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.