by a factor of one. The speed at which the stroking was being carried out was similar to the speed of a robust, human handjob—the speed at which most men would begin to lose their loads.

"Oh, my God!" Janet said, laughing hard. "I don't think he can take much more of that!"

"Craig, how are you doing?" I asked him.

He took a few seconds to reply. When he did, his speech was halting and his chest was rising and falling quickly as he sought to fight for air.

"Can't...hold on...much...longer..."

Because his prick was all covered with lube, I couldn't tell if he was exuding pre-cum or not. But taking one look at his huge scrotum, I could tell by the way his testicles were climbing up toward the base of his shaft that his orgasm was imminent. Joanna noticed this too.

"Better stop now or he'll explode," she warned.

"Holly!" Craig screamed. "Stop it!"

"Zula, cut the power." I ordered.

With one press of a key the mechanical hand came to a sudden stop. Craig cried out as though he were in pain.

"Craig, are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," he replied, groaning aloud.

"Let's get him out of there," I said.

With the aid of the other girls, I helped my exhausted friend out of the machine and pulled a white, terrycloth robe over him. He was having trouble standing and it took four of us to hold him steady.

"That thing was only on level three and you were ready to cum," I said.

"I know. It's a fucking incredible machine. The feeling is indescribable."

"I think he should rest for a few hours," Joanna said to me. "There's a bed in the room next door."

"Good idea," I replied. "Please do as the doctor says," I told him. "We'll resume your training at 1:00 PM."

"Okay, Holly. I am feeling pretty tired right about now."

Joanna escorted Craig out and returned a few minutes later to tell me that he was so exhausted that he was almost asleep before his head touched the pillow.

"He has a very strong constitution," she said. "Most men that I have tested in my lab would never be able to hold out as long as he did."

"I think it has something to do with those tests he had done on him in Sweden by Dr. Swensen."

"I have no doubt of that," she replied. "He's been conditioned, that's for sure. But I believe that will work in our favor."

"Do you think we should put him through it again later?"

"I don't think so. There are plenty of other masturbatory techniques we can use on him. However, I would suggest that all of us give him a few more handjobs. Especially you, Holly, since you're the Masturbatrix. And you, too, Charlotte."

"I'm ready," Charlotte said.

"Whatever it takes," I added.

"Well, all this jerking off business has made me both horny and hungry," Zula said. "And since I'm not about to get fucked anytime soon, I'm going to get something to eat."

"Good idea," Joanna said. "I'll join you."

As all of us followed Zula out of the room, I stopped to take a moment to look in on Craig. He was sound asleep. I almost hated to have to wake him up later to go through a completely new round of training. But it had to be done if we stood any chance at winning.

************

We had finished our final training session with Craig around 5:00 PM. The fact that he managed to endure successive rounds of masturbation at our hands and from the various devices we used on him was a testimony to his superior mental and physical control, due in large degree to his previous conditioning during the EJAX-472 experiments the year before. By the time we left the training room I think we were more tired than he was.

The qualifying rounds were to begin tomorrow afternoon at 2:00 PM, allowing contestants to spend the morning hours resting or to engage in further training. I decided that additional training was unnecessary in Craig's case, so I told him to get as much sleep as he could, believing that a well-rested body would be far more likely to prove efficacious than an overworked one. In this all my associates concurred. I said goodbye to him at the south entrance, assuring him that I had been very pleased with the way his training was progressing.

"I'm happy to hear that," he said. "The last thing in world I'd want is to disappoint you."

"Don't worry about that. Just do like you've been doing and we're going to win this contest. I guarantee it."

He put his arms around me and kissed me hard on my mouth. "I wish I could get inside your skin."

"You already have," I said, letting him hold me even when such actions were discouraged between a champion and his trainer. 

"You'd better let go of me now," I said, as I felt he was not about to release me anytime soon.

"There's no one here to see us," he said, rubbing my hand.

"It's not a good idea. If we get caught I'll get reported and there could be problems. Let's just play it cool until after the contest."

"All right," he replied, affably. "Because it's what you want, I'll be cool."

It was decided that we would all meet back at the training room at noon tomorrow to go over the final details related to the tryouts. By 1:00 PM all the teams, and their respective champions, were to assemble in the main hall to attend an address by our keynote speaker and Sisterhood leader, Lenore Marceau. My aunt was to give a little speech as well; a preface of welcome to the entire congregation and an invitation to attend a dinner party to be held on the estate lawn immediately following the tryouts.

When I returned to the main hall I found Charlotte mulling about near the dais, my other teammates had disappeared.

"They took off," she told me. "But I thought I'd take a look around. This place is something else."

"My aunt spent a fortune converting this dungeon. And there are more levels below this one. I've never been to the lowest floors though."

"That's because there is no access to them," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"If I remember correctly, my cousin—your uncle Pierre—told me that there were three levels that could be accessed by this tunnel. But there are a few more levels underneath the third one that are totally inaccessible. The only way you can even reach them is by using the old tunnel, which is now sealed shut."

I was, of course, surprised to hear this news.

"How many levels are there?"

"Pierre told me there were six, but some say there were nine originally."

"Nine?" How can that be possible?"

"Well, you have to remember that the chateau was built in the thirteenth century. Some of those earlier levels may have actually been storerooms with very low ceilings. In those days foodstuffs would have been preserved and stored there. I understand that, sometime during the middle of the fifteenth century, some of these levels actually collapsed due to water damage and were filled in with dirt. New layers of concrete were added to lend support to the foundation, and that is how it has remained to this day." 

"What about the old tunnel?"

"That was built in the 1700s. It runs southward in a parallel line with the new one, but it's unusable, completely non-functional. The bunker is still there, but it's all covered over with trees and bushes—it looks like a little grotto now. I used to play there when I was a child." 

"Did you ever try to get inside?"

"Inside the bunker? Impossible. If you could manage to hack your way through all the vegetation you'd be staring at an iron door about six inches thick and fifteen feet high. You'd need a wrecking ball to break it down. But even if you could open it, what's the point? The tunnel itself doesn't lead anywhere."

I found her tale most interesting, but I wondered why my aunt never mentioned anything about the old tunnel and the ancient dungeon levels now buried under layers of concrete.

"Does my aunt know about this?" I asked.

"Most certainly. Everybody who lives in this province knows the history behind this chateau. Some people say there is treasure buried somewhere in the lower levels, left there by nobles fleeing from the Revolution. But that's just rumor."

"Or maybe it's true. I'm surprised my aunt never thought to excavate the tunnel."

"I'm sure she's considered it, but she might have felt the cost of repairing it prohibitive. I know Pierre did."

"But what if treasure was really buried there? She could be sitting on a fortune."

"Holly, even if there were absolute proof that there was a treasure, the time, money, and effort needed to retrieve it would not be worth whatever money you might find. If the nobility did leave their valuables behind, they'll probably remain there forever."

The idea that buried treasure might lie deep within the castle walls intrigued me to no end. But I had other, more important matters to consider, and for the moment, my flights of fancy would have to wait for another day.

Charlotte and I took a leisurely tour of the vast enclosure, greeting people along the way and trying to take a peek every now and then at what the other contestants were doing behind the sometimes half-opened doors of their training rooms. Lenore had told me that each team was bringing its own equipment with them, although my aunt had graciously provided all contestants with the use of her own machines. I wondered if any of the teams were employing the "Extractinator" device, but our cursory examination of the main hall and a few of the unoccupied training rooms revealed no sign of the contraption. The answer to this mystery came sooner than I expected when Lenore spotted us and came walking over with a big smile on her face.

"Charlotte! Holly! Where are you two off to?"

"No place special," Charlotte replied. "Just looking around."

"So, how did your session go with that handsome champion of yours?" she asked us.

"It went very well," I replied. 

"How did that new machine work out?"

"Do you mean the 'Extractinator'?

"Yes, that's the name of it. I couldn't remember."

"It worked out fine. I think Craig is still in recovery mode."

Lenore looked pleased. "It's an amazing piece of machinery. I'm glad I thought to get it for you."

"You were the one who...?"

"Surprise!" Lenore exclaimed. "After that fiasco at the restaurant I had to make it up to you. Your team is the only one who has it. Put it to good use and win this competition."

"You're rooting for us?" Charlotte asked.

"I love Phoebe, but Angelique...ah well, what can I say about her? You, Holly, are my successor, and you, Charlotte, one of my oldest and dearest friends. Of course I'm going to root for you."

"We won't let you down," I said.

"Just do your best. That's all anyone can ask of another."

Just then another Sister came rushing up to us, all flustered over something taking place in one of the training rooms. She was a very pretty Indian woman dressed in a blue, silk sari. 

"He's going to cum if they can't stop it!" she exclaimed in a broken accent. "Please Sister, help us!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Lenore said, as the woman pulled on her arm.

"You must hurry!"

"Come girls," she said to us. "Let's see what the hell is going on."

Dragging Lenore by the arm, the woman led us to a nearby training room. Inside were a small group of Indian women, all of them futilely trying to remove a cylindrical object from their champion's penis. When they saw us approach, they hastily moved away to give Lenore access to the distressed man. 

"What's the problem here?" Lenore asked the women.

"The 'hot lips,'" the woman said. "We cannot shut it off!"

One of the other team members, a woman who looked to be the oldest of the group, handed Lenore the remote control.

"Try to stand still," she ordered the naked man.

"He doesn't understand English," the woman said.

"Then tell him in your language!"

The woman immediately conveyed Lenore's instructions to the man in his own tongue and he valiantly tried to remain still. He looked petrified as the device continued to whir away, the mechanical lips gliding up and down his shaft at top speed. Lenore pressed several buttons but nothing happened.

"It's not working!" she exclaimed, hurling the remote control across the room.

"We must help him!" cried the woman.

"Holly...Charlotte," Lenore said. "Get on either side of him and hold him steady. I'll have to remove the battery cell from the unit itself. It's not going to be easy, so try to keep him from moving around so much."

Charlotte and I did as we were told. It was difficult trying to keep him still since the device was operating at full speed and his entire body was pretty much vibrating right along in tandem with it. Lenore ordered the Indian woman to grasp the cylinder in her hands in order to keep it from moving.

"Hold it tight," Lenore instructed her. "I have to open the lid from the top. Steady now."

Both Lenore and the woman were now on their knees before the stricken man. He started to cry out something in his native tongue as Lenore worked feverishly to remove the plastic clamp that housed the battery.

"He says he is going to ejaculate very soon!" the woman exclaimed.

"I'm doing the best I can!" Lenore said. 

"But if he comes he won't be able to compete in the contest!"

"Oh, will you shut up!" 

Lenore struggled with the difficult clamp for several more seconds until it finally retracted from the top panel, exposing the battery cell inside. With one flick of her finger the battery popped out and onto the floor. The device came to a dead stop. 

"Undo the strap and take it off him," Lenore told the woman.

Before she could carry out this task, the man, himself, removed the device and let if fall to the floor. With a wild look in his eyes, he stoked his penis a few times and a giant rope of cum sailed out over the heads of my astonished mentor and his shocked trainers. Grunting like a pig, we all watched in awe as he ferociously milked out load after load of pearly, white semen, ranting something in his odd language every time he sent a creamy rope flying into the air.

Surprisingly enough, Lenore barely got scathed, but the Indian woman and her other teammates got soaked with his generous offering. Charlotte and I had instinctively pulled back, anticipating the uncontrolled orgasm. But it was not enough to prevent us from receiving a small portion of his lusty tribute, which rained down upon us when one of his volleys flew up and backwards, impacting with the wall behind us. After forcing out several more sticky loads, he fell down onto the floor in a state of exhaustion, his face wet with tears.

The Indian woman and her team members were beside themselves with grief and anger over the failure of their champion, but no one was more aggrieved than the poor, little man himself, who now looked up at his trainers as though he had committed the most heinous of crimes.

"What are we going to do now?" the Indian woman wailed. "All his sperm is gone! We cannot compete in the contest. We are ruined!"

Suddenly all the team members, including the champion himself, let out an enormous cry of despair. Lenore looked at Charlotte and I as if she were going to join in the grief-stricken choir.

"This is terrible. It wasn't their fault."

"The machine malfunctioned," I said. "They shouldn't be penalized for something like that."

"Is there anything you can do, Lenore?" Charlotte asked.

"Yes, yes!" the Indian woman exclaimed. "Sister Lenore, you must allow us to pick another champion. It was the hot lips that made him do this. He could not help himself. Please let us compete tomorrow!"

"What is your name, Sister?" Lenore asked the woman. "You seem to have lost your nametag."

"I am Pari," she replied, her hand reaching toward the spot on her chest where her nametag should have been.

"And what is your champion's name?"

"He is called 'Atma'."

"Help Atma to his feet, please."

Pari and two other of her teammates lifted the fallen man and helped him into a chair. She then handed him a white robe, which he drew across his naked body.

"I have every intention of letting you compete in tomorrow's tryouts, Pari," Lenore began. "What happened is not your fault. However, it is extremely doubtful that Atma will be able to ejaculate far enough to qualify you for a spot in the contest. You can use him if you want, but I am giving you permission to select another champion."




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 08



Pari clasped her hands together and bowed her head. "Thank you, Sister Lenore! Thank you!"

Pari bowed her head several more times, as did her teammates, and Atma just sat there smiling, but dumbfounded, unaware that he might soon to be jettisoned for another more suitable candidate.

"I'm sorry, Atma," Lenore said to the confused man, as we followed her out the door to a thunderous applause.

We made our way back toward the tunnel entrance, and once there Charlotte said goodbye to us.

"You did the right thing, Lenore," she said.

"I did the fair thing," Lenore replied. "One cannot be held responsible for the actions of another, or for a faulty machine."

"I still feel bad for them though," I said.

"I do too," Lenore agreed. "Their chances of finding another champion at this late hour are almost nil."

As much as I was disappointed for the Indian team, in my heart I was glad that there was now one less threat with which to concern myself. 

************

To her ever-growing list of talents, which included entrepreneur, spy, voyeur, thrill seeker, and dominatrix, Angelique, in her secretive and enterprising way, had recently found a new occupation to add to the mix—that of excavator. Ever since suffering a most humiliating defeat at the hands of her once-beloved cousin during the Villon sessions, she had determined that the "Long Shots" contest would be the means by which she would resurrect herself—like the mystical phoenix reborn from its own ashes—from that of a miserable failure to that of a world-class champion. It would be an act of personal redemption par excellence. 

She had spent much time deliberating over the means by which she would accomplish this task and finally came upon the idea of embarking upon a grand renovation: the excavation of the ancient tunnel leading from the bunker to the lower regions of the castle dungeon by using her own elite corps of recently acquired Sisterhood comrades and their obsequious lackeys. It was an ambitious plan.

Angelique had learned of the existence of the old south tunnel the same day her mother did: when Pierre signed over the deed to the estate to Phoebe. When Phoebe's lawyer, an able and trusted friend of long-standing relation and a local resident, explained to her that the old tunnel was completely unserviceable, she thereafter put it out of her mind, knowing that the more recently built tunnel would be more than sufficient to meet her needs. Angelique, however, her calculating mind always intent upon seeking new and innovative ways of expressing itself, and her innate curiosity fueled by the thought that the native's alluded to underground treasure might possibly exist, continued to give the matter much thought, and secretly entertained the idea that one day she would find a way to breach the metal and concrete barrier that comprised the well-fortified bunker.

These plans, however, took on secondary importance once she became involved with the Sisterhood. Having recently made Lenore's acquaintance, which soon developed into a solid friendship, Phoebe was about to embark on a new journey of her own within the Sisterhood, and she would come to rely on her daughter's industriousness and energy to aid her in her new role as Sister, ultimately appointing Angelique as the second in command of the fledgling "Philanthropic Society." This mother and daughter team proved most efficacious, and Angelique found she had little time for anything else. 

Soon, her involvement in the Society/Sisterhood became an all-consuming passion, and the social/economic landscape thus fashioned, in great part by her own intelligence and diligence, earned her the respect and admiration of her mother, the Sisters, and especially Lenore. In time Lenore would grow less fond of Angelique, seeing in Holly a far more acceptable successor to the Sisterhood throne. Although feeling greatly rebuffed by this decision, Angelique decided to bide her time, hoping that her cousin would eventually display some inevitable weakness that would remove her from her favored status. And if that didn't happen, she would see to it that Holly's inadequacies were eventually revealed by whatever means possible. But the unexpected treachery inflicted upon her by her cousin, which resulted in her recent defeat, now impelled her to take such action that would result in a comparative shift in the once stable landscape: a shift that would hopefully tip the balance of power in her favor; creating a rift in the very fabric of the Sisterhood nation that would pit equal against equal; Sister against Sister. Lenore's disaffection, her cousin's betrayal, and her own mother's lack of sympathy toward her plight, gave impetus to her desire in seeing the Sisterhood brought to heel. But their combined disloyalty did much more than anger her—it incited her to seek revenge against the very people and institutions that had placed her in such an already exalted position. It was a crisis of conscience that now confronted her, and she found in her conscience a willing conspirator.

In her role as chief administrator of the Society, Angelique had performed many favors for certain Sisters over the past year. Now it was time for some of these favors to be called in. Immediately following her humiliating experience during the "test" session, she began to form a coalition of women whom she knew she could count upon to serve her in her hour of need. Many of these women were her friends and acquaintances, others were malcontents who themselves were dissatisfied with Lenore's sovereignty and sought to affiliate themselves with Angelique via commonality of purpose. One of these was Marge Davis, a woman who was a member of this latter group, but who also enjoyed a close friendship with Angelique. 

It was upon Marge's shoulders that Angelique has placed the daunting task of assembling a work force that would transform the once inaccessible tunnel into a viable passageway into the lower depths of the castle. Marge had carried out this injunction with uncommon zeal, using her influence as one of the highest-ranking members within the Sisterhood to enjoin a group of workers that included surveyors, architects, engineers, and laborers who would translate Angelique's directives into action and without question. This group was comprised entirely of Sisterhood members and their confederates.

The day after the "test," Angelique had already had her plan solidified and ready to put in motion. She had barely slept the night before, having spent hours on the phone with Marge and a few other trusted friends explaining the details of her operation. It had always been a matter of contention to the local residents, including Pierre himself, whether or not the tunnel had caved in on itself since the decades it had ceased being used or was still capable of being repaired. In this Angelique was willing to take the chance of finding out one way or the other. 

It was decided that the project would commence immediately and that work would be performed only during the evening hours after all the farm laborers had gone home. The fact that the old tunnel was roughly one mile away from the new one, and obscured by rolling hills and vegetation, aided in keeping the work from being discovered. The fact that this particular tract of land was uncultivated and quite a distance away from the vineyards meant that hardly anyone ever visited the spot, and this, too, worked to their advantage. Electrical generators were used to power lights and to handle the requirements of power tools, but even these were used sparingly in favor of larger teams working with standard equipment like pickaxes, shovels, and wheelbarrows. This was done in order to keep the noise level to a minimum. 

The first order of business was to remove the densely packed vegetation and underbrush that covered the bunker door. This effort alone, even with the help of two- dozen workers, took several hours to accomplish. Once was the door was free of debris, the lead engineer determined that the best way to remove the bunker's huge iron door was to fasten steel cables to the door's iron bolts and then, with the aid of a giant winch, pull the door off its massive hinges. This was achieved after several tries in which the cables kept slipping off the bolts when approaching maximum tension. Ultimately, a way was found to secure the cables so that they would be prevented from slipping off. With a loud and terrifying creak, the bolts reluctantly gave way and were ripped from the supporting concrete structure. The giant iron door fell to the earth with a huge thud.

When the dust had cleared, Angelique, accompanied by Marge and several trusted acolytes, had proceeded with flashlights into the gaping, black hole that stood before them. Despite protests from the engineers, Angelique had insisted that she be the first to pass through the ancient threshold, displaying calm indifference to her own personal safety. 

As she and her group entered the tunnel, a sudden rush of cool, damp air that hinted of stale and putrefying things greeted them. This did not dissuade her progress but seemed to enervate her instead, much to the chagrin of her apprehensive companions. The passage they entered was broad, roughly six feet in width, and the ceiling rose to over eight feet in height, plenty of room to navigate the larger items that would eventually find their way into this underground world. 

The engineers followed close behind Angelique, examining the tunnel's earthen walls and ceilings for any sign of possible danger from collapse. But the men who had designed this tunnel had been exceptional engineers. They had employed huge wooden beams and crossbeams supported by huge iron bolts, which seemed, upon close inspection, to have maintained their structural integrity over the span of almost seventy years. Only in one spot—a distance of about one hundred feet from the entrance to the tunnel—did they discover that several beams had been damaged and now lay strewn upon the floor hindering further passage. This problem could be easily rectified Angelique was told.

Desirous to reach the dungeon, Angelique gave orders to the engineers to remove the debris and reinforce the weakened points with additional steel beams. It took three hours for the work to be completed, upon which she and her team reentered the tunnel and proceeded northward toward the dungeon. 

It seemed that this old tunnel was not in as bad a shape and had been believed, and Angelique was beside herself with joy. The tunnel itself was only a quarter of a mile in length and once the blockage had been removed no other structural anomalies were discovered to hamper their progress. The ground itself was surprisingly dry and firm, making their trek less arduous than it might have been. In a short while she found herself staring into an immense black void—the place where the tunnel ended and the dungeon began. Directing their flashlights into the cavity, Angelique and her accomplices soon realized that they were standing at the entrance to a world long forgotten: a time when men and women paid for their transgressions on the rack or were left to die shackled to enormous iron chains that hung from the ceiling.

After a short and cursory inspection of the dungeon—insisted upon by the engineers who had warned Angelique that the tunnel's stability, though seemingly intact to the naked eye, could not be taken for granted until further stabilization was performed—the team exited the tunnel and began the laborious job of transporting huge steel support beams into the shaft. It took three nights to finish the job working ten-hour shifts that employed over fifty people at one time. 

On the fourth day all work ceased and the equipment and tools were removed from the site. All that remained were a few generators and some prefabricated wooden flooring materials that would be brought in later once the dirt floor of the dungeon had been cleared of whatever debris still remained inside. This Angelique insisted she and her closest associates would attend to. Nobody beyond her own circle of friends cared or asked why. They were paid, sworn to secrecy, and let go, with the understanding that their services may be required again in the not too distant future, and that Angelique would have need of them in the new world order that she would create from the ashes of the old.

************

The "Long Shots" contest first came into being by accident during one particular Sisterhood party in which two drunk and argumentative Sisters bet against each other to see which of their male slaves could ejaculate the farthest. No one remembers whom it was that first thought of the idea, but it became immediately popular and eventually evolved into a more sophisticated affair over the ensuing years, with Sisterhood covens from all over the world being represented in the annual contest. 

The trainers represented a diverse age group and came from many different backgrounds. But the one thing they all had in common was the coveted "skillful hand" gift—a talent to control men sexually simply by using their hands. Most women could effectively bring a man to orgasm via masturbation, but a masturbatrix—the name given to the most highly accomplished hand artisans—was capable of controlling a man completely, until his very soul became mere putty in her hands. Because the talent was so unique and brought forth such astonishing results, the masturbatrix was regarded as the epitome of sexual wonder workers—superior to the less talented, but more forceful, dominatrix. To most Sisters, the skillful hand gift was something you were born with: an intrinsic talent shared only by prodigies and which training could only refine. Those less stellar aspirants to the title might spend years studying technique, but they would never attain the full potential of those born with the "gift."

I didn't realize that I possessed this specialized ability until Lenore brought it to my attention after she had seen me masturbate Craig during our visit to Sylvie's boutique a week ago. I recall her telling me that I played upon Craig's penis as though it were a musical instrument and I was the maestro. Her description seemed funny to me at the time, but it accurately reflected the manner in which my hands sought to control and dominate his genitals. A masturbatrix she and I might be, but something had to be said for the one being masturbated as well.

Craig had a strong mental and physical attraction to me, as I did to him. In addition, it was in his nature to please women, and he found the highest expression of this proclivity exemplified in his relationship with me. In other words, we were mutually "in tune" with each other, and this made for superb teamwork, whether I was "gifted" or not. We had what Felicia might have described as "simpatico," that quality of being able to read into each other's psyches and translate those impressions into conscious actions. Judging by the way I saw most trainers handle their champions, it was apparent to me that a similar type of symbiosis was involved.

I arrived at the training room at noon and found my champion and team waiting for me looking bright and eager. I had eaten breakfast alone but managed to say good-morning to my aunt who was busily rehearsing her welcoming speech. Angelique was nowhere to be found. All the girls were wearing some combination of sneakers, blouse, and shorts; Craig was wearing the requisite white robe.

"Guess what I have?" Zula said, waving a DVD in front of my face.

"I don't know," I replied. "But it is polite to say 'good afternoon' don't you think?"

"Don't ever accuse her of being polite," Joanna said to me. "You'll only get her mad."

"Well?" I said. "What is it?"

"This is a movie of last year's competition. We can put this to good use."

"Great," I said. "Put it on the table over there and let's get down to business."

Zula seemed a bit miffed at my abruptness, but I was anxious to go over my plans as soon as possible.

"How are you feeling, Craig?" I asked. "You look like you had a good night's rest."

"I did," he replied happily. "Got ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. I feel great."

"I'm not asking you to perform miracles today. I just want you to place in the qualifying rounds."

"No problem, Holly. I'm ready when you are."

I took some time to explain once again the rules pertaining to these tryout sessions with my team. In this particular round there was really nothing my associates could do except stand aside and watch me masturbate Craig. Their involvement with the contest would take on far greater dimensions later on, when the final round would determine the winner. However, I needed their moral support as well as their conscientious attention to make certain that I was giving my team and myself every possible chance for success.

"We're with you, Holly," Charlotte reminded me. 

"Damn right!" Janet exclaimed. 

"Bravo! Fortuna!" Felicia added.

Joanna gave Craig a quick exam and confirmed he was is excellent condition. 

"Four days without an ejaculation, right?" she asked Craig.

"Yes, ma'm."

"Well, Holly, if your skills are up to snuff, you should have him spurting to the moon."

"I'll settle for a good ten feet," I replied, smiling at Craig.

At exactly 12:30 PM the giant doors leading into the Masturbatorium opened wide, allowing the attendees to enter. Like us, some of the teams came in during the morning to train, but most were happy to forego training and simply slept late. These teams now entered along with the rest of the throng while announcements were made over the loudspeaker directing the various delegations and their teams to their designated seats. 

As I led my team into the main concourse, we were joined by masses of people who quickly formed around us, pulling us forward. Thankfully, there were many acolytes who interspersed themselves amongst the crowd, breaking up the momentum of this human chain, creating smaller groups that could be more easily manipulated and directed. I was, frankly, overwhelmed by the size of the crowd, having been informed by Zula that the numbers had now reached well beyond one thousand people.

My aunt had decided that the seating design should take the form of twenty wooden tiers upon which chairs were placed along a 180-degree arc, in the fashion of an ancient Roman amphitheatre. To the right of the amphitheatre and perpendicular to it was the judge's booth; directly across the booth was the podium, which faced the spectators. And several feet beyond the podium stood the lanes where the contest would be held. There were a total of ten lanes in all, and they looked very similar to bowling lanes with the exception that black, plastic markers had been placed every foot along the way to measure the distance of each ejaculation. In addition, there were rubber foot grips installed into the wood where the masturbatrix and her champion were to stand, and a thin, red, plastic carpet covered the area from the start line to the farthest marker—thirty feet away. Sisterhood acolytes, appointed to track the distance of each cumshot, stood at each lane's ten-foot marker with pen and paper in hand, making conversation with each other as they awaited the keynote address to begin. 

At first I thought the idea of a man shooting his sperm 30 feet away quite funny, but quickly recalled that Craig had came near to achieving a 20-foot cumshot only recently at Sylvie's. And Jacques LaSalle had succeeded in passing the 18-foot barrier the year before during this very same contest. The thought that someone's orgasm might actually span the 30-foot limit was something I could not quite comprehend, and I began to wonder just what method of teasing and denial, extended milking by hand and machine, and supplemental oral concoctions might produce such a prodigious feat.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 09



Craig Lundquist was finding it difficult to go to sleep. He wasn't thinking about the "Long Shots" training he was about to undergo the next morning and all that it entailed. Nor was he thinking so much about his tremendous attraction for Holly McKenzie, although he did try, but in vain, to dispel the images crowding his troubled mind with thoughts of her. What was bothering him was the inexplicable behavior of his erstwhile friend, Barney Cole.

Although Barney was almost 15 years older than Craig, the two men had forged an almost instant friendship. Craig looked up to Barney as a sort of ad hoc mentor and Barney thought of Craig as just one hell of a nice kid—someone who reminded him of the kind of man he was at a younger age. They found that they had much in common, despite the age gap, and they wound up spending an inordinate amount of time together as best friends are wont to do. So when Barney had called that night a few weeks ago and told Craig he was going back home to Canada, and Craig having received no satisfactory explanation for Barney's quick and mysterious departure, the blonde boy was dumbfounded. Enigmas were something that Craig could never abide. And this one had hit too close to home.

Craig recalled the wild sexual adventures he and Barney were made to undergo back in Stockholm under the expert guidance of the beautiful Dr. Swensen and her equally beautiful colleague, Dr. Hellstrom. He remembered how Barney helped break the ice between him and Dr. Swensen's assistant, Cheryl. And how Barney acted as best man during his wedding to the girl who eventually left him after only a few months because she realized that she really didn't love him. Even after she left him, Barney was still there—a friend as constant as the Northern Star.

In time he and Barney decided to join a popular men's strip show revue and made a fairly decent living singing and dancing in the nude for crowds of women who would enthusiastically cheer them four or five nights a week at various venues in and around Stockholm. Not only were he and Barney paid well, but both men were the lucky recipients of sexual favors lavished upon them by the clubs' female clientele. It was the kind of life that most men only dream of. But when Dr. Swensen offered to take both men with her on her visit to Paris, Craig and Barney couldn't refuse. The good doctor had made the trip a gift to both men, in gratitude for all the help they had given her during the infamous "EJAX-472" experiments, and they both were looking forward to the journey abroad.

Now, the mystery surrounding his friend's hasty exit from the country preyed upon his mind. It was unlike Barney to be so disingenuous. He wondered if it was something he had said or did that drove the handsome black man away. But what? Craig and Barney had always spoken their minds plainly and openly, never holding back anything that might get in the way of their mutual understanding. It simply made no sense. And so he could not sleep.

He looked at the clock on his night table. It was almost midnight. In seven hours he would have to get up and get ready for his first day of training at the Masturbatorium. He simply had to get to sleep or he would be useless. He tried to put thoughts of Barney out of his head. He would force himself to think of something else—anything else but his friend's unexplained desertion. Presently he found himself recalling his recent past, just a few years before he had become involved in the EJAX-472 experiment. He laughed into his pillow when his mind recalled the two attractive, middle-aged women who first introduced him to the exuberant joy and privilege of being naked in the presence a dominant, clothed woman.

They were both good friends and nurses by trade. Irene Terry was the one that had introduced him to the term "milking," a process by which she eventually trained him in such a refined and methodical manner that his conception of fulfilling sex was to be forced onto his hands and knees and milked like a cow. Craig had been cutting her lawn one hot July afternoon just days after his eighteenth birthday and she had been sunning herself on a lounge chair watching his every move. Her husband was in South America on business and she was desperately randy—a state her taciturn spouse had been failing to recognize for some years. The painfully handsome young man in his cut-off jeans, who looked every inch a god, was just too tempting a treat for the 40-year-old vixen to disregard.

Craig remembered how she had blatantly seduced him right there in her kitchen, forcing him up on the kitchen counter where she administered a blistering blow job that made his young prick dance for joy. When he came, she had kept her lips tightly sealed around the tip of his shaft while he pumped her mouth full of hot, creamy spunk. He had never received such a blowjob before or since. But it was the milkings that soon came to dominate his sexual life. And it was during these "sessions" that he learned how to surrender himself to a woman and abide by her will.

Irene Terry was of average height and had a voluptuous figure, although she was not nearly as busty as her friend Kimberly Barber. She was pretty, but not beautiful. Most of the time she liked to wear her luxuriant brown hair in a ponytail because it made her look younger. It was at her house that the milkings, outdoor nude sunbathing, and other fun things happened to Craig during that splendid summer he spent working for her. Irene's younger sister, Kelly, who was in her late thirties, was a divorced woman with two young children, and often dropped by her sister's house while her kids were at school to enjoy swimming in the backyard pool. It wasn't long before she, too, became enamored of Craig, and took part, along with her sister, in his nascent sexual education. Craig laughed aloud when he recalled the sisters telling him that they had learned the "art of milking" from watching their mother milk their father on top of the bed way back when they were still both in college. This thought amused him greatly.

Kimberly was a few years older than Irene. She was tall and slim, and had enormous breasts. Her long black hair matched her dark eyes, and gave her a very striking appearance. Her husband had died a few years earlier, leaving her with a small fortune but no children. She was justifiably proud of her legs, which she took every opportunity to display. Like Irene, she too was a very skilled milker, and could make Craig moan uncontrollably with her talented hands. It was she who first shaved his cock and balls, telling him that it would add to his pleasure when they masturbated him.

The fact that she and Irene were older and more mature than he was had added greatly to the eroticism of their sexual encounters. Before the summer was over, he had experienced no fewer than a hundred separate milking sessions, and he eventually came to long for the feeling of their hands on his genitals. Their intimate handling and teasing of his cock and balls was performed with such skill and grace that he soon became a slave to their will, doing almost anything they asked of him with humble submission.

What Craig enjoyed most about these milking sessions, beyond the actual physical contact, was that both women enjoyed talking dirty to him. As they stroked his cock they would frequently say something wickedly erotic to him or to each other. Things like, "Oh, Irene! Look at how big you've made his cock get!" Or, "That's the way Craig! Yes, baby, keep shoving that big dick back and forth in my hands. I want you to shoot that hot cream all over my fingers!" And a million other myriad phrases designed to increase the eroticism of his masturbatory experience. Craig loved all the sexy, lewd, and suggestive comments that they would shower upon him. He reveled in the power these women had over his young and splendid body, and he did all he could to please them.

Many of the milking sessions had gone on for hours, with intervals for conversation or eating. The two mature vixens teased and denied the young boy repeatedly, knowing that this technique would produce the most robust cumshots. Sometimes the women would allow him to masturbate them or perform oral sex on them, but they forbade sexual intercourse. He never understood why, but it was something they had made clear to him from the beginning and he never questioned their decision after that, grateful instead to be their boy toy and enjoy the pleasure of their combined hands as they treated his body as if it were their own private playground.

Of all the sessions he had enjoyed, it was the very first and final encounters with Irene, Kimberly, and Kelly that would forever remain etched in his mind. He remembered how utterly excited he had become when he watched Irene and Kimberly lay a blanket upon the dining room table and had him climb on top of it, positioning himself on all fours. He remained in that position for several hours as their hands and mouths hungrily explored every inch of his taught young body. They would masturbate him relentlessly until he was begging them to let him cum, and then they would abruptly stop and wait for him to beg them to let them continue. It was this tease and denial process that partly explained the great staying power he was able to maintain in his future sexual encounters. He smiled when he recalled seeing Kimberly produce a large white plastic pail from her kitchen pantry to place directly underneath his swollen cock and balls. She referred to it as her "milking pail," and it was into this receptacle that he would shoot gallons of sperm for the women's delight over and over again all summer long. 

The final time he spent with the three women was to leave an indelible impression upon his mind, and epitomize for him what a true CFNM experience should be.

Craig had come to learn that his mistresses were members of a group of women who called themselves the "Purple Hats"—the color purple signifying their founder's penchant for wearing this particular hue. Anywhere from fifty to a hundred women attended these regular monthly "meetings" at an upscale country club on the outskirts of Stockholm. On the surface this group seemed hardly more exotic than a ladies social tea, but in reality it provided an opportunity for its members to enjoy some ribald fun. This "fun" took the shape of male burlesque shows. Ostensibly, the men who performed in these shows never went completely nude, but that was not always the case. Depending upon the level of drunkenness, one could expect to see more than one penis on display before the night was over. And many times those penises were brought to impressive orgasms for all the women to enjoy. This is where Kimberly and Irene had perfected their hand skills. And the coup de grace that was to cap off his summertime frolicking was his being ordered to perform, with the blessing of all three of his mistresses, for this demanding group of debauchees. 

Craig felt a slight twinge in his balls as he recalled the leather cock ring that Kelly had expertly attached to his genital area during many of his milking sessions, and which she had used on that final night as she paraded him around the dance floor for all the women to see. He was exhibited like a piece of horseflesh and he loved it. His huge, stiff penis, made even more pronounced by its forced encasement within the cock ring, amazed the lecherous group, and Kelly had to fight off the more aggressive types who sought to claim his penis for her own.

The cock ring had enabled Craig's teachers to both masturbate and perform fellatio on him without having worry about him ejaculating in their hands or mouths. The ring prevented that from happening, yet it also provided him with unrelenting, exquisite pleasure. He laughed when he remembered the funny looking contraption called a "ball stretcher," which was nothing more than a leather-type sack that could be stretched to accommodate his very large testicles. The ball stretcher could be snapped into place, allowing his sperm-laden spheres to remain about four inches away from his body. It sensitized his testicles to the point that he could feel every deft movement of their fingers no matter how gently they rubbed him. Hours later, when they finally removed the sack, his balls would hang even lower than normal, swollen to twice their size with a heavy amount of semen waiting to be coaxed out by their expert hands.

He could never forget when Irene had allowed all 98 women in attendance at the country club that night to come up to the dais and take turns masturbating his magnificent prick. And all of them gladly did so, some with the ulterior motive of getting him to cum, but all with the sense of utter enjoyment. One woman, who had to be in her early 60s, fisted him with hard, rapid strokes, in an attempt to provoke a cumshot. But even though Craig was immensely turned on by the attractive older woman, the cock ring was persistent in doing its job, and after a full two minutes of fierce stroking, the frustrated woman gave up and returned to her seat clutching her tired arm.

This ribald show went on for over two hours until at last the young man could stand no more. Sensing his need to ejaculate, Irene removed the cock ring and ordered him to masturbate himself to completion before the expectant crowd. Having seated themselves in the front row of chairs next to their screaming comrades, Irene, Kimberly, and Kelly encouraged their protégé to give the ladies what they so desperately wanted to see. As Craig looked around him he saw a sea of faces—some pretty, some plain—but all concentrated on his prick and the huge load of sperm that was demanding to be released.

Directly in front of him sat Irene, her cute face all aglow, proud of the man-boy she had educated in the ways of female dominance. To her left sat Kimberly, her long sexy legs crossed in cheesecake fashion, which she knew drove Craig wild with lust. She had taken off her shoes so that she could wiggle her lovely feet back and forth as if she were masturbating his turgid prick from a distance. Kelly sat a few seats away, laughing as she followed each frantic movement of Craig's pumping fist. 

Craig felt his heart beat loudly in his chest as he remembered the women's good-natured laughter and cheers while he steadily brought himself to orgasm before their eyes. Thanks to the training he had received, he felt no sense of embarrassment as he masturbated himself. The only thing he felt was a tremendous sense of excitement and an overwhelming desire to please—the same feelings he had experienced during all of his earlier milking sessions. The only difference now was that he was performing to a crowd, and he, to his own surprise, was proving to be nothing less than a consummate showman.

He sighed with pleasure as he remembered how the sperm rose up in his shaft, compelling his hand to bring him to orgasm. He knew he was going to ejaculate soon. The women seemed to know it too and had cheered him on incessantly. During the final moments when he was just about to cum, he noticed that some women left their seats and came close to the dais to better observe him. This thrilled him greatly, as he always loved the type of woman who was somewhat, but not overly, aggressive. He looked at their legs and their hands, two areas of the female body that greatly enticed him, and imagined shooting ropes of sperm all over them. He watched their expectant faces, how they laughed and made teasing remarks with one another as they encouraged him to jerk off for them. He remembered seeing one very raunchy woman pumping her fist up and down over an imaginary prick as she licked her upper lip and grinned lewdly. But most of all, he remembered one very attractive middle-aged woman with huge breasts who sat to his immediate left and who kept a big glob of whipped cream on the edge of her tongue, treating it as it were sperm, playing with it unashamedly as she sucked it in and out of her mouth several times while trying to keep from laughing. Unaccountably, it was this simple lascivious act that had finally served to push him over the edge.

All at once the room became completely silent, and then suddenly exploded with a huge roar as the first jet of sticky spunk was violently expelled from his excited tool. Higher and higher went the creamy salvo, careening over the heads of every woman in the first several rows, finally finding its mark on the tiffany chandelier about a dozen feet away. Craig remembered the look on Irene's face as she struggled to comprehend the significance of this great feat, and how she buried her face in Kimberly's arm as she was overtaken by a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Kimberly was still looking at the chandelier, her mouth agape, amused at the sight of the thick strands of sperm that hung obscenely from the crystal spears. She turned her head just in time to see Craig's rapidly stroking hand bring forth an awesome double-decker rope of creamy white spunk that splashed head on into the torsos of several women sitting just behind his incredulous teachers. The outburst of laughter was like a tidal wave of sound that beat down upon his naked body, enervating him, charging him. He saw faces covered in sperm, women spitting out thick streams of slimy paste, hands reaching for anything to wipe off the offending liquid. A few women ran straight for the toilets. And over all this commotion, a thick wash of sound in the form of deafening laughter and clapping hands.

And then, something unexpected happened: something that he never could have imagined. To this day it has remained a point of contention between himself and his three former mistresses, but it nevertheless did occur, much to everyone's surprise and delight.

Even as the second volley of cum had succeeded in drenching those closest to the errant spray, another thicker and more substantial eruption was soon to follow. Craig likened the feeling to a volcano that spits forth a few relatively mild rivulets of lava, and then erupts suddenly with intense force, spilling its hot contents over the entire landscape in a spectacularly hellish show. And this is exactly what he did.

From somewhere in the pit of his low-hanging balls, his wildly pumping fist coaxed out a succession of white bursts: long, stringy ropes of cum that followed one upon the other without pause, flying high into the air like a fireworks display and coming down upon the heads of the amazed and amused audience like a shower of lava. The crowd roared. The first few rows were bathed in spunk, which fell down upon them as if they had been caught in a brief, but intense, summer rain shower. Irene, Kimberly, and Kelly had been among those who were so christened, but instead of trying to escape from the cum shower, they laughed and let themselves be bathed in its creamy effluence.

After two or three more explosive bursts of cum sailed out into the audience, Craig's ponderous weapon finally grew silent. It had been an unprecedented display of male virility, and the women stood up and applauded him enthusiastically. Craig had stood there in front of them, his prick and hands covered in sperm, smiling broadly. But most significant of all, he had pleased his mistresses beyond their highest expectations, and this satisfied him to no end. The culmination of months of training had paid off handsomely. His adventures with Irene, Kimberly, and Kelly were now over, but unbeknownst to him, he was getting ready to embark on a brand new adventure that would take him to places he had never been. And Paris was just the beginning.

These prurient thoughts had managed to get Barney out his mind for a short time. But now, as he felt himself drifting off to sleep at last, the far away sound of girlish laughter that he had heard while talking to Barney on the phone came back to him. Barney's unexpected departure still troubled him greatly, but sleep finally, mercifully, overtook him.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 09







Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 09



He threw himself upon her just then and kissed her savagely.

"Not here," she insisted. "Let's go indoors."

Leading him by the hand, she dragged him into the bedroom and methodically removed his shirt, slippers, pants and underwear. In no time at all he was standing in front of her completely naked, while she remained fully clothed. When he made a motion to remove her dress, she moved his hands away.

"No," she said firmly. "I want to keep my clothes on this time. You know. Like the women in those films you like to watch do."

Pierre smiled. "You mean like in the CFNM movies?"

She nodded and gently pushed him down onto the bed.

During the course of their lovemaking, Phoebe stopped to remove something from her night table. It was a thin, plastic dildo.

"What are you doing," he asked her.

"I want to try something."

"Like what?" he inquired further, eying the plastic cylinder with suspicion.

She sucked the top of the dildo as if she were administering a blowjob to it. "I want to stick this thing up your ass while I jerk off your big, swollen prick."

His eyes widened. "You want to stick that thing in me?"

"Oh, come on, my love. I've seen the pictures you masturbate to. Most of them show a guy getting fucked with a strap-on dildo. I know you like it so let's try it."

Unlike Pierre, Phoebe was always willing to try new and different things. She was spontaneous where he was calculating. She was adventurous where he was reserved. And in the sexual arena, she was dominant where he was submissive. In contrast to his aggressive tendencies in the business world, it was always she who took the lead in the bedroom.

"I must admit that I have often thought about being penetrated but I was afraid to tell you," he confessed.

"Why?"

"Because I thought you might think less of me."

She shook her head. "Oh, Pierre, that's ridiculous. People who love each other should not be afraid to experiment in sexual matters. If you don't like it, we don't have to do it again. Now put your legs up on my shoulders so I can play with your asshole."

Without a word he did as she asked. Placing a small amount of lubricant on the end of the dildo she gently inserted the tip into his rectum, guiding it slowly in and out in a steady but slow rhythmical fashion. Pierre groaned.

"How does it feel?" she asked him.

"Very…nice…" he replied with eyes closed.

After only a few minutes of working the dildo in and out of his asshole, Phoebe noticed that his cock was now fully erect.

"Look at you!" she laughed. "I guess you do like it after all."

Pierre barely replied. He just looked down at his turgid prick and closed his eyes again while his wife continued to fuck him with the dildo.

"I really want to watch you cum," she said as she wrapped her long fingers around his pulsing shaft.

It took her exactly three minutes of concentrated pulling on his organ to coax out his hot sperm. She seemed to have both hands working in synchronous motion: when her right hand inserted the dildo, her left hand pulled up hard on his cock, forcing him to force his lower body upwards off the mattress. Her machine-like cadence seemed to propel him into new heights of ecstasy. She found this delightful.

"Shoot it really hard, Pierre," she demanded. "I want to see it get into my hair."

As she spoke those words he looked up into her beautiful face, so reminiscent of a famous movie actress of the 1950s who became the real life princess of a ruler of a foreign country. Like her, Phoebe possessed the same perfectly symmetrical facial features, the high cheekbones, the delicate mouth and small aquiline nose, the steely gray-blue eyes, and the long, resplendent blonde hair pulled up high off her face, revealing her exquisitely shaped ears upon which hung the diamond and emerald earrings he had bought her for her last birthday. 

Now, as he watched her pull on him, his balls preparing to launch his third load of semen for the day, all he could think of was granting her request to send his hot cum flying up into the air and splashing into her face and hair. If some landed in her lovely mouth—so much the better. He wanted to soak her in his sperm, to completely drench her in the hot aftermath of his raging lust.

Suddenly, his body tensed. Seeing his balls rise up towards the base of his shaft, Phoebe knew he was about to ejaculate. Both hands now worked his anus and prick with great speed, as they sought to provoke an intense orgasm.

Pierre screamed and thrust his body upward as far as it would go. The first jet of cream sailed straight up into the air in front of Phoebe's face and flew over her head and into the wall behind her. The next volley splashed across her left cheek and settled into her hair, leaving a trail of sperm from her forehead to her ear. As she laughed at this, the third and fourth ropes of cum flew into her now open mouth, and she laughed even harder as she stuck out her tongue to play with the fresh sperm, a portion of which now formed a thick glaze on her lips. Pierre opened his eyes just long enough to see the next three giant ejaculations meet head on with his lovely wife's upper body, coating her chest, neck, and both arms with his sticky warm fluid. His final few spurts dribbled down onto her hand as she gently withdrew the dildo from his anus. Pierre sighed heavily.

"That was the greatest orgasm I have ever had in my life!" he finally managed to say.

"I'm glad, my love," she said. "Let me get this stuff off my face and then I would like you to eat my pussy until I cum in your mouth. Would you do that for me?"

"With pleasure," he assured her.

In gratitude, Pierre employed his tongue on her clit in such a way that he forced her to cum several times, each time more violent than the one before. Phoebe was happy—very happy. And then she awoke.

She found herself sitting in her study, with piles of paperwork surrounding her. She ordered the maid to bring her some tea and resumed her work. It was well past dinnertime and she had slept right through it. Although hungry, she continued to attend to the matters at hand, which she knew could not be put off.

She thought about Pierre and how far he had fallen in little over twenty years' time, and how different a man he had become. She, too, had changed, but she had not become corrupted, as he had, flaunting the law and abusing his family when times got tough. Over the years he had become impatient and surly, often threatening her and Angelique with physical abuse. In time, he would eventually take out his rage on his wife, and to a lesser degree, his daughter, causing them to live in ever-increasing fear of provoking his wrath.

Phoebe did what she could to maintain some sense of normalcy in the emotional maelstrom that enveloped her family, but even her love for him, powerful and steadfast as it was—had its limits. Eventually she was forced to file for divorce. The material possessions she received as part of the settlement were little recompense for the loss of his love. She had always believed that somehow he would find himself on the right path again, and try once more to make their marriage work. But this did not happen. Pierre had succumbed to whatever demons were forever plaguing him, and his star had grown dim and was now finally extinguished.

She was just finishing the last of her tea when Jacques LaSalle, proceeded by one of her maids, came walking into the study. The maid introduced him and walked away quietly as Phoebe motioned him to take a seat next to her. It was 6:30 PM and the setting sun cast long, amber streaks of light across the expansive room in which they sat silently contemplating each other.

Phoebe liked Jacques. The fact that he was invariably prompt for all their meetings made her like him even more. Unlike her recalcitrant daughter, Jacques adhered to the conventions of polite society and was both cordial and respectful. Normally, warm and forthcoming, the young foreman, who so meticulously and diligently cared for her bounteous vineyards, seemed a trifle ill at ease. His eyes darted to and fro, as if he expected someone to come running at him from some concealed corner of the room. She wondered if he could possibly have discovered the reason for being summoned. Not that the visit was unusual in itself, for Jacques regularly reported to her frequently during the harvesting season. But those visits always took place during the morning or early afternoon hours—never at night. She scrutinized him closely, as if trying to ascertain information simply from his bodily motions.

"Would you care for a drink?" she asked him politely.

"No, Madame. No thank you."

"Are you sure? You look a little distraught."

He smiled faintly. "It's been a very long day and I am quite tired."

Something in his voice did not quite ring true, but Phoebe decided to let it go. "I promise not to keep you long. Do you know why you are here, Jacques?"

"No, Madame. I hope it is not because I did something to displease you."

"Not in and of itself. But your answers to my questions may displease me if I find that you are lying."

The young man seemed offended at the implication that he could be anything but truthful to the woman who had been so generous in providing him with a good job and a quality education. He was going to protest when Phoebe cut him short.

"I am not accusing you of anything, I assure you," she said calmly. "I just want the truth."

"About what, Madame?" 

His tone of voice remained constant, but his eyes refused to meet hers.

"About my daughter."

"What is it you wish to know?"

"You are her champion, are you not?"

"Yes."

"That means that you spend a lot of time with her."

"Yes, Madame."

Phoebe leaned in closer to him. "I'll get right to the point. My daughter has changed quite a bit over the last several months. She has become hostile and distant—to me and everyone else. I worry about her night and day, but there is apparently nothing I can do or say that will make her confide in me. Do you have any idea what could have caused such a drastic change in her behavior?"

"I only know what I see."

"And what is that?"

"I am afraid to tell you," he replied nervously.

She sensed an internal struggle going on within the boy and let her hand rest on his.

"You know that I am fond of you, don't you?" she asked him.

"Yes, Madame."

"Then let me assure you that nothing that is said between us will ever leave this room. Is that assurance enough for you?"

Jacques was slow to respond, but he finally answered in the affirmative.

"Tell me what you know," Phoebe asked again, this time more forcefully.

Jacques began by telling her how cold and manipulative her daughter had become since Holly's arrival. But this change of attitude was only an ancillary result, indicative of a more problematic mental condition brought on by Lenore's refusal to name Angelique her successor.

"You aren't telling me anything new," Phoebe said, quickly rising from her chair. She walked over to the sideboard and poured herself a drink from one of the decanters. After taking a sip, she turned to face him. "Although it hurt me greatly when Lenore told me her reasons for not choosing Angelique to succeed her, I had to abide by her decision. I can see now that she was right, as much as I hate to admit it."

"And that is why Angelique is angry with you," Jacques said. "Because you have put your niece above her."

"My daughter understood why Lenore made that decision. She didn't like it of course, but she seemed to accept it nonetheless."

"She never accepted it, Madame. She may have played along for a time in the hopes of diverting you from her real motives, but she no more accepts Lenore's judgment than she would mine."

"And what are her real motives?"

The young man lowered his head and sighed aloud. "Forgive me, Madame, but I am amazed that you do not see it."

"See what?"

Jacques drew in a deep breath. "You are blinded by a mother's love perhaps. Or maybe it is something you do not want to acknowledge within yourself. But I can tell you from what I have observed with my own eyes, and from what I have heard from her own mouth and those closest to her, that your daughter means to overthrow the Sisterhood as it now exists and to supplant it with one of her own making."

Phoebe said nothing for a few moments, unwilling to believe so outrageous a claim. And then she burst out laughing.

"The whole idea of it is preposterous! There is no way she could accomplish such a thing. She is playing you for a fool."

"I only speak the truth."

"And what else have you heard?" At first Jacques was going to reply, but then suddenly threw his hands up in the air and let them fall soundly upon his knees. "I don't know…"

"I promise I won't laugh."

"I am not certain…"

"Tell me what you know."

"I could be wrong, Madame…"

Phoebe was growing impatient with his fumbling. "Just tell me, damn it!"

Jacques cast his eyes downward and forcefully cleared his throat. "I have heard it said, though I cannot attest to it, that mademoiselle has constructed an inner chamber somewhere within the lower levels of the chateau."

"That's impossible," Phoebe said, dismissively. "Those levels have been closed off for hundreds of years. Those girls are toying with you."

"As I said, I cannot attest to it," Jacques continued. "But it is said that she conducts strange experiments on men within its chambers."

Phoebe laughed heartily, despite her promise. "You make her sound like a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein! I had no idea you were so naïve. Who told you such nonsense?"

"No one told me directly, Madame. I overheard her colleagues speaking about it."

"Those girls are messing with your mind. How could you be so gullible?"

Phoebe saw that the inquiry was leading nowhere. Jacques might indeed have some insight into Angelique's present state of mind, but this foolishness he was espousing was only making her annoyed. "Is that all you know?" 

"Yes, Madame."

"Well, Jacques, you have managed to be of absolutely no help to me." She shook her head disapprovingly and sneered. "Strange experiments indeed!"

And with a sharp wave of her hand she dismissed him.

As if on cue, a maid, who seemingly appeared as if from nowhere, conducted him quickly out of the room. 

Jacques had performed very well. When he had learned earlier in the day that Phoebe wanted to see him, he immediately told Angelique. The young girl, suspecting that her mother might question him about her, prepped him thoroughly on what and what not to say. Angelique, it seems, knew her mother better than her mother knew herself. For in that perverse yet highly intelligent and intuitive mind there lurked a master manipulator. Having recently won Jacques over to her side, and knowing that her mother would never believe such an absurd story, had given here a tremendous advantage. And she had calculated her mother's reaction perfectly. What better way than to tell the truth in order to get her mother off her back? Unfortunately for Phoebe, her greatest weakness was that she saw life only in terms of black and white, being oblivious to all the subtle shades of gray that lay in between. Her daughter knew this, and therein laid her strength.

As for Jacques, he was too intelligent to believe that Angelique was doing anything other than manipulating him. But strangely enough, he did not care. As he made his way to his cottage that lay just beyond the stables, he wondered what had happened to him that he should find so much pleasure in being controlled by a girl—and not just any girl, but an Anjou: a willful, cunning, and yet beautiful creature whose maltreatment of him and other men provided him with a sexual thrill that he had never experienced before. And for this he forsook his integrity and lied to Phoebe. Or rather, he told the truth, but told it in such a way as to appear to be playing the fool. He knew that Angelique would be greatly pleased with his well-acted charade. And when he stood tall and proud before the marker in tomorrow's games, he would further reward her with such an ejaculation of sperm that she would never let him out of her service. To please his mistress had become his raison d'être. 

Phoebe knew she was grasping at straws when she conceived of the idea to interrogate Jacques, but she felt it was worth a try—anything to shed some light on the enigma that was her daughter. The interview with him had proved to be a disappointment. If he did know anything worth revealing about Angelique, he was not going to tell her. Maybe he was afraid of his being found out, despite Phoebe's assurances. He would not want to be on the receiving end of Angelique's anger if that were the case. Or maybe he had shifted allegiances. It was possible. But even so, why tell such idiotic tales about extinct dungeons and crazy experiments taking place right under the chateau? She had never known Jacques to be furtive until now and it bothered her.

She had been working less than an hour when the maid announced that Angelique had arrived. With a great deal of commotion, the young girl put down the bag she was carrying and threw herself onto the couch next to her mother. She flung her arms around her mother's neck and kissed both her cheeks. Her face seemed flushed, as if she had just run a marathon.

"Well, you look very happy I must say!" Phoebe remarked, returning her daughter's affection.

"I am mom. I am very happy." Her face seemed to glow with some strange inner light. 

"And may I ask why you are so happy?"

"Oh, I really can't tell you that just now. You'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, after the contest."

"Oh, I see. This has something to do with the contest."

Angelique laughed gaily. "Don't try to weasel it out of me mom. I know your ways!"

Phoebe smiled. "All right. I promise I won't try to weasel it out of you. But you know it's not polite to keep your mother in the dark."

"Mom!"

"Okay, okay. Have you had dinner yet?"

"No, have you?"

"Nope. Would you care to join me?"

"Actually, yes. I'm quite starved."

Angelique's unexplained exuberance was a welcome change from the girl's recent display of surliness and indifference. To Phoebe, she seemed like her old self again, and this made her very happy. They sat in the kitchen and ate dinner together, as was their usual custom before Holly had so innocently, yet dramatically, interrupted their lives. They talked freely about this and that, and laughed as they used to do before the obligations of the Sisterhood had changed their lives forever. What had occurred to produce this change in Angelique's attitude Phoebe could not account for, but she was glad to see her daughter once more behave like a demure and respectable lady.

After they had finished eating, they adjourned to the courtyard to sit under the stars, which were now only just beginning to become visible through a partly cloudy sky. 

"So," Phoebe began, "what have you done with all that negative stuff?"

"What negative stuff, mom?" Angelique replied, somewhat puzzled.

"You know. All that anger, the coldness…what became of it?"

It appeared as if Angelique was going to answer her with another question, but it came out as a statement. "Oh, you mean…" She laughed merrily. "No. I'm not mad at Holly or anyone else anymore. It's over. Done."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, mom. Just like that."

Phoebe detected no coyness in her daughter's reaction, but yet there was something in the tone of her voice that belied the seemingly truthful response.

"You know, Angelique, I have been very worried about you. For the past month you have avoided me. You treated me as if I didn't exist. And I'm not even going to bring Holly into this. God knows that you both have issues that must be dealt with. But I'm your mother. And while you are living with me under my roof, I expect you to treat me with respect. I don't care what you do in your private life. You are a woman now and you have to accept responsibility for your actions. But if there is something you need to tell me, then please, get it off our chest. I love you and I want to help you. Do you understand?"




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 10



Note from the Author: I apologize to all my readers for the long delay in getting Ch. 10 online. Life has a nasty habit of intervening when you are busy making other plans it seems. Chapter 11 will mark the final chapter of this story and I hope to have it online by the end of the summer. Happy reading! 

*

The first person to see us as we made our way across the lawn was Felicia. She came running over to me all excited.

"Where have you been? They're all looking for you!" she asked concerned.

"Why? What's going on?" I asked.

"It's a surprise. Come on!"

Taking me by the hand she led us to a large gathering of people that had assembled near my aunt's table. As we made our way through the crowd, I was greeted with a round of applause. I noticed that a long table had been set up with fruits and pastries, and in the middle of it sat a three-tiered chocolate cake. The bottom layer must have been roughly three feet in diameter. And on top of it was a plastic replica of the Antoinette award. It stood only about three inches tall and seemed dwarfed by the huge piece of cake.

"What's all this for?" I asked Charlotte, who happened to be closest at hand.

"She wants to know what it's for!" she shouted to the crowd. 

Everyone broke out laughing.

"It's for you, my dear niece!" my aunt proclaimed, as the women in front stepped aside to let her through. She pointed to the cake. "I baked it myself just for you!"

My aunt then threw her arms around me and gave me a big hug and a kiss.

"Congratulations on your victory. Antoinette would be very proud of you!"

She kissed me a few more times and then told me to cut the cake.

Craig and Barney were all smiles. I think more because of the chocolate cake than anything else. Ashley and her sister remained by my side, just as excited as I was.

"This is so nice of you auntie," I said to her as she handed me the knife. "And chocolate too. It's my favorite."

"That's why I made it for you. Go ahead and start cutting. Small slices now. We have a lot of people here."

I heard Lenore bark some orders to Justine to make sure the coffee was being served. She then turned to me. "Your aunt is the most kindest soul I know," she said, holding on to my aunt's hand. "Where she finds the time to bake cakes I'll never know. But I must admit, Phoebe, it certainly looks like a professional job."

"Nothing is too good for my niece," she said, smiling down on me.

As I cut the first piece of cake, the crowd starting clapping and cheering. The members of my team then surrounded me and people began taking pictures of us. I insisted that Craig be included in some of the shots, as it was really his victory more than mine. Of course, some of the hardcore Sisters might not see it that way, but I loved him and wanted him to share in the glory. I felt it was only right.

After all the pictures had been taken, the crowd continued to mull around the table and converse. I had just taken the first bite of my cake when suddenly I caught a glimpse of a large group of women crossing the lawn toward us. As they approached, the mood of our partygoers grew increasingly somber. When they got within 50 feet of us I knew who it was and my heart sank.

"What the fuck does she want?" Charlotte grumbled.

I put my plate down and stood tall as the Sisters around me seemed to part from me like the breaking of a wave, leaving me alone in the center of a maelstrom that I knew was coming. My aunt, Lenore, and my team, however, remained by my side, as did Craig. Barney and the twins were too involved in their conversation to know what was going on until the storm was almost upon us. But they, too, stood next to me, anticipating something unpleasant. 

"You're rather late but there's still plenty of food," said my aunt, politely addressing the ringleader. Come and join the party."

"No thanks, mother," my cousin replied emphatically, coming to halt several feet in front of me. "We're not hungry." "That's too bad. The cake is quite good." She then spoke to the women standing behind her daughter. "How about you Greta? Yin? Cake? Anya? Selena? Would you care for a slice? I'd offer some to you Marge, but I know you don't like sweets."

There was a hint of sarcasm in my aunt's voice as she said this and Marge Davis returned the slight with one of her own.

"No, I don't," the sinister woman replied. "Especially when it's the artificial kind."

My aunt deflected the insult with a laugh. Not one of the other women she had addressed had had the courtesy to answer her.

"If anything, you're the one who's artificial," Charlotte said to Marge in a disparaging tone.

Marge gazed at Charlotte with contempt. "I'm artificial? Well, so are you! A fortune teller who has all the insight of a gnat!"

"I have enough insight to see you clearly enough," Charlotte replied hotly. "You have been poisoning my niece's mind with your evil filth! You miscreant! You Mephistopheles!" 

"Stay out of this aunt Charlotte!" Angelique quickly rejoined, hoping to deflect the situation. "I'm not interested in anything you have to say."

"You should be," Charlotte said, turning to face her niece. "You should be listening to all those who love you—those who will tell you the truth." She let her eyes fall upon the small group of women radicals standing directly behind Angelique. "If you think they love you, you are a fool."

Angelique's response was one of outright disdain. "And what are you saying--that you love me aunt Charlotte? I don't think so. You've never been a part of my life. Never. No, thanks. I'll take my chances with the fools."

"In that you would be making a very big mistake, Angelique," my aunt Phoebe said grimly. "They only follow you because they think you're somehow going to change things. But they are just as deluded as you are."

"You're wrong, mother. They are my people."

"You're people?" Lenore suddenly broke in. "Your people are all of the Sisterhood, not just some little clique. If you really cared about our Order, you would be trying to work with us, not divide us."

Angelique did not readily reply to the Sisterhood leader. Instead she casually sauntered over to where Lenore was standing and slowly circled around her, as if she were trying to estimate her worth solely by her physical aspect. Lenore took this as a direct affront, which it was—an attempt to humiliate by virtue of salacious obsequy.

"This," my cousin finally said pointing to Lenore, "is your leader. But she won't be for long. While all of you lounge around here acting carefree and eating cake, a new movement is beginning—a radical movement. It is coming, and those who are not with us are going to be swept away!"

The crowd stood silent for a moment and then a few people started laughing.

"Swept away by who? You?" Felicia said to my cousin. "You are just a little girl with big ambitions and nothing else. It is we who will sweep you away!"

"I'd like to see you try it you Italian bimbo!" Great Hofsteddar bellowed.

"You Nazi pig!" Felecia fired back.

"Enough!" Lenore roared. "This is ridiculous. Angelique, say what you have to say and get out."

My cousin took this as her cue to address the entire crowd. She moved away from Lenore in the direction of her supporters, waiting to speak until she had everyone's attention.

"There are many of us who are not happy with the way Lenore has run the Sisterhood. She lives in the past and is out of touch with reality. I offer you a chance to break free from the repression of her leadership. I offer all of you a chance to come with me. To join me and these other women in creating a new Order that will be far greater than anything she has promised you. We are not going to cater to men like you do, Lenore. We are not going to wait decades to make our vision a reality. And we are certainly not going to wait for you to lead us to a better future. I promise change now. And if any of you have any brains at all, you will come and join us."

And with that coldly dramatic speech, my cousin turned her back on everyone and started to walk away. My aunt was horrified. She turned to me with a questioning look, but I was too startled to speak. In fact, not one of the Sisters could summon anything to say for some time. Oddly enough, it was Barney Cole who broke the silence.

"Hey, Angelique!" he said. "Why do you got to go and act like that? These people are your friends and you're treating them with disrespect. It ain't right."

My cousin turned suddenly and glared at hulking black man—the man who had so recently forsaken his best friend to come to her aid.

"That's okay, Barney," my aunt said, finally finding her voice. "My daughter has become an uncivilized and hate-filled brute. I hardly recognize her anymore."

She then took several steps forward to stand face to face with Angelique. "I think you should apologize to Lenore."

"For what? For telling the truth?" my cousin said with a sneer. "She knows her days are numbered. You all know it." She turned to Lenore. "You chose my cousin over me. An outsider. A person who two months ago didn't even know the Sisterhood existed. Yet you made her your successor. How could you do that you stupid old woman?"

"How dare you speak to our Sister like that?" my aunt said, raising her voice above the sudden chatter. "What she did was in the best interests of the Sisterhood."

"No, mother. What she did was in her best interests." 

My aunt swung around to face Lenore. "I apologize for my daughter. She is behaving disgracefully."

Lenore seemed unaffected by Angelique's insulting behavior. "Let her talk, Phoebe. It's time it all came out in the open. Let's see the beast for what it truly is."

Angelique laughed loudly. "You're calling me a beast? Someone hasn't looked in the mirror today!" 

All of Angelique's supporters began laughing along with her. And yet Lenore remained calm.

"I chose Holly to succeed me because you are not worthy of the responsibility. It is she who has been victorious today. It is she who will be victorious in the days to come. And there is nothing you or your little friends can do to change that."

"Do you really expect me to believe that she is better than I am?" my cousin retorted. "That girl? The one who is standing there with frosting all over her mouth?

My cousin then slowly approached me and let her hand brush my face. "Look at her everybody. Do you really think she will make a good leader? Her and her frosted face?"

Suddenly my cousin's hands were clutching my hair, pulling me sideways and forcing my head downward, face first, onto the table and the waiting chocolate cake. The next thing I knew I was gasping for breath as half my head was violently submerged into the sticky mass of frosting. And then, just as suddenly, my head was pulled back forcefully by a pair of powerful arms. It was Craig.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking both worried and angry. 

I just shook my head and tried to catch my breath.

Angelique lay on the ground. Her face mutated into an ugly scowl. On top of her lay both Mary Kate and Ashley, frantically trying to keep her away from me. 

I tried to move my legs but found that they were giving out from under me. My cousin had wrenched me backwards so hard that the muscles in both legs had been strained. Craig, seeing that I was in pain, helped me to the nearest chair. Meanwhile, Ashley and Mary Kate were still wrestling with Angelique.

"Get these twin terrors off me!" my cousin screamed.

Angelique's friends came quickly to her rescue, and soon all hell broke lose. I could barely see what was going on because my face was completely covered over with frosting. Thankfully, someone brought me a beach towel and I managed to wipe most of it from my eyes. 

On the ground were several dozen women, fighting each other like a bunch of wild felines. I saw Charlotte punch Marge Davis squarely in the jaw and then she herself was tackled and brought low by Anya Rostokovitch. Yin Ping Hun, Selena Montaldo, Greta, and several other of my cousin's lackeys had all joined the fray, punching, kicking and clawing my team and any other brave souls who dared to put themselves in harm's way. Angelique's group was clearly outnumbered, but they put up a valiant fight until they saw both Barney and Craig approach them with the threat of imminent retribution. 

Giving both men a wide berth, the terrified radicals watched in fear as the twin colossuses strode over them like a giant reaper, warning them to keep their distance. The women scrambled to their feet with their bruised leader in their possession, none daring to confront the men, and certainly not with their indubitable Sister now partially impaired. It took a while, but Barney and Craig's intervention had certainly helped defray the onslaught, and my aunt was grateful for it.

"Thank you gentlemen," she said to the two men. "Are you all right, Holly, my dear?" 

I shook my head numbly, still reeling from the unexpected and savage assault. 

With the aid of several women, Angelique wiped the grass off her clothing and managed to stand upright. I was so overcome by her attack that my legs felt shaky and I was forced to remain seated. Half my face was still covered in frosting.

"Thank you girls," Lenore said to Mary Kate and Ashley. "You may be small but you have a lot of guts."

The twins seemed quite pleased with their heroics. They both came and sat next to me to offer me comfort as they helped each other pick the grass out of their hair. 

My aunt, however, was anything but pleased.

"You have made a fool of yourself in front of everyone," she said, reprimanding her daughter. "And you have humiliated me in front of all my friends. There was no reason for you to attack your cousin. Absolutely none."

Angelique said nothing. And this made my aunt even angrier.

I want you out of my house tonight," she continued. "You understand me? Tonight. Take your inheritance and all your possessions and your miserable friends and get the hell out. You love them so much, then go and live with one of them. I am sick to death of you! Sick to death, you damned little bitch of a girl!"

At this point my aunt's voice faltered, and it broke my heart to see the tears begin to well up in her eyes. Here was a woman of great strength and heart, a true bon vivant, and the epitome of a loving and caring mother, reduced to tears by the very person whom she loved most in the world. It was a cruel and unjust payment for a woman who had always put the needs of her family before her own. I wanted to get up and comfort her, but my legs were so weakened that I couldn't yet stand. I was thankful when Lenore, seeing her friend overcome by emotion, rushed to her side.

"Look what you've done!" the Sisterhood leader said angrily to my cousin. "I don't care how you've treated the rest of us, but this is your mother. She deserves your love and respect. I think you're the one that needs to look in the mirror young woman. I want you and the rest of your bitches out of here. Now! Come, Phoebe."

Lenore put her arms around my aunt and led her toward the chateau. She was now crying uncontrollably, and it made me angry to think that my cousin had been responsible for her distress. I thought that was the end of it, but my cousin, apparently wasn't finished. Unmoved by her mother's pain, she ordered her followers to depart.

"And as for you, you traitor," she said to Barney as she walked by him, "I never want to see you again."

Barney, despite his misplaced love for her, seemed to have accepted the inevitable truth that what he had witnessed of her behavior was something he could never live with. "What's wrong, Angelique? You jealous because I'm friends with Craig?"

"No, asshole. Because you're kissing up to my fucking enemies!"

"Don't talk to me like that girl," Barney said, stung by her remark. 

"I'll talk to you however I please," she replied defiantly. "Who are you anyway? A guy who can shoot a big fucking load, but not big enough to beat Mr. Sweden over here."

She gave Craig a disdainful look as she said this. I thought for a moment that Barney might hit her; he seemed so on edge.

"I did my best for you girl," he said with a hint of raw anger in his voice. "Now don't you be throwin' up my failure in my face, you hear me?"

Angelique emitted a hollow laugh. "You can't serve two masters, Barney." She then gave me one last look and began to walk away.

It was sad to see Barney so mistreated by the vengeful girl who now led her group out beyond the eastern entrance of the chateau. He followed her exit out the front yard with dismay, but he did not chase after her, for which I gave him credit. Her reprehensible behavior could not have been lost upon him—a man for whom loyalty meant so much and for the abandonment of which he had almost lost a good friend. 

"So much for that," he said as he fell into his chair, his eyes still fixed on the eastern horizon. "You were right, Holly. You were right about her."

I had warned him. But I didn't have the heart to tell him so. For a man possessed with such optimism and affability, it must have been quite difficult for him to believe that anyone could truly be evil—especially not the beautiful, alluring Angelique. It had to be a bitter pill for him to swallow, and I did not want to aggravate his already hurt pride with any latent recriminations.

For a few moments a great quiet fell over everyone. I watched as Craig went over to his friend to console him while the twins continued to pick debris from their clothing. A general pall seemed to have come over the crowd in the wake of the incident, shattering the once festive mood.

And then, suddenly, for the first time since we had entered the lawn, Barney turned his head to look at me, and what he saw must have amused him greatly because the look on his face changed quite abruptly from one of sadness to one of unbridled joy. Craig began to laugh, and then the twins started snickering. Soon everyone had discovered the source of Barney's amusement, and all eyes were upon me. I then realized what they were laughing at.

"I thought I had problems," the big black man said to me, laughing heartily. "But look at you!"

Everyone had been so caught up in the excitement that my frightful condition had gone unheeded. But now, with the tension finally relieved, the remnants of the dried frosting on my face suddenly provided the crowd with some much-needed comic relief. As Charlotte approached me with a small hand mirror in her hands, I got to see exactly what had amused everyone so much. 

What I saw was something that looked like a dried prune—a big, brown prune with two green eyes peeking out from behind a sticky chocolate mass that covered most of my face. Despite my aching legs, I burst out laughing at my ridiculous condition. I felt Ashley's hand gently caress my face with a wet towel, trying to help me remove the remainder of frosting that stubbornly refused to be dislodged. Mary Kate aided her sister, using her hands to extract large clumps of frosting from my hair. With their help, and with the aid of my team, I was soon looking good as new. It would be a long time before I laughed like that again.





Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 10



We spent our nights at his hotel room making love, but I still refrained from having intercourse. It must have been a frustrating experience for him, as it was for me, but I was just not ready to consummate our love. Part of the reason was that I was just plain scared. His penis was so huge that the thought of it entering me made me physically uneasy. I knew that we would eventually have intercourse, but my mind was as yet not ready to deal with it. He understood how I felt, and in his good-natured and loving way he accepted my decision with equanimity.

The final directive Phoebe gave to Angelique, and which was reluctantly obeyed, was to remove the bulk of her possessions from the chateau into an apartment in Paris. The movers had arrived a few days after Angelique had been ordered out, and with my aunt's help they loaded her daughter's remaining things into the truck and headed for the city.

I had no idea on what street Angelique was now living, nor did I care enough to ask my aunt. I was glad to have that malicious fiend out of the house and as far away from me as possible. I knew it hurt my aunt greatly to have evicted her own daughter, but she could no longer pretend that Angelique was anything but a walking horror intent on stepping on anyone who got in her way—including her own mother. I had consoled my aunt more than once in the days that followed, and sometimes I could hear her crying violently in her study at the oddest hours. It truly broke my heart.

During this time, Lenore, Justine, and Estelle took it upon themselves to entertain my aunt in whatever way possible, in order to help alleviate her pain. Their kindly solicitations must have been effective because by the time Friday rolled around the crying had ceased. In fact, at one point Lenore had gotten her to laugh, and that made my heart glad. I knew my aunt was still suffering inside, but she made a concerted effort to come to terms with the reality that was Angelique and began to act deferentially towards me, as though I had taken Angelique's place and become her surrogate daughter.

Quietly accepting this role by default, and seeing how it helped to restore some semblance of happiness within her, I did everything I could to cater to her, soon realizing that my efforts were producing visibly beneficial results. One evening, just as she was going to bed, she came to my room and held me close to her, as a mother does a child, and told me that God had not forsaken her because He had brought me into her life. I think the both of us cried for a very long time before the lateness of the hour forced us to say goodnight. 

I had been in contact with both Mary Kate and Ashley during the course of the week and they told me that they were looking forward to coming to my aunt's official indoctrination ceremony, which was to take place over the weekend. The twins were busy officiating over a competition that was being held in Paris for some up and coming clothing designers—one of which was a young girl of nineteen who was a friend of Ashley's. During my last conversation with her, she told me that Mary Kate had a surprise in store for me. I asked her for a hint, but all she said was, "wait and see".

I awoke around 9:30 AM on Saturday and found my aunt, Lenore, Justine, and Estelle sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast together. All of them appeared to be in a very animated mood and I was happy to see that my aunt had once more resumed her normal composure. I wished everyone a good morning and prepared myself a bowl of cereal.

"Come and join us for breakfast, sweetheart," she said, inviting me to sit next to her. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did, auntie," I replied, taking my place by her side. "Thank you."

Justine eyed me for a few moments and then broke out laughing.

"What?" I said, addressing her. "What's so funny?"

"It's inconceivable that anyone could look so good first thing in the morning," she replied bemused. 

"She's beautiful," Estelle said. "She doesn't have to work at it like we do."

"Beauty is as beauty does, ladies," Lenore offered, as she grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

Estelle scoffed at the trite maxim. "Oh really, Lenore. We all know it's in the genes."

"Physical beauty, yes," Lenore replied. "But true beauty comes from within."

Justine groaned. "Wrong. True beauty comes from having parents who are beautiful. It's purely physical. That's the only kind of beauty anyone cares about."

"Well, what good is having physical beauty if your soul is corrupt?"

"Maybe you should ask Angelique that question," I blurted out without thinking.

I saw my aunt's face suddenly grow dark. The other women looked away and said nothing.

"I'm sorry, aunt Phoebe," I quickly apologized, taking her hand. "That was stupid of me. I didn't mean to..."

"It's all right," she replied generously. "It's true. Just bad timing."

She managed a smile and took a bite of her toast.

I felt horrible. I don't know what made me utter such a comment, but obviously my cousin had gotten under my skin to the point where I was thinking about her far too much. It wasn't so much the incident with the chocolate cake that made me upset; it was the fact that no one had heard anything about her for the past five days. She had briefly spoken to my aunt earlier in the week to let her know that she and her colleagues would not be attending the induction ceremony, but that was it. Her reluctance to maintain any form of correspondence with my aunt or any of the other Sisters made me worry greatly. I knew from past experience that my cousin's temporary excursions into willful hibernation ultimately led to trouble. Where and when that trouble would occur I could not foretell. 

"It's going to be a wonderful ceremony, Phoebe," Lenore said, trying to lighten the mood. "It will be simple but elegant and all our traditional rituals will be observed. You're going to have a great time."

"I'm sure I will," my aunt replied. "I appreciate all the hard work you and the girls have done."

"Nonsense, Phoebe," Justine said. "It is our pleasure."

"And the nicest thing," my aunt continued, "is that Holly will be the one to present me with my robe."

"Yes," Lenore agreed. "It is tradition that the youngest among us fulfill that role. But technically, she shouldn't because she's not a full-fledged Sister."

"I don't want you to break the rules on my account," I said.

"Not at all," Lenore replied genially. "You are my chosen successor. And rank does have its privileges."

We sat around talking for another hour before Lenore and the others left to prepare for the ceremony, which was to take place at midnight in the main hall. Not being a Sister, I could not wear the traditional black robe with hood. However, Lenore told me that I could wear a black dress to be in keeping with the general décor of the ceremony. Beyond that, as her successor, I could do pretty much as I pleased.

Sisterhood members started arriving around 10:00 PM that night and the entire estate was soon abuzz with laughter and merriment. I could hear the cars pull up onto the great lawn abutting my window, and as I looked down onto the well-lit causeway beneath, I saw a bevy of black-robed women make their way across the lawn toward the south gate. I quickly finished dressing and headed for my aunt's bedroom, where I found her sitting on the edge of the bed looking forlorn.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I entered the room. "Aunt Phoebe?"

She looked at me with tear-filled eyes, clutching a small doll in her hands. "This... this silly thing was the first toy I ever bought for my daughter. She was such a wonderful little girl. So loving—so bright. I used to tell Pierre that she was like a ray of sunlight in a dark and dreary world. And if you could have seen her then, you would have certainly agreed." She examined the doll from several angles before letting it fall onto the bed beside her. "I can't believe that my own child, the flesh of my flesh, has fallen so far." At this point she broke down and started to cry in earnest. "Oh God, what am I going to do?" Covering her face with both hands, she gently let her body fall sideways onto the bed. 

"Don't cry," I said consolingly, as I positioned myself on the bed next to her. "It's not your fault that she turned out the way she did. You mustn't blame yourself."

"Then who am I to blame? Pierre? What he did was reprehensible, yes, but I'm her mother. I should have been there for her and I wasn't. She told me so herself."

That would be like Angelique, I told myself. Guilt was a weapon she wielded against others with cunning yet brutal force. And my aunt had no defense for it.

"There's no way you could have foreseen what happened. You trusted your husband and he betrayed that trust."

"But I could have healer her. I could have made things better for her. I was too stupid or ignorant to see it."

"No, auntie. You gave her everything. Mom always told me how great a mother you were to Angelique. And the first time I came to France to see you, I saw it for myself. So please don't punish yourself for something that isn't true."

"But how, how did she turn into this grotesque creature?" my aunt retorted. "Why is she the way she is?"

"Auntie, you have to understand that not all abused children turn out to be monsters. Many lead normal and happy lives. They learn how to deal with it. But Angelique turned all that rage and hatred inside. And for years she has let it grow until it has become this giant, cancerous sore that turned her into what she is now. It's not your fault."

My aunt shook her head and positioned herself upright on the bed. "I want to believe you, Holly, I really do. But I can't help believe that I've failed her. And I don't think she will ever be my little girl again."

All my subsequent efforts to console her proved to be more or less ineffectual. At last, realizing that it was getting late, she washed her face, reapplied her makeup and presented herself to me as the aunt Phoebe I knew—strong, beautiful, full of life—even though I knew that beneath the façade of invincible cordiality beat a very troubled heart.

The ceremony commenced precisely at midnight with Lenore and her two assistants, Justine and Estelle, officiating. The main hall of the Masturbatorium was refurbished to resemble the Sisterhood's "Hall of Audiences" that had been demolished over a hundred years ago when the ancient building that housed it, and the precious stone framework upon which it was constructed, could not be salvaged in the wake of a citywide revitalization project. Many of the priceless Sisterhood artifacts were sold off to Sisterhood members throughout the world, and my aunt managed to acquire several interesting pieces that now adorned the walls and floors, such as the original tapestry that formed the backdrop of an impromptu altar upon which the sacrosanct "vessel of collection"—another relic of bygone days—stood in all its 24-karat-gold splendor.

There were roughly a few hundred women in attendance, and all were outfitted in the traditional black robe and hood of the Sisterhood. I understood from my aunt that the actual ceremony would not last more than an hour, after which everyone would be treated to a buffet held in an adjacent area of the main hall. No one but actual Sisterhood members were allowed at the ceremony, so Mary Kate, Ashley, Drew, Teri, and other celebrities were excluded, although they all would be attending the dinner party to follow. Even I was not really supposed to be in attendance, since I had not been officially indoctrinated into their Order. However, as Lenore's successor, no one would dare raise any objections to my presence.

Leading up to the altar was a long causeway that reminded me very much of a church aisle, fitted with a lush red carpet and chairs on either side. The only thing different about it was the addition of two panels of plexiglass that flanked each side of the aisle. The panels stood about eight feet in height and effectively prevented onlookers from having access to my aunt as she walked toward the altar. I had no idea why the barriers were there until I saw a party of naked men walk toward the artificial construction under the command of several Sisters, who indicated to each man where he was to stand along the length of the aisle. I counted 21 men in total; all physically fit and handsome young men positioned about 10 feet from each other all along the route my aunt would momentarily take.

As I watched Lenore take her place at the altar, she calmly addressed the audience, asking them to take their seats without delay. I found my way to the altar and sat beside Charlotte, who, along with several other older women whom I did not know, paid their respects to me with a slight nod of the head. The entire atmosphere seemed very somber until I heard a great roar of laughter emanate from the women sitting closest to the naked men.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked Charlotte as I strained to get a better view.

"The men are prepping themselves," she replied casually, yet with a hint of lasciviousness in her voice.

"Prepping?"

"They're jerking off," one of the older robed women muttered.

"Why are they doing that?" 

Lenore laughed at my astonishment. "It's an ancient ritual called the "21-cum salute". As your aunt passes by each man, he has to shoot his load onto the glass. In olden times there was no glass, so the initiate's dresses got covered in sperm, effectively ruining them over time. We had to put a stop to that."

"So now we can watch the men show their respect for Phoebe without her getting soiled," Justine added. "I think you will be impressed with what you're going to see."

Charlotte laughed like a little girl, causing the other women nearest her to twitter away too.

"I don't understand," I said looking mystified. "What is the purpose of this whole thing?"

"The men are showing their loyalty to Phoebe, and all the Sisterhood, by their show of submission. When men are naked, they really have no power other than what we, their superiors, bestow upon them. Masturbating themselves for all of us to see is an act of total subservience."

I got up and moved in front of Justine. "They're erect already," I noted with amusement.

"And soon they'll be shooting their hot sticky sperm all over the place," laughed a robed figure on the far end of the altar. "It's the best part of the ceremony!"

"Relax Holly," Estelle said, adjusting the hood of her robe. "Enjoy the show."

I sat back down next to Charlotte and shortly thereafter Lenore began her speech. It was a simple diatribe, filled with anecdotes and reminisces of ceremonies gone by told in a somewhat bittersweet tone whose message seemed to connect with everyone in the hall. In all, the speech must have lasted only a few minutes, but when she was done speaking, the entire audience was laughing and cheering her on.

Then the music began. It was the simple refrain of a well-known church hymn that was far more suited to a wedding than a Sisterhood ceremony. And there, at the far end of the hall, two great doors opened and out walked my aunt, looking regally beautiful in her black silk gown fitted with long embroidered sleeves and train. It was in fact a wedding dress, but it was all black. The only thing that offset the somber ensemble was a string of pearls that hung daintily around her long neck.

All the heads in the audience turned around to watch her make her entrance into the hall. She stood completely alone, head and body erect and her gaze focused upon the altar. Immediately, the first few men began to stroke their cocks, priming them for release at the exact moment she passed by. And as she slowly made her way along the aisle, the first in a long series of ejaculations flew high into the air, splashing with great force upon the plastic barrier. Some of the sperm actually flew over the rim of the plexiglass, almost landing on my aunt. The audience was in hysterics.

"Oh, look at him!" one woman cried out several rows back. "Look at his face!"

The fourth man in line was now ready to surrender the fruit of his huge balls onto the plastic wall before him. Even my aunt, who was desperately trying to maintain her composure, had to stop and watch this man bring himself to climax before her. His hand motions were funny enough to watch, but his facial expressions were even funnier. My aunt watched him pump his huge prick with avid fascination for a few seconds and then burst out laughing, which sent the entire audience into an uproar.

The laughter seemed to enervate the man, who now jerked his prick with wild abandon. Standing at the edge of the altar, I had a birds-eye view of the entire scene. His eyes now completely shut tight, and his huge cock head, purple, bloated, and full of hot cum, was on the verge of relinquishing its pent-up juices for all the women to see.

"Go ahead and shoot that load!" Justine screamed from behind me.

That was all it took to coax a magnificent jet of white cream from the man. It splashed into the plastic wall with such force that several rivulets of cum were formed from the impact. This was followed by a succession of massive bursts of semen that made the wall look like someone had thrown a bucket of heavy cream onto it. I counted no less than a dozen volleys before it was over. He was greeted with a tremendous round of applause.

My aunt was laughing so hard she could barely walk. Meantime the other men were frantically pulling on their pricks, not wanting to let this minor incident disrupt their mental concentration.

Once again my aunt began to slowly walk down the aisle as the music swelled and the audience grew more boisterous. And then, suddenly, two huge groans were heard, quickly followed by two arcs of pearly white semen, shot simultaneously high up into the air and falling like two opalescent liquid missiles onto the plastic panels. The timing was perfect.

"It's rare that you see that!" Charlotte exclaimed, fascinated by the sight.

Lenore nodded her head in approval. "It's a good omen."

Arc after arc of hot sperm found its way onto the barrier as my aunt continued on her journey toward the altar. The plexiglass was now dripping with cum; the solemn libation paid to my aunt in the form of traditional Sisterhood male subservience.

As the final volleys of sperm adorned the plastic barrier, the man who would have provided the twenty-first ejaculation, but whom did not, escorted my aunt to the center of the altar where Lenore and I stood side by side. The audience, who only moments before were howling with unrestrained glee, were now completely silent, watching intently. Justine handed Lenore a long, black robe—the traditional robe of the Sisterhood—who, in turn, handed it to me.

"It is with great pride and pleasure that I, and all your Sisters, welcome you, Phoebe Anjou, into the folds of the Sisterhood," Lenore began in a fairly somber but musical cadence. "Accept the traditional robe and hood of our Order and wear it proudly."

My aunt thanked Lenore and the other Sisters as I helped her put the robe on. She was all smiles as the crowd erupted into an enormous round of applause.

"I am so overjoyed," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you—all of you. This is a great honor."

As I helped my aunt adjust her robe, Lenore invited her to speak to the audience.

"What should I say?" my aunt said, searching Lenore's face for a suggestion. It was one of those rare times that I found her at a loss for words.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Lenore replied. "You, of all people, tongue-tied?"

"I'm...I'm just so overcome by all this." My aunt fidgeted with the folds of her robe for a few moments and seeing she was truly having difficulty, I grabbed her hand hard.




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 10



"Tell them thank you for coming," I said. "Tell them how great they all look. And tell them that dinner is waiting and that there's going to be some great entertainment tonight."

"Okay, okay, my little love," she said, forcing the words out. "This means so much to me. You have no idea."

I gave her a big hug and she seemed to suddenly collect herself as she turned to face the anxious crowd.

"My joy at being a Sister is such that words cannot adequately describe how I feel right now," she began. "I promise that I will always wear this robe with pride, with honor, and with dignity."

Before she could speak again, she was greeted with a round of applause. I could see the tears on her face and her voice faltered a few times. She quickly resumed.

"My niece wanted me to remind everyone that you all look just lovely tonight and that great food and entertainment await you in the main hall. Thank you. You have done me a great honor and I will always try to live my life in accordance with the ways of the Sisterhood."

As my aunt turned away from the roar of applause that followed her speech, Lenore, and all the Sisters in the immediate vicinity, rushed to congratulate her. I could tell that she was overwhelmed by the genuine feelings of goodwill that her colleagues were now bestowing upon her, and I was happy that this moment of joy accorded her in some small way compensated for the deficit of love from her estranged daughter.

After all the congratulations had been made, Lenore indicated that it was time for the final ceremonial ritual to take place. Ordering the twenty-first man in line to approach the altar, she took the golden chalice, or vessel of collection, and placed it into Phoebe's hands. She then instructed the man to kneel at the center of the altar facing the audience.

"Sisters," Lenore said, addressing the crowd. "This man, Andre, has proven himself worthy of this task by virtue of his undying loyalty and devotion to the Sisterhood. Our Sister Phoebe will now ceremoniously masturbate him until he ejaculates into the vessel of collection. This act symbolizes the submission of all men to the superior will of the female. Proceed Phoebe."

My aunt, knowing already what was required of her, knelt beside the handsome young man and began jerking his long shaft with rapid strokes. In a matter of seconds he was hard. The audience cheered her on with the lewdest remarks possible until the formidable looking weapon, almost a foot long now, was dripping pre-cum from its swollen, purple tip.

"Into the cup," my aunt reminded him. "All of it."

Andre's knees soon began shaking and his entire body grew taught.

"Keep the head out so we can watch it spurt!" a woman in the front row demanded.

Rich, hot cream shot out of his prick just then—stream after milky stream. I counted no less than twelve separate eruptions that quickly vanished into the waiting cup. My aunt's hand was a blur as she milked him with grim determination. The entire Sisterhood exploded into laughter at the sight.

"God, what a fucking load!" Estelle exclaimed, as the twelfth and final cum shot flew into the cup.

Lenore and all the other Sisters seemed very pleased by Andre's exceptional performance.

"Now, drink it!" the Sisterhood leader ordered the man.

Without so much as a hint of displeasure, Andre took the chalice from my aunt and solemnly lifted it to his mouth and drank down the salty, viscous broth. In one gulp the entire contents of the cup was drained. He handed the cup back to Phoebe, who showed the now empty vessel to Lenore and the crowd. They showed their appreciation with a thunderous roar of applause.

"Forever at our feet and at our beck and call," Lenore shouted joyously.

This now concluded the ceremony. 

Lenore made one last closing speech and then the Sisters began a prompt but orderly march into the main hall. I walked arm and arm with my aunt who was now literally beaming with joy.

"I feel so good, so powerful," she said as she walked briskly toward the hall. "I only wish Angelique had been here to see it."

That statement was the only concession she made that entire evening to the caprices of her wayward child. For the most part, she exuded those personal qualities that had always set her apart from the average, from the norm. Becoming a full-fledged Sister was a tremendous achievement, and she would not allow any negative feelings to influence this special evening.

Upon entering the main hall, I was struck by two things: the delicious odor of superbly cooked food and a host of celebrities sitting next to the table where my aunt and I would be sitting. Mary Kate and Ashley looked beautiful in their respective black and white gowns. Drew wore a pink, satin affair with a long, white, feathered boa and looked quite stunning. And Teri was dressed in a royal blue gown that showcased her lovely long legs. I waved to each of them as we headed toward the dais. It seemed as if the entire room was brimming with fun and laughter. And then I realized why.

I noticed that there were other women—some of whom I recognized as celebrities, but not all—had been taking advantage of the free liquor while they had been waiting for the ceremony to end. These women culled around the table where Mary Kate and Ashley were now sitting and they looked like they were ready to party. Leaving my aunt for a moment, I ran over to the twins and other guests to say a quick hello.

"You guys look great!" I said, hugging Mary Kate and Ashley. "And you too Drew and Teri! I'm so glad you came."

"Are you kidding?" Drew said. "These things are too good to miss. How'd the ceremony go?"

"Fantastic!" I said. "I'll tell you guys all about it later."

"Any juicy details?" Teri asked with a wink.

"You could say that," I smiled coyly.

Mary Kate touched me on my arm. "Do you see those girls over there?" She pointed to the same women I had noticed moments before. "I hear they're going to be providing the entertainment tonight."

"And it's supposed to be very naughty!" Ashley laughed aloud.

"I assume it involves men?" 

"Of course. "Doesn't it always?"

The dinner was delicious. I even went back to the buffet table for second helpings, which I normally don't do. It seemed as if all the excitement was making me ravenous.

Lenore was laughing and joking with Justine and Estelle, and a bunch of other women whom I did not know. My aunt, like me, preferred to keep her mouth stuffed with food rather than engage in any protracted conversations, regardless of how jovial they might be. I could sense that something was coming. I saw it in my aunt's eyes—that preoccupied look she always had whenever she was about to reveal something of libidinous importance.

It didn't take long for her to make her little secret known. As soon as the crowd hat eaten its full, she stood up and pointed in the direction of the same women Mary Kate had pointed out to me earlier. Suddenly the entire room fell silent.

"I have a little treat for all of you tonight," my aunt said, lifting her glass in the direction of the small group of mysterious women. "Most of you know of, or have met, my friend Dr. Christiana Swensen. For those of you who don't know who she is, I will tell you. She is a brilliant doctor who invented a drug called "EJAX-472," which helps men with infertility problems. The drug has been on the market now for over a year and has proven very beneficial. Well, she recently worked alongside her friend and research associate here in France to create a new and improved form of the drug called "EJAX-472AR," which greatly enhances the accuracy of sperm to reach the egg. The drug is still in the testing stage, but recent experiments with human subjects has shown to be extremely promising. And the woman who helped to develop this astounding drug is here with us tonight. May I present Dr. Adrienne Vassay!"

Dr. Vassay acknowledged my aunt with a nod of the head and a big smile. She was simultaneously greeted with a warm round of applause from all of us. She appeared very friendly and gracious. Although not beautiful in the conventional sense, she was nonetheless very pretty with a hard, tight body hidden underneath a skin-tight emerald-green evening gown. Her long, brunette hair fell gently to her shoulders and I noticed that her hands were delicate and very well groomed—her long, sexy fingers seemingly adept at clutching and holding onto whatever they might encounter. She lost no time in getting right to the point.

"How many of you here enjoy watching guys climax?"

She spoke good English, but with a heavy French accent.

I don't think anyone was prepared for such a direct question, and especially from a medical doctor who was a stranger to most of us. There was a brief pause while people murmured amongst themselves.

"All right then," she continued unperturbed. "How many of you would enjoy seeing a guy climax into another guys' mouth?"

That did it! Suddenly the room exploded with laughter and cheers in the affirmative.

My aunt laughed and took hold of my hand. "She may be a doctor, but she is a candidate in waiting for the Sisterhood, and you know what that means!"

I smiled. "It means she's depraved like the rest of us."

"Correct!"

Dr. Vassay, or "Adrienne," as she preferred to be called, gave the crowd a brief rundown of what she had planned for us that evening, and it had nothing to do with paying any particular attention to medical ethics. In fact, what she described was nothing short of a very lascivious, sexual performance of which the new and improved drug was to take center stage—the men only serving in the capacity of playthings for the excited women.

"I would like to bring the men out now, Phoebe," Adrienne requested.

On the orders of my aunt, twelve naked men walked into the room, one after the other, heads bowed in obedience. They made their way to the dais and formed a line in front of the table.

"Those who are going to ejaculate," said Adrienne walking toward them, "form a line here." She pointed to the area just to the left of the dais. "And those who are to catch the ejaculate, kneel here."

The men dutifully obeyed her, kneeling about ten feet from their counterparts who were now busily engaged in applying generous amount of lubricating cream to their quickly expanding cocks.

"What are they going to catch the ejaculate with?" inquired Brittany, a less luminous star in the constellations of celebrities.

"With their mouths of course," Adrienne said with a smirk.

"I can't wait to see this!" Charlotte said, giggling.

"We are going to create six teams," Adrienne told the crowd. "The woman who can direct the stream of ejaculate into the recipient's mouth is the winner. We will choose each masturbatrix by lot. Ladies, fill in the little cards on your tables with your full name and place them in the plastic containers before you."

As this was being done, my aunt took a moment to ask Adrienne what exactly the prize would be.

"Oh, yes, the prize!" the brunette laughed. "I'm sorry, I forgot. The prize are these men. All of them. You may use them in any way you wish."

Felicia, who had been sitting several tables away from us seemed to like the idea. "I could use another slave or two!"

The slips of paper were soon collected and the selection commenced with Adrienne dumping all the names into a large white bag. 

"Okay, ladies," she said as she dipped her right hand into the bag. "Here we go."

The first name she called was a person none of us knew. Her name was Loni and she was a friend of Adrienne's. A tall, amiable blonde with big tits and a toothy grin, she seemed to symbolize all that was meant by the word "bimbo." She wore an ill-fitting blue crepe dress that was a few sizes to small for her, but it successfully emphasized her sizeable breasts.

Adrienne instructed Loni what to do and the contest was underway.

I almost laughed when the blonde girl, probably not much older than I was, fumbled with the ten-inch cock she was trying to masturbate. The prick was already rock hard but she had some difficulty wrapping her smallish fingers around it. Finally, she decided to switch hands and began stroking him up and down very fast, with hardly any care as to the man's comfort.

"When you are ready to cum," she told the man, "let us know. And you," she said to the kneeling man, "you will open your mouth wide open to catch the sperm—hopefully."

It only took the man about a minute to succumb to Loni's roughly delivered handjob. She giggled all the way through the performance, happily chewing her gum and blowing bubbles with it now and then as she casually and indifferently forced him to release his creamy cum. 

Suddenly, the man groaned aloud and thrust his hips forward violently. At the same time, the kneeling man opened his mouth and moved his head slightly forward in anticipation.

Everyone gasped as the first volley of sperm shot out of his cock, flying completely over the kneeling man's head and landing on Adrienne herself, who was standing directly behind him. The cumshot had traveled just over 12 feet.

"We should have used him in the contest!" my aunt shrieked.

The second and third volleys did not even reach half the distance of his first ejaculation, and everyone seemed disappointed. Loni released the man's cock and rejoined the group of women accompanying Adrienne. Her face barely registered any emotion.

The next name was chosen and it was none other than my aunt herself. The women went wild.

"Give it the old college try, girl!" Lenore laughed, as my aunt approached the second naked man in line and began pulling on his longish dork.

The guy was probably about 30 years old and unremarkable looking. However, his prick was thin and easily handled by my aunt, who masturbated him furiously. In less than thirty seconds she had him firing off salvo after salvo of hot, creamy cum.

"This is such fun!" she commented as she stroked him hard.

All of the first four ejaculations hit the kneeling man in the face, but none entered his open mouth. It amused all of us to see him take facial after facial—in the eyes, the hair, his neck, and even in one of his ears, but no sperm found its way into his mouth. My aunt sighed.

"Oh, well," she said resignedly. "I'll have to practice some more!"

The kneeling man was given a towel to wipe the spunk from his face and was quickly replaced by the third man in line.

Adrienne reached once more into the container and withdrew a name.

"Teri!" she called out. "Who is Teri?"

The beautiful brunette stood up and clapped her hands together in joy. "There's only one here!" she laughed.

As she walked briskly toward the third naked man, her celebrity cohorts cheered her on.

"You can do it, Teri!" shouted Drew, now finally succumbing to the effects of one too many martinis.

"Go for it!" Mary Kate yelled out, barely able to keep herself from laughing. "Let's see those ropes!"

Teri towered over the naked man in her high heels. She was a full head taller than he was and gave her the appearance of an Amazon. She wasted no time grabbing his erect prick, proceeding with slow, deliberate strokes and looking into his eyes now and then to gauge his reactions. The man himself was probably about 5' 6" tall and very cute, with dark hair and dark eyes. He looked at her intently, overcome by her beauty and commanding physical stature.

By the time she reached the two-minute mark, the crowd began to urge her on, imploring her to increase her speed in order to get him to cum.

"Okay, okay," she laughed, as she put all her effort into it. "He's going to shoot any second now!"

And she was right. Without any warning the small man began to erupt in long stringy jets of semen that flew out of his cock with wild abandon. It happened so fast that it was hard to tell exactly where the sperm was landing. After the sixth or seventh spurt it was obvious none of the ejaculate had landed in the correct spot.

"You got it all over his stomach and legs!" she gently reprimanded the man.

"Better luck next time, Teri!" Ashley said, as she took a sip of wine from her glass.

The fourth name was then chosen and it was none other than Adrienne herself.

She reacted with unique astonishment. "This can't be," she said staring at the paper with her name on it. "I did not enter the lottery."

Loni laughed. "I put your name on the card, Adrienne. Go ahead. Give it a try."

At first reluctant, the women in the crowd encouraged her to join in the fun, which she did, somewhat sheepishly. "I want you all to know that I had nothing to do with this."

"It's okay, Adrienne," Lenore shouted over the din. "Show us what you can do."

Taking the fourth man's prick in her right hand, Adrienne began to pull on it with gentle, yet rapid, strokes. She did not maintain a firm grip on his penis, but rather employed a very light touch, just brushing his flesh ever so gently yet consistently. Her fingers were as white as marble with fine blue veins running through the top of her hand. It took only ten seconds to get him off.

A long jet of nasty man paste flew out of the man's penis, and flew right over the kneeling man's left shoulder, striking some woman on her foot. And that was it. No more sperm followed. Adrienne let go of his prick in disgust and walked away.

"I think you need to work on your technique!" Lenore screeched.

Adrienne ignored the comment and quickly chose another name. "Do we have an Emily here?"

"Yes, you do!" I heard a woman yell from far back in the crowd.

Emily was one of the elder Sisters, who looked as if she were nearing retirement age. Her face and body were in quite good condition for her age and she seemed very happy to have been chosen. She ambled up to the fifth naked man and immediately took possession of his fat dick 

"I'm ready," she said, looking a little tipsy.

"Well don't just stand there you drunken sod!" Lenore hollered. "Start jerking!"

I would have easily voted Emily's harrowing, yet hysterical, handjob the highlight of the evening if it were not for what was soon to follow. As it was, she barely got the guy to cum because her hand kept flying off his huge shaft. And each time this happened, she made the funniest faces, which broke everybody up. At one point, Ashley, who was drinking a white wine spritzer, had the misfortune of looking up when Emily was making one of her most ridiculous poses, causing the twin to literally spit out her drink into the waiting face of Drew, who herself was laughing uncontrollably. The high point was when Emily finally got the guy to shoot off. I think it took her about five minutes to provoke an orgasm, and the volleys, voluminous as they were, all failed to hit their intended target.

The final name was now drawn. Adrienne made it clear that if there were no winner, they would have to move on to the final part of the entertainment.

"Ashley? Where is she?"

I saw a big smile come across Ashley's face as her name was called. She was the more demure of the two but, like her more hedonistic sister, she too had a lascivious side, if not readily apparent or readily displayed. With some urging from Mary Kate, she got up from her chair and slowly walked over to the naked man. He was cute and rather tall with blonde hair and light green eyes. His penis was not huge by any means, but it was quite thick, and his balls seemed oversized.

Ashley looked at the erect cock and sperm-swollen balls and let out a short giggle.

"What are you staring at it for?" Mary Kate teased her sister. "We want to see those big ropes of cum! Make him shoot it in the other guy's mouth!"

With some encouragement from the crowd, Ashley took hold of the guy's prick and gently rubbed it from tip to base, laughing as she did so. The kneeling man remained frozen in place, waiting patiently for the possible unsavory libation. I could tell that the man being masturbated was enraptured with the young beauty, as with each stroke he tried to bring his face closer to hers. She didn't restrain him, but instead let her lips brush his cheeks gently, at one point even kissing him softly on the ear. 




Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 11



[Author's Note: I would like to thank all my fans that have written to me over the several years it has taken to complete this novel. Your comments, suggestions and ideas have provided me with some great material. You have my gratitude. This last chapter of "Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium" will represent my final excursion into writing erotic literature for a while. It has been a wonderful experience and I hope in some small way that I have provided you with some measure of fun and enjoyment. Thank you one and all! Au revoir!] 

*

A few days after the wild fashion show party at the twin's estate, I was sitting outside on my aunt's veranda reading a book on ancient Roman history. Craig and I had spent the day before sightseeing in Paris and I had become so tired from all the walking that I needed to take a day off for myself just to recuperate. 

It was a quiet, beautiful, late August day. My aunt and Charlotte were visiting some friends in Lyon, while Justine and Estelle were enjoying their vacation on the French Riviera. I had thought that Lenore was going to accompany them, so it was with some surprise when the phone rang and I found that she was still in Paris.

"I've been trying to reach you on your cell for the past two hours. Where are you?" my mentor said, a bit impatiently.

"Reading on the veranda. I didn't want to be disturbed. Is something wrong?"

"I need to talk to you. Can I come over now?"

"Of course, Lenore. Are you all right? You sound upset."

She hesitated a moment before answering. "I'll tell you when I see you."

A little over an hour later she arrived, not in her chauffer-driven limo but in an Italian sports car, a red Ferrari, that she drove herself. I met her at the front door and she followed me out onto the veranda. She had on a pair of white shorts and a white blouse. She was wearing tennis shoes and I noticed that one of the laces had become undone. The afternoon sun was warm but not hot, and I offered her a glass of sparkling water.

"Thank you," she said, taking the glass. "I'm so thirsty these days."

She sat down on a chaise lounge opposite me and took a long drink. I offered to tie her shoe lace but she refused.

"You look very pale," I said to her. "Are you feeling all right?"

She looked at me with those impervious, cobalt-blue eyes of hers and then down at her hands. "No, actually. I'm not all right, Holly." The hand that held the glass shook a little, and then I saw her eyes start to well up.

"Lenore!" I said, quickly pulling up a chair next to her. "Tell me, what's wrong?"

Before she could utter a word, she broke down in tears. I put my hand on her shoulder and spoke to her in comforting tones, but the tears would not abate. Finally, after a few minutes had passed, she began to regain her composure and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

"I feel a little better now," she said softly as she blew her nose. "I'm sorry my dear. I did not mean to alarm you."

"Please tell me what's going on," I insisted. "You have me worried to death."

She took a deep breath and a sip of water, and then began. "I have just come from my doctor's office. A few weeks ago I had experienced some pains in my chest and went in for an examination. They found that I have a problem with my heart. It's not cancer, but a form of arrhythmia—an irregular heartbeat—that could prove to be fatal…"

"Oh, no," I said. "I don't believe it. You've always been so strong."

"Not that strong, my darling Holly. The doctor has me on some damn prescription drug that I must take religiously for the rest of my life. I hate the entire idea of it. Me, dependent upon a drug!"

"Have you told aunt Phoebe and the others?"

"No, you are the only one that knows."

"But you must tell them. They have a right to know."

"They will be told, soon enough. I see no reason to cast a cloud over their holiday." She drew herself up in her chair and frowned. "My doctor has insisted that I must avoid all forms of stress. He absolutely forbids me to engage in any activity that will tax my nervous system or I just may end up dead. What do you think of that?" 

"Oh, Lenore, I'm so sorry," I said, wrapping my arms around her neck. It was now my turn to cry.

"It's all right, mon chéri. I don't intend to go out so easily."

"Don't even talk like that," I said, gently reprimanding her. 

She forced herself to laugh, despite herself. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to upset you. Just to tell you the truth. That's all."

I removed my arms from around her neck and took her hands in mine. "Maybe you should join Estelle and Justine on vacation. You will be able to get lots of rest there."

"No," she said forlornly. "As soon as I saw them I'd be forced to tell them everything and that would ruin their vacation. They will all return next week. I will tell them then."

For a while she looked off into the distance, refusing to meet my gaze. Knowing her as I did, I knew this was the prelude to something less than pleasant.

"I must tell you something now that is very important. And you will need to make a decision about it one way or the other, and soon I should think."

"What is it? What decision?"

She took a sip of water and held my hand firmly. "Because my health is compromised, I cannot effectively lead the Sisterhood any longer. I therefore am turning over temporary executive power to Justine and Estelle, who will now act in my stead. I emphasize 'temporary' power. Full executive privileges are reserved for the one who will take my place. That's you, Holly."

I didn't know how to respond to her at first because my mind was going in several different directions at once. I knew the Sisterhood mantle was to be passed onto me at some point in the future, but it sounded like that future time was coming closer and closer and I was not ready for it. 

"What are you asking of me?" 

"I am asking you to prepare yourself to lead the Sisterhood."

"But I have two years of school in front of me. You know that. I'm not ready to accept this responsibility now."

"You are more ready than you know."

I shook my head, not wanting to hear her rationale. "I have my parents whom I have to answer to. It's not as easy as you think. In a few more years' time when I finish my school…"

"By that time the Sisterhood will dead and gone. Even now as we speak, our Order has become seriously divisive. Angelique has corrupted many of our Sisters. Yes, it's true that we retain most of our Order, but she gains new adherents every day. I warned you long ago that a fight was coming, and it's now on our doorstep. Fortunately, you have many loyal and exceptionally talented Sisters who will do their best to help you. You know who they are."

"You mean Felicia, Janet, Charlotte…?"

"And don't forget Ashley and Mary Kate. They're billionaires with great power in the outside world. Those twins may prove to be your greatest allies."

"And what about aunt Phoebe?"

"What about her?"

"Why can't she assume the leadership of the Sisterhood? I mean, until I'm ready."

My mentor sighed heavily. "Because of Angelique. Certainly you can see this. You know that I love your aunt as if she were my own sister. But she is still Angelique's mother. And as much as Phoebe may say she hates her daughter now, there is still a good chance that she might soften over time and fall prey to Angelique's machinations. It would spell doom for us all."

"So, what you're saying is…I can't go home."

Lenore smiled at me in a kindly, knowing way. She now spoke to me with great conviction. "You are free to do whatever you choose, Holly. Neither I, nor anyone in the Sisterhood can force you to do anything you don't want to do. All I can tell you is that I can no longer lead this organization. And the Sisterhood needs a leader. Not just any leader…you. You, dear girl, are the one who must fight this fight. I saw greatness in you from the very beginning, when no one else did. Like you and Charlotte, I too have the gift of clairvoyance. I know what lies ahead if that monster Angelique should become leader of the Sisterhood. The end result of such a victory will destroy everything the Sisterhood has stood for all these centuries. Angelique and her kind want to control men by using and abusing them—they want to grind all men into the ground under their heels. But that is not the way of the Sisterhood. It never was. We are not a bunch of malevolent man-haters intent on gaining control at any cost. We are communicators, collaborators…we want to tame the more aggressive aspects of men's natures through the use of both reason and pleasure, not by treating them like vermin. You understand this. Angelique never will. She can't. It is beyond her capability. That is why it must be you."

She stopped talking for a moment, turning the glass over and over in her hand. I felt she wanted to say something more, and waited patiently. 

"I am truly sorry," she began, "for placing this burden upon your shoulders. Ideally, you would have taken my place as leader in a few more years, but we no longer can afford that luxury. While I am able to, I will help you in any way I can from behind the scenes, but I cannot take any visible action. The decision rests with you."

For a few moments I sat with my head resting in my hands, wondering what I was going to do. 

"If I decide to stay, what about my parents? What do I tell them?"

"We can tell them that you have decided to continue your studies here in France. I don't think they would object to that."

"But I want to see them at some point. I mean, I do miss them after all."

"I understand chéri. Avec le temps, ça s'arrangera."

"Huh? Oh, yes. Everything will work out in time. I understand. I just hope you're right."

"None of us has a crystal ball, my dear. Not even the great Antoinette could foretell the future. But maybe it is best that we can't. We humans seem to make quite a mess of things as it is without the benefit of foresight."

"So you think we still have hope?"

"Sometimes hope is the only thing we have to go on."

Lenore put her glass down and slowly rose up from her chair. I could tell she was now looking more like her old self, and she took my face in her hands and lovingly kissed each cheek.

"I must go now. Think of what I said. You must make your decision soon. If you decide not to stay, then I must find another to succeed me. But I hope you will not force me into that position. I leave the choice to you."

As I watched her walk toward her car she turned around abruptly and waved goodbye. "Je t'aime, Holly!" she said.

"Je t'aime aussi!" I replied, waving back.

For some time after she left I sat in the veranda contemplating her words. That night, and for several nights thereafter, I don't think I enjoyed a fitful night's sleep.





Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 11



"When I tell someone no, I mean no," said Bob, now starting to sweat a little. "But you just keep pushing a guy, keep pushing…yeah…like that, you know…"

Mary Kate smiled. She knew she was getting to him, as did everyone else. As she continued to eat her food with her right hand, her left hand was steadily stroking between his legs. Bob moaned.

"I realize how hard it must be for you," she jibed. "But you're supposed to put in that extra mile for people you call your friends. Don't you agree, Bob?" He didn't answer right away. "Well? Don't you?"

There were a few outright laughs from the women as Mary Kate stopped eating and looked at him. His eyes seemed glazed over.

"Yeah, I guess so…yeah…"

Mary Kate looked at Ashley and nodded her head. It was a signal for Ashley to go into action.

Moving her hand down to her side, I watched as Ashley slowly moved it toward Bob's belt. With a few deft maneuvers, she had undone it and pulled down his zipper, meeting with no opposition from him. She then pulled down his underwear so that the tip of his penis suddenly sprang into view. Seeing the purple bulging tip now exposed, Mary Kate guided her index finger just under the head of his penis and began quickly rubbing it up and down against the sensitive underside. All the women at the table started giggling in unison as they watched her jerk him off.

"So, Bob," Mary Kate continued. "When can I expect the designs to be finalized?"

"I… I can't do it before the end of October," he gasped.

"But I need them at least two weeks before that," she insisted.

The women at the table all began laughing in earnest now. His prick was clearly visible to all and he didn't seem to care one bit. 

"You look very hot, Bob," Ashley said. "Why don't you take off your jacket?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah…" he said, as she offered to help him remove the blazer.

"Feel better?" 

"Yeah, thanks, Ash," he replied, reaching for his water glass this time instead of wine.

"I can make you feel even better if you do what I want," Mary Kate said to him.

To emphasize her point, both she and Ashley pulled down both his pants and underwear and we were treated to the sight of a ten-inch penis, almost all of which now stood proudly, unashamedly, above the rise of the table. The thing that struck me was not the size, or even the girth, but the extraordinarily large head. Mary Kate now ran her smallish, delicate, red-nailed fingers all around it, playfully squeezing and tensing it while Bob could only sit there helplessly and watch, the fate of his penis completely under her assured control.

"Ash," do you still have that special lube Dr. Swensen gave to you a few weeks ago? You know, that special masturbation cream?"

"I think I still have a little left," she replied, picking her pocketbook up off the floor.

"Could you give me some?" 

Ashley dutifully complied by reaching into her purse and producing a small silver tube. She reached over and put a modest amount into Mary Kate's palm, which Mary Kate then applied all over Bob's shaft. She now began to stroke his prick in earnest.  

"I know how much you love this, Bob," she said sexily, as her left hand pulled up and down on his cock in a steady, rhythmic fashion. "I know how much you need this too, because your fucking whore of a wife refuses to do it for you. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah… that's right. She…she don't like to get my cum on her."

"Can you imagine that ladies?" Mary Kate sneered. "This handsome guy can't even get a hand fuck from his own wife! Why do you stay with her, Bob?"

"Because…because…"

"Yes, because…"

"Because I like being controlled by a woman. And she does it so fucking good!"

I nearly choked on my drink. I would never have suspected Bob Mackley to be a closet submissive.

"What does she do, Bob?" Mary Kate asked, increasing the tempo of her stroking.

"She makes me jerk off in front of all her female friends."

This admission was greeted by a hearty round of cheers and laughter from all. I could tell that he was enervated by all the attention he was getting. When the young waitresses moved in to look at him being jerked off, it proved too much. I knew it was only a matter of minutes before he would be shooting his load.

"And do you cum for them, Mr. Mackley?" asked one of the women at the end of the table whose name was Grace.

"I have to," he admitted, "or else they throw me out of my house!"

The laugher was deafening. He had barely had enough breath to finish his sentence and now seemed solely occupied with Mary Kate's amazingly wonderful handjob.

"Well, can you tell us how long it has been since you ejaculated?" Ashley asked him.

"About seven days."

"That's a long time for a guy isn't it?"

"My wife forbids me to jerk off unless… it's for her amusement."

Again a roar of laugher from all.

"Well, you can amuse all of us right now, Bob, with a really creamy, sticky, fucking load of spunk," Mary Kate laughed, as she pulled on his prick with increased speed. "Or if you refuse to accommodate me, I'll stop right now."

As she finished her sentence she removed her hand from his penis, letting it bob back and forth unattended.

"No," he cried, searching for her hand. "I'll give you what you want. I promise!"

"Okay, okay," she said with a grin as her hand returned to his cock. "But you have to give us a really good cumshot. You've had seven days to save it all up. I expect to see long, stringy ropes of cum shoot out of the tip. Long, stringy ropes. Got it?"

"Oh god," he said sighing loudly. "You always win, don't you?"

"Yup," she laughed. "I always do."

Mary Kate now called the waitresses forward to witness Bob's imminent explosion of cum. Some of the women in the back of the room also came forward, also anxious to watch him climax.

"Keep it pointed up," Ashley reminded her sister. "He has a tendency to shoot really far."

"I know. I know," Mary Kate giggled. "And multiple times too. Right Bob?"

Bob could not reply because he was now ready to burst.

With her left hand furiously pulling on his huge organ, Mary Kate took a bite of her shrimp, seemingly unconcerned about what was now going to happen. Her indifference seemed to drive Bob to even greater heights of ecstasy. I did not fully understand why this was so, but I soon discovered that many men enjoyed being indifferently treated by women. Ostensibly this had to do with issues of self-esteem wherein a very casual attitude toward sex on the woman's part made the man feel as though he was being "serviced" in a fashion similar to that of a prostitute. It made little sense to me but it was true nonetheless.

"Oh, my fucking Jesus!" Bob suddenly exclaimed.

I watched as the tip of his prick expanded to its full capacity. Mary Kate stopped using her entire hand to masturbate him and just employed her thumb at the base of the swollen head, flicking it every so lightly and rhythmically against the taut flesh.

She was biting down on her second piece of shrimp as he erupted.

"Ropes!" she shouted, as the first spurt of stringy seed flew out of the tip of his prick with lightning speed.

The intensity of the ejaculation was incredible. It was almost too fast for the eye to see. But there, hanging from the rim of the tiffany lamp ten feet above him, was the evidence of his lust—a long, white rope of hot cream. Mary Kate was delighted.

"Yes!" she cried, as the long strand of cum swung obscenely back and forth above her. 

Ashley, too, was urging Bob on to greater heights with some of the filthiest talk I had ever heard from her. "Cream for us you fucking bastard! Shoot it all over the room! Cream for Mary Kate, your boss!"

The waitresses were laughing uncontrollably, as were the other women at the table. Bob was frozen in his chair, only his prick now seemed alive under the direct control of Mary Kate's relentless handjob.

"Let's drain this fucking schlong, shall we?" she said leering into Bob's face.

With a quick flick of her fingernail he surrendered another load of cum, flying just as high up in the air as the first shot. And then came a series of multiple climaxes that were launched each time Mary Kate teased the sensitive underside. It was quite amazing to watch his creamy bursts of jizz shoot up into the air with such rapidity and consistency, almost as if she were mentally willing every spurt out with the aid of her fingers. Ashley sat back in her chair, grinning broadly at her sister's impeccable handjob, cheering each time another sticky white load went shooting up into the air, knowing that Mary Kate had won yet another contest against the male species.

"Oh, look at it!" Mary Kate laughed in Bob's face, as another round of sperm found its way into the air above his head.

Bob stared down at his spurting organ as though it were something alien to him. All he knew or cared about at that point seemed to be Mary Kate's lovely hand and the generous amounts of sperm she was extracting from him. No doubt he was greatly pleased by the release of so much semen—a release he had been deprived of for an entire week by his dominant wife. He now begged the beautiful masturbatrix to finish him off with her hand.

Mary Kate willingly obliged, encircling his shaft with her entire hand, masturbating him with all her might.

If her abrupt fingernail flicks had produced a plentiful round of shooting sperm, her pumping hands created a most dazzling display of multiple cum shots that I had ever seen. As her tiny hand pulled up, we were rewarded with a gigantic rope of cum that shot out and up over the table to land in the plate of the women at the far end—a clear fifteen feet! This was followed by successive volleys of sperm that flew into the guests themselves until Mary Kate deftly repositioned his cock away from the table. Ashley and I got hit several times by the irrepressible blasts of cum, but they all fell onto our upper bodies and not anywhere near our faces. Some of the waitresses however, weren't so lucky, running to and fro to avoid getting hit in the face by the incessant barrage of sperm.

"Christ!" one of the women designer's exclaimed. "What a fucking load!"

"I love it!" another woman squealed.

Mary Kate's arm was beginning to tire, yet she managed to coax out several more long, creamy spurts from Bob's incredible tool. When he had finally stopped ejaculating, he collapsed face first onto the table, unable to speak for several minutes. All the women in the room exploded into applause at the astounding performance. Mary Kate smiled graciously and picked up a napkin to clean the sperm off her hand. She, Ashley, and I then went to the bathroom to remove the semen from our clothes. 

Bob stayed true to his word and gave Mary Kate everything she wanted and more. Again, my theory that most men would do almost anything for a simple handjob was proven correct. 





Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 11



"Tomorrow night's fine."

Lenore's voice was becoming more animated by the minute. 

"You will have to be initiated, but that's just a simple formality. It won't take long. You'll have to sign some papers…but we'll go over all that tomorrow. How does 7:00 PM sound to you?"

"That's fine."

"Good. I'll call Phoebe as soon as I get off the phone with you and let her know. Got to run."

"Lenore?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I just want you to know that it was Craig who helped me make my decision."

"Really?"

"Really. He can be very influential when he wants to be."

Lenore laughed. "Well, please give him a big kiss from me and tell him that I think he's wonderful. See you tomorrow night chéri!"

Craig and I spent the rest of the day making love and at 5:00 PM I took a cab back to the chateau. When my aunt saw me she greeted me with open arms, congratulating me on my decision. Charlotte was there too, looking every bit like the cat that got the cream.

"This is a momentous event," she said, hugging me. "What do you think, Phoebe? Will she not make a great leader of our Order?"

"I have no doubt about it," my aunt replied. Her voice was airy and light, a refreshing change from her more recent gloomy ramblings. "So, all of us will be meeting here tomorrow night."

"Yes," I replied. "I guess Lenore can't wait to get things rolling."

"Perfectly understandable. She's excited for you—and for all of us. You've taken a great burden off her shoulders."

Charlotte agreed. "And ours too!"

"Well, I'm glad of that," I said smiling. "I just want to do what's best for our Order."

Both women encircled me with their arms and hugged me close. "Just as it should be, my dear," my aunt Phoebe said. "Just as it should be."