tagExhibitionist & VoyeurAunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 06

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."


Marge Davis sat back in her chair and chuckled. She loved the new machine Angelique had purchased recently from a company in Denmark that specialized in such fiendishly erotic devices as the "Chastiser" and the "Sperm Eradicator II". This most recent addition to the company's line of sex machinery was really nothing more than a standard penis-pumping device: a fiberglass cylinder with soft rubber lips at one end that was fitted over the penis and operated by remote control. The contoured lips, mimicking a human mouth, hugged the base of the shaft and could be retracted via a pair of hydraulic arms set inside the cylinder, thus producing the sensation one might experience from an intense blowjob. Angelique had informed Marge that no man who had worn the device had ever left it empty.

But the thing that differentiated this current model from its predecessors was the addition of a specially formulated cream that exuded from the tiny pores in the lips themselves—all at the touch of a button, keeping the penis erect for hours and providing for almost total hands-free operation. No more did the mistress have to spend time removing the device after a certain amount of time to grease her slave's penis. Now she could attend to other more important matters while the victim was relentlessly milked for hours on end. And the best thing about this device was that it contained a built-in sensor that could accurately gauge if a penis was about to ejaculate. Detecting this, the machine could slow itself down or completely shut itself off, depending on the settings chosen, and would sound a simultaneous warning beep to alert the mistress that a rest period was in order.

This particular device, now in quiet operation on the naked man sitting closest to Marge, was called FISTED (Fully Integrated Sucking and Teasing Ejaculation Device), but Angelique lovingly referred to it as "hot lips". She had taught Marge how to use the machine during experiments she had conducted several days earlier on some of the more hopeful candidates for the "Long Shots" contest. Marge had grown so fond of "hot lips" that she and Angelique would sit in the training rooms of the Masturbatorium for hours, holding their own series of private contests to see what man could last the longest under the effects of the wickedly pleasurable device before watching him surrender the creamy contents of his balls into the cylinder. It had almost become a pastime for the brazen blonde girl and her impeccably dressed English lady friend. And now with the contest only a mere two weeks away, their attempts to sponsor a champion was growing more and more remote.

"All over my fucking clothes!" Angelique complained loudly as she entered the room where Marge was busy controlling three separate hot lips devices at once.

"What in bloody hell happened to you?" the Sister remarked with a surprised look.

"What do you think?" Angelique replied, showing the woman her skirt and blouse. "He fucking creamed me!"

Great blotches of sperm dotted her clothes, and she cursed as she made her way gingerly toward the sink. "It's the old hot lips machines. They're useless. In the middle of lubing him up his cock shot off. We've got to get rid of them."

Marge watched the frustrated girl wash her hands and arms, which had also received a sizeable portion of semen.

"I mean it's not as if we can't afford them," Angelique continued. "These new ones are so much better."

"I think so," Marge said, fondling a button on one of the devices, which in turn made one of the men groan. "See that? You don't have move from your chair and there's never any danger of getting splashed."

"That's fine with me!" Angelique noted, as another series of groans emanated from the group of men.

When she was done washing up, Angelique took one of the devices from Marge and sat down beside her. She played with a few of the buttons, increasing the speed at which the hydraulic arms moved back and forth over the slave's penis.

"How does that feel Jacques? You worthless piece of shit!"

Jacques LaSalle looked at Angelique but could not reply. His mouth had been taped shut and his hands and legs had been locked into restraints that prevented him from moving to any appreciable degree. The other two men had been treated the same way. They were all submissive men, and Angelique knew this. But as it was only she and Marge in the Masturbatorium tonight, with all the Sisterhood attending the dinner party, she felt it incumbent upon her to take precautionary measures to assure their safety. Not that she was overly concerned that the men might get out of hand, but Jacques was a fairly moody guy, and his reactions could not always be guaranteed.

"As sick as this sounds," the girl began with a sarcastic drawl, "you three are the last ones left. It's pathetic."

"Yes, quite pathetic," Marge agreed.

"And do you assholes know why it's so pathetic?" Angelique asked them, but addressing herself to Jacques in particular. "It's pathetic because right now I know of at least two other guys who can do far better than any of you. So, if you want to compete, you better be the last to cum."

Marge saw the resolution in Angelique's face and knew the moment had come to put these men to the test. "Let's do it," she said, her hands on the controls of both remote devices.

"Okay, let's get these fuckers off. Set it for the highest speed and let's see what happens."

Angelique took her remote control and keyed in a number on the digital interface.

"Ready?" she said to Marge.

"Ready," Marge replied.

"Remember," Angelique said to her nervous and naked victims, "you guys have five minutes. Whoever can last five minutes gets to compete."

With that, she and Marge put all three machines into full-speed mode.

The two women laughed as the hydraulic arms moved up and down at a very rapid pace, causing the men's bodies to jerk back and forth at the intrusion upon their genitals. The tiny motors that were incorporated into these devices whirred softly as they drove the metal arms back and forth, forcing the well-lubricated lips to perform like a human mouth, with all the attendant oral pleasures it provided. One of the men, a small, wiry specimen with curly hair, was finding it difficult not to thrust his hips back and forth in an attempt to fuck the cylinder. This, however, was impossible, since his restraints prevented him from moving his torso in any but the most limited way, increasing his frustration while providing entertainment for the two women.

"I'll bet you'd like to fuck that thing, you fucking pervert!" Angelique laughed.

The man seemed to pay her no attention; all of his focus now being upon his cock and the tremendous need to ejaculate.

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