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?