Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 03

"I didn't know Rebecca was going to masturbate him," I said to Christiana.

"Rebecca is an incredible masturbatrix. She knows how to provoke the most intense cum shots I have ever seen."

"Do you think she'll get him to shoot as far as Kelly and Janet did with Barney?"

"At least as far. You might want to sit a few rows behind."

"Then I'll miss everything."

"Well, just sit here and watch her. She's really amazing and you might learn a few things about how to give a man a great orgasm."

I didn't think she meant it as a slur, but I was a little annoyed at the implication that I might be somehow lacking in my sexual skills. However, I found it difficult to be annoyed with her for very long because of her unpretentiousness, and realized that she said what she said more as praise of her colleague than to insinuate any imagined deficiency in me.

Boxes of tissues were now being handed around to help the women in our immediate group get cleaned up from Barney's errant volleys of cum. Angelique swore as she dabbed the tissues on her legs, blotting up the creamy fluid into the paper.

"This is not good," she complained as I watched her at her task. "Mom and I are going to have to intensify Jacques' training fast."

I took this to mean that her champion was no longer the favorite in the race to win this masturbation contest. My aunt heard what she said and shook her head numbly.

"Are you certain that there are no traces of your drug left in their systems, Christiana?" my aunt asked the doctor.

"You were there when the drug screening took place," Christiana replied. "They're both completely clean."

My aunt still seemed incredulous. "It's hard to believe that a man can shoot like that. I could understand when he was on the drug, but now? I mean he must have ejaculated almost 15 feet for heaven's sake. Don't you find that strange?"

"The only thing my drug did to these men was to increase their penis size a few inches, nothing more. Whatever ejaculatory response they now exhibit is solely due to their genetic disposition and the combined efforts of our team."

"Well, I want to learn more about your techniques. I want to apply them to my own contender."

"You're welcome to do so."

I could sense that my aunt was a little perturbed that she could get no satisfactory explanation from the doctor, who seemed to exhibit no apparent disingenuousness in answering her question. She knew, as did her own daughter, that their previous boast regarding Jacques undisputed superiority in this area was now going to be put to the test in light of Barney's exemplary performance. Now with Craig being rapidly primed to cum, I wondered if the boy would meet or even exceed his counterpart's outstanding example, which would further add to my aunt's anxiety.

From the moment Rebecca took the stage, more and more women began to gather around the platform to witness Craig's masturbation. The crowd has now swollen to twice its size, and I recognized many familiar faces from the entertainment world among their ranks. My aunt Phoebe said hello to some of them as they approached and paid their respects, and through her I was introduced to a few whom she particularly liked. There were the twin sisters who had started acting when they were babies and had built a multi-million dollar empire by the time they were eighteen; the blonde beauty from Bay Watch who had allowed a video of her lovemaking to get into the public mainstream; and a cute girl who made her fame killing vampires on TV. These, and a few others, were all graciously received by my aunt before resuming their place among their voyeuristic friends. Unlike her mother, Angelique made no effort to be cordial to these celebrities, treating them instead with casual indifference, even contempt, when they tried to strike up a conversation with her. Like my cousin, I, too, had no fondness for these spoiled, rich, and often mediocre talents, but I found a few of them, especially the twin sisters, to be genuinely friendly and open.

"They're all phonies," my cousin remarked dourly as the last of the celebrities walked away. "No-talent phonies."

"That's not true," I replied. "Mary Kate and Ashley are talented, and they were nice to you."

"I guess so," she said begrudgingly. " But I wouldn't give you two cents for the rest of them."

"You had better learn to be more accommodating of other people," my aunt said to Angelique.

"Why should I?"

"Because regardless of what you, yourself, may think of them, they are our supporters and friends, and our link to the outside world. They support the aims of the Sisterhood and fund many of our projects. Don't forget that."

"But you told me you hate celebrities, mom. You said it more than once."

"Yes, I toldyou, not anyone else," my aunt said. "And I don't hate all of them, just a few. Just try to keep your personal feelings about them to yourself."

Lenore looked at Angelique at that moment with disdain. I knew she could not have been pleased with Angelique's negative point of view regarding entertainers, and the more I saw of my cousin's attitude toward these people, the more I came to understand Lenore's refusal to make my cousin her heir.

"Oh, look," Justine said. "I think he's going to come. Better protect yourselves!"

Thanks to Rebecca's expert handling, Craig's prick now appeared ready to relinquish its load. The huge, plum-like tip of his penis was glistening with tiny beads of pre-cum and Rebecca began to pour a constant litany of filth into his ear. She stood on his left, masturbating him with vicious, machine-like precision as two other girls stood both behind and to his right supporting him. Rebecca's short red skirt rode up high on her thighs revealing a muscular and beautifully proportioned pair of legs. Her left hand pulled on his huge testicular sac while she energetically jerked him off, and this compelled him to rock his hips back and forth, driving his cock in between her hands. Her technique was flawless. I noticed that her long, yet delicate, fingers had no problem encircling his massive girth, which must have added greatly to his pleasure.

Kelly and Janet returned to their places on the stage with Barney in tow. He was wearing a pair of shorts but was otherwise naked. The three of them were laughing at something Barney had said, and as the girls joined the others he was instructed to sit in the back of the room and wait. As he passed by us, he smiled at everyone and gave Craig a 'thumbs up' sign.

"He's so fucking tall!" Angelique said to me as Barney passed by.

"He's six feet, five inches tall to be precise," Christiana said.

"Is he married?"

"He was."

My cousin seemed pleased by this announcement and I watched as her eyes followed him to his chair.

"I want to get my hands on that fucking tube steak of his," Angelique whispered in my ear.

"I have no doubt you will," I replied with surety.

Estelle suddenly let out a huge groan. "Oh, no, we're going to get it!"

Despite her warning, none of us moved. I thought Barney's orgasm was merely a fluke, and that Craig's climax would be a more modest offering. Again, I was proven wrong.

I watched in rapt fascination as Rebecca put the finishing touches on Craig's hugely swollen cock and balls. Her hand was moving at lightning speed up and down the greasy shaft, tensing it, milking it, teasing it mercilessly until the poor boy could stand no more. The women surrounding the platform had now moved in so closely that they were only inches away from the masturbatrix and her victim, flanking the duo on either side. The room was quiet now, only the sounds of Rebecca's cream-coated fist flailing the stiff prick with unyielding effort.

"Watch everybody!" Rebecca laughed. "Watch what I'm going to make him do!"

She gave Craig three quick bursts and a long pull, holding her hand motionless at the top of her stroke just under the swelling corona. Craig screamed with joy.

Before I knew what was happening, a long jet of white cream spit out of the tip of his penis and arced high up into the air, making straight for my cousin and I. The force of the blast was so intense that there was no time in which to act to avoid getting hit. It was a huge wash of sperm that splashed into my face and hair, forcing me to turn my head sideways, and, in so doing, deflecting a good portion of the ejaculate into my cousin's wide open mouth. The audience went wild. Sperm hung obscenely from my chin, my hair, my nose...and Angelique had hardly faired any better as I watched her spit out huge globs of semen from her mouth, both laughing and cursing me for being so careless.

Despite the unexpected hosing, my eyes were left untouched, which allowed me to watch Craig release successive bursts of joy juice at the insistent stroking of his mistress. The first ejaculation had not traveled as far as Barney's wild cum shot, but the second and third spurts sailed high over our heads, sending the audience into fits of laughter. Almost everyone in our party was splashed at one time or another, the sticky residue finding its way into people's hair and clothing, sparing no one.

Rebecca's hands were saturated with sperm, and the two girls supporting Craig, as well as several women spectators in the front row, had also received portions of his wildly climaxing cock juice. The floor beneath him was a lake of sperm as Rebecca continued to milk him. Towards the end of his orgasm, she pointed his prick straight up, and a long strand of cum shot up above his head and came raining down onto Rebecca's long, blonde tresses. She seemed delighted at the outcome of her diligent hand job and didn't even seem bothered that her hair was now a tangled mess. Craig's orgasm had surpassed Barney's, and Rebecca proudly looked out over the crowd and smiled at Christiana, who responded with a round of applause in appreciation of her friend's triumph.

"I would like to meet him," I said to Christiana, amidst the deafening roar of applause and cheers.

"There are no training sessions scheduled for tomorrow. Maybe you could meet us all for lunch at the Hotel de France?"

"I'd love to," I replied smiling.

Christiana must have noticed the sparkle in my eyes at the thought of meeting the handsome boy because she quickly turned to my aunt and made arrangements for the meeting.

"Craig is a very special person," the doctor said to me after consulting with my aunt. "He was married for a very brief time to my assistant, but the marriage didn't take. I think he would like you very much."

"He's very handsome," I said as the women led him off the platform. "And he seems very nice."

"He is very nice, and a real gentleman."

"I don't care about him," Angelique suddenly declared. "I want to get my hands on the big, black guy."

"I can arrange that too," the doctor said happily.

By the time I went to bed that evening it was after 3:00 AM, and my mind was racing with a host of thoughts and ideas that would keep me awake for several more hours. My aunt would not allow me to visit the lower floors that evening, and Angelique had hinted to me that those floors were strictly for the "more intense" sessions. What that meant I did not know, but Lenore told me that the decision to allow me to visit rested solely with my aunt, and that I would have to wait until the time was right. Even so, the fact that this subterranean world had been kept completely secret from me made me wonder how far and to what lengths the Sisterhood would go to achieve its aim of female superiority.

There was no doubt that my exposure to this magnificent underground network of rich and powerful women would have a profound impact upon my life. Angelique admitted to me that what I had seen was merely the tip of the iceberg, and a simple diversionary amusement at best. The real action, she told me, took place on the floors below—the floors I was forbidden, as of yet, to see. But that was not what occupied my mind as I began to drift to sleep. All I could think of was the blonde boy with the huge cock, and what I was going to do to him once I had him in my grasp.

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

The poet began, dead pale now: "I will go
Ahead, you second." I answered, seeing his pallor,
"How can I venture here if even you,
Who have encouraged me every time I falter,
Turn white with fear?" And he: "It is the pain
People here suffer that paints my face this color
Of pity, which you mistake for fear. Now on:
Our long road urges us forward." And he entered
The abyss's first engirdling circle, and down

--Canto IV, Dante's Inferno

My aunt's estate loomed before me like one impenetrable mesh of forest, dark and foreboding. The last rays of a crimson sun now adorned the uppermost branches of the leafless tree limbs that wavered menacingly in a sudden onrush of frigid air. I shuddered and quickly drew my woolen hat down over my ears.

To the south stood my aunt's castle—a tiny silver speck on a diminishing horizon, solitary, almost insignificant from this distance, but a reminder to me that I had strayed too far from familiar territory and was now stranded as darkness fell silently about me. I estimated the castle to be about ten miles away—too far for me to navigate in such dark and uncompromising surroundings. How I had allowed myself to wander so far away from the castle Anjou was a mystery to me, yet it did not stop me from cursing myself aloud for my blatant stupidity. Even as my rancorous diatribe assaulted the mute sentinels of birch and elm surrounding me, I drew together massive handfuls of fallen leaves and prepared to make my bed under the least forbidding tree I could find.

How did I get here?

I asked this question of myself over and over again and yet could find no answer. As I burrowed beneath the makeshift blanket of fallen leaves, I felt some small measure of protection from the strange noises that now began to emanate from the inner regions of the black forest: the eerie sound of naked branches bending begrudgingly in the wind, whipping at each other in windswept frenzy, accompanied by a low mournful dirge of animals whose baneful cries forced me to burrow deeper within the protective covering of leaves, while other equally distressed voices added their own wails to the mix; unhappy voices that seemed to lament the passing of the day.

Despite my anxiety, my body was so exhausted from my long sojourn in the forest that I soon fell asleep, but I did not sleep fitfully. Every so often the sudden hoot of an owl, or the far off howling of some animal, stirred me from my restless slumber. At one point I awoke sharply, raising my head ever so slightly to peer out from behind my bed of leaves, thinking I had heard something like footsteps not far away. Although the moon was on the wane, it still provided enough illumination for me to discern that the source of my consternation was nothing more than a low-hanging tree limb that every so often would brush along the forest floor in response to a gentle, but chilling, breeze. Fortunately, I had had the foresight to dress warmly, and my long woolen coat, hat, and gloves kept me quite warm despite the cold October night.

Eventually I managed to fall asleep.

When I next awoke I saw that the moon was now at its zenith and that half of my blanket of leaves had dissipated in the course of my turbulent sleep. I had no way to tell how long I had been sleeping since I had left my watch behind. And even if I had it, the feeble moonlight would have prevented me from seeing the tiny hands on the watch face. I surmised that it must be midnight, or not much later, which meant I had been sleeping for six hours or more. I reached out my hands to gather more leaves around myself to replace the ones that had blown away and, still overcome with lethargy, I pressed my body close against mother earth, once again seeking her protection from the elements.

Just as I was once more starting to drift into sleep, I thought I heard the sound of voices—human voices, being carried on the wind. At first the sound was very faint, almost like a whisper, and every so often the voices would reach a sudden shift in pitch and volume, followed by an abrupt decrescendo. My first impulse was to jump up and start shouting for help, but something held me back. It was then that I remembered something my aunt Phoebe had told me the first day I had arrived at the castle. She had warned me that poachers roamed these woods at night and that one should not be so foolish as to find oneself alone in the forest after dark. As I recalled her admonition, I began to think of all kinds of horrible thoughts that being at the mercy of such dishonorable men might evoke, and quickly covered my head over with leaves even as the voices came ever closer.

Soon the voices were close enough for me to distinguish that there were two men; one of them spoke perfectly good English while the other struggled to speak English with a decidedly French accent. They took their rest not far from me, about 50 feet away, their lanterns placed on their knapsacks before them as they stretched themselves out on the ground.

Each of the men was carrying a rifle. What looked to me like some small, dead animal was hoisted off the back of one man and thrown casually on the ground in front of them.

"Comment beaucoup?" one of them asked.

"I don't know," said the other. "Maybe a thousand francs."

The second voice sounded like it belonged to a young man, possibly in his late twenties or early thirties. The accent was definitely American.

"Please try to speak English," he continued. "My French sucks."

The other man groaned. "Il est injuste que! You Americans and your ridiculous language! You should learn how to speak French."

"Please Anton. Accommodate me."

"Have I not done so? Look at this fine specimen of a fox. A dying breed she is. I feel bad for her."

"Twenty percent of the selling price should help to assuage your guilt."

This was said in a non-emotive tone of voice.

"I hunt them because I need to live," the other man said. "But one day they will all be gone, never to return. And that will be the end of Anton."

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" the American complained. "Philosophy from a poacher!"

The Frenchman said nothing. Imitating his companion, he raised his canteen to his mouth and took a long draught, then stretched his legs out before him.

"We cannot stay here too long," he said. "They might find us."

"Are you still worried about the police? We gave them the slip hours ago."

"I am not talking about the police."

The American laughed. "Oh, that again. You're afraid we're going to be abducted by the spirits of the forest?"

"I do not say they are spirits," Anton replied, sullenly. "Two of my friends have disappeared in these woods within the past six months, and it was not the police nor any wild animal that got them."

"You know what I say to that Anton? Bullshit!" the American said, derisively. "Save your stories for your drunken friends at the pub."

The Frenchman remained quiet for a moment, listening. I thought maybe he had heard me as I gently moved my legs into a more comfortable position, but his gaze was directed toward the west, toward the direction they seemed to be headed. His companion seemed to hear something too.

"One of your friends?" the American asked, mockingly.

"Ridicule me if you want, but I tell you they are out there."

"Yes, Anton, they are out there—the animals that inhabit this forest. That's all."

"How do you call yourself a hunter?" Anton snapped. "Have you not noticed that the sound is getting louder? They are not animals, but they are watching us. And they are not far away."

Their hearing must have been exceptionally keen because at first all I could hear were the familiar sounds that I had been exposed to all night. But I soon became aware of another presence. It sounded to me like the heavy, padded footsteps of a group of large herbivores foraging close by. Deer and elk inhabited these luxuriant green meadows, but so did several carnivorous animals like foxes and wolves. Since local poachers had hunted these latter to near extinction, I was never too afraid that I would encounter one. But the possibility remained nevertheless. I almost thought of approaching the two men to beg for protection, but decided to take my chances with a possible encounter with a wild animal than to entrust my safety to two strangers bearing rifles.