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—ifI 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.