Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 08

Pari clasped her hands together and bowed her head. "Thank you, Sister Lenore! Thank you!"

Pari bowed her head several more times, as did her teammates, and Atma just sat there smiling, but dumbfounded, unaware that he might soon to be jettisoned for another more suitable candidate.

"I'm sorry, Atma," Lenore said to the confused man, as we followed her out the door to a thunderous applause.

We made our way back toward the tunnel entrance, and once there Charlotte said goodbye to us.

"You did the right thing, Lenore," she said.

"I did the fair thing," Lenore replied. "One cannot be held responsible for the actions of another, or for a faulty machine."

"I still feel bad for them though," I said.

"I do too," Lenore agreed. "Their chances of finding another champion at this late hour are almost nil."

As much as I was disappointed for the Indian team, in my heart I was glad that there was now one less threat with which to concern myself.

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

To her ever-growing list of talents, which included entrepreneur, spy, voyeur, thrill seeker, and dominatrix, Angelique, in her secretive and enterprising way, had recently found a new occupation to add to the mix—that ofexcavator. Ever since suffering a most humiliating defeat at the hands of her once-beloved cousin during the Villon sessions, she had determined that the "Long Shots" contest would be the means by which she would resurrect herself—like the mystical phoenix reborn from its own ashes—from that of a miserable failure to that of a world-class champion. It would be an act of personal redemption par excellence.

She had spent much time deliberating over the means by which she would accomplish this task and finally came upon the idea of embarking upon a grand renovation: the excavation of the ancient tunnel leading from the bunker to the lower regions of the castle dungeon by using her own elite corps of recently acquired Sisterhood comrades and their obsequious lackeys. It was an ambitious plan.

Angelique had learned of the existence of the old south tunnel the same day her mother did: when Pierre signed over the deed to the estate to Phoebe. When Phoebe's lawyer, an able and trusted friend of long-standing relation and a local resident, explained to her that the old tunnel was completely unserviceable, she thereafter put it out of her mind, knowing that the more recently built tunnel would be more than sufficient to meet her needs. Angelique, however, her calculating mind always intent upon seeking new and innovative ways of expressing itself, and her innate curiosity fueled by the thought that the native's alluded to underground treasure might possibly exist, continued to give the matter much thought, and secretly entertained the idea that one day she would find a way to breach the metal and concrete barrier that comprised the well-fortified bunker.

These plans, however, took on secondary importance once she became involved with the Sisterhood. Having recently made Lenore's acquaintance, which soon developed into a solid friendship, Phoebe was about to embark on a new journey of her own within the Sisterhood, and she would come to rely on her daughter's industriousness and energy to aid her in her new role as Sister, ultimately appointing Angelique as the second in command of the fledgling "Philanthropic Society." This mother and daughter team proved most efficacious, and Angelique found she had little time for anything else.

Soon, her involvement in the Society/Sisterhood became an all-consuming passion, and the social/economic landscape thus fashioned, in great part by her own intelligence and diligence, earned her the respect and admiration of her mother, the Sisters, and especially Lenore. In time Lenore would grow less fond of Angelique, seeing in Holly a far more acceptable successor to the Sisterhood throne. Although feeling greatly rebuffed by this decision, Angelique decided to bide her time, hoping that her cousin would eventually display some inevitable weakness that would remove her from her favored status. And if that didn't happen, she would see to it that Holly's inadequacies were eventually revealed by whatever means possible. But the unexpected treachery inflicted upon her by her cousin, which resulted in her recent defeat, now impelled her to take such action that would result in a comparative shift in the once stable landscape: a shift that would hopefully tip the balance of power in her favor; creating a rift in the very fabric of the Sisterhood nation that would pit equal against equal; Sister against Sister. Lenore's disaffection, her cousin's betrayal, and her own mother's lack of sympathy toward her plight, gave impetus to her desire in seeing the Sisterhood brought to heel. But their combined disloyalty did much more than anger her—it incited her to seek revenge against the very people and institutions that had placed her in such an already exalted position. It was a crisis of conscience that now confronted her, and she found in her conscience a willing conspirator.

In her role as chief administrator of the Society, Angelique had performed many favors for certain Sisters over the past year. Now it was time for some of these favors to be called in. Immediately following her humiliating experience during the "test" session, she began to form a coalition of women whom she knew she could count upon to serve her in her hour of need. Many of these women were her friends and acquaintances, others were malcontents who themselves were dissatisfied with Lenore's sovereignty and sought to affiliate themselves with Angelique via commonality of purpose. One of these was Marge Davis, a woman who was a member of this latter group, but who also enjoyed a close friendship with Angelique.

It was upon Marge's shoulders that Angelique has placed the daunting task of assembling a work force that would transform the once inaccessible tunnel into a viable passageway into the lower depths of the castle. Marge had carried out this injunction with uncommon zeal, using her influence as one of the highest-ranking members within the Sisterhood to enjoin a group of workers that included surveyors, architects, engineers, and laborers who would translate Angelique's directives into action and without question. This group was comprised entirely of Sisterhood members and their confederates.

The day after the "test," Angelique had already had her plan solidified and ready to put in motion. She had barely slept the night before, having spent hours on the phone with Marge and a few other trusted friends explaining the details of her operation. It had always been a matter of contention to the local residents, including Pierre himself, whether or not the tunnel had caved in on itself since the decades it had ceased being used or was still capable of being repaired. In this Angelique was willing to take the chance of finding out one way or the other.

It was decided that the project would commence immediately and that work would be performed only during the evening hours after all the farm laborers had gone home. The fact that the old tunnel was roughly one mile away from the new one, and obscured by rolling hills and vegetation, aided in keeping the work from being discovered. The fact that this particular tract of land was uncultivated and quite a distance away from the vineyards meant that hardly anyone ever visited the spot, and this, too, worked to their advantage. Electrical generators were used to power lights and to handle the requirements of power tools, but even these were used sparingly in favor of larger teams working with standard equipment like pickaxes, shovels, and wheelbarrows. This was done in order to keep the noise level to a minimum.

The first order of business was to remove the densely packed vegetation and underbrush that covered the bunker door. This effort alone, even with the help of two- dozen workers, took several hours to accomplish. Once was the door was free of debris, the lead engineer determined that the best way to remove the bunker's huge iron door was to fasten steel cables to the door's iron bolts and then, with the aid of a giant winch, pull the door off its massive hinges. This was achieved after several tries in which the cables kept slipping off the bolts when approaching maximum tension. Ultimately, a way was found to secure the cables so that they would be prevented from slipping off. With a loud and terrifying creak, the bolts reluctantly gave way and were ripped from the supporting concrete structure. The giant iron door fell to the earth with a huge thud.

When the dust had cleared, Angelique, accompanied by Marge and several trusted acolytes, had proceeded with flashlights into the gaping, black hole that stood before them. Despite protests from the engineers, Angelique had insisted that she be the first to pass through the ancient threshold, displaying calm indifference to her own personal safety.

As she and her group entered the tunnel, a sudden rush of cool, damp air that hinted of stale and putrefying things greeted them. This did not dissuade her progress but seemed to enervate her instead, much to the chagrin of her apprehensive companions. The passage they entered was broad, roughly six feet in width, and the ceiling rose to over eight feet in height, plenty of room to navigate the larger items that would eventually find their way into this underground world.

The engineers followed close behind Angelique, examining the tunnel's earthen walls and ceilings for any sign of possible danger from collapse. But the men who had designed this tunnel had been exceptional engineers. They had employed huge wooden beams and crossbeams supported by huge iron bolts, which seemed, upon close inspection, to have maintained their structural integrity over the span of almost seventy years. Only in one spot—a distance of about one hundred feet from the entrance to the tunnel—did they discover that several beams had been damaged and now lay strewn upon the floor hindering further passage. This problem could be easily rectified Angelique was told.

Desirous to reach the dungeon, Angelique gave orders to the engineers to remove the debris and reinforce the weakened points with additional steel beams. It took three hours for the work to be completed, upon which she and her team reentered the tunnel and proceeded northward toward the dungeon.

It seemed that this old tunnel was not in as bad a shape and had been believed, and Angelique was beside herself with joy. The tunnel itself was only a quarter of a mile in length and once the blockage had been removed no other structural anomalies were discovered to hamper their progress. The ground itself was surprisingly dry and firm, making their trek less arduous than it might have been. In a short while she found herself staring into an immense black void—the place where the tunnel ended and the dungeon began. Directing their flashlights into the cavity, Angelique and her accomplices soon realized that they were standing at the entrance to a world long forgotten: a time when men and women paid for their transgressions on the rack or were left to die shackled to enormous iron chains that hung from the ceiling.

After a short and cursory inspection of the dungeon—insisted upon by the engineers who had warned Angelique that the tunnel's stability, though seemingly intact to the naked eye, could not be taken for granted until further stabilization was performed—the team exited the tunnel and began the laborious job of transporting huge steel support beams into the shaft. It took three nights to finish the job working ten-hour shifts that employed over fifty people at one time.

On the fourth day all work ceased and the equipment and tools were removed from the site. All that remained were a few generators and some prefabricated wooden flooring materials that would be brought in later once the dirt floor of the dungeon had been cleared of whatever debris still remained inside. This Angelique insisted she and her closest associates would attend to. Nobody beyond her own circle of friends cared or asked why. They were paid, sworn to secrecy, and let go, with the understanding that their services may be required again in the not too distant future, and that Angelique would have need of them in the new world order that she would create from the ashes of the old.

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

The "Long Shots" contest first came into being by accident during one particular Sisterhood party in which two drunk and argumentative Sisters bet against each other to see which of their male slaves could ejaculate the farthest. No one remembers whom it was that first thought of the idea, but it became immediately popular and eventually evolved into a more sophisticated affair over the ensuing years, with Sisterhood covens from all over the world being represented in the annual contest.

The trainers represented a diverse age group and came from many different backgrounds. But the one thing they all had in common was the coveted "skillful hand" gift—a talent to control men sexually simply by using their hands. Most women could effectively bring a man to orgasm via masturbation, but a masturbatrix—the name given to the most highly accomplished hand artisans—was capable of controlling a man completely, until his very soul became mere putty in her hands. Because the talent was so unique and brought forth such astonishing results, the masturbatrix was regarded as the epitome of sexual wonder workers—superior to the less talented, but more forceful, dominatrix. To most Sisters, the skillful hand gift was something you were born with: an intrinsic talent shared only by prodigies and which training could only refine. Those less stellar aspirants to the title might spend years studying technique, but they would never attain the full potential of those born with the "gift."

I didn't realize that I possessed this specialized ability until Lenore brought it to my attention after she had seen me masturbate Craig during our visit to Sylvie's boutique a week ago. I recall her telling me that I played upon Craig's penis as though it were a musical instrument and I was the maestro. Her description seemed funny to me at the time, but it accurately reflected the manner in which my hands sought to control and dominate his genitals. A masturbatrix she and I might be, but something had to be said for the one being masturbated as well.

Craig had a strong mental and physical attraction to me, as I did to him. In addition, it was in his nature to please women, and he found the highest expression of this proclivity exemplified in his relationship with me. In other words, we were mutually "in tune" with each other, and this made for superb teamwork, whether I was "gifted" or not. We had what Felicia might have described as "simpatico," that quality of being able to read into each other's psyches and translate those impressions into conscious actions. Judging by the way I saw most trainers handle their champions, it was apparent to me that a similar type of symbiosis was involved.

I arrived at the training room at noon and found my champion and team waiting for me looking bright and eager. I had eaten breakfast alone but managed to say good-morning to my aunt who was busily rehearsing her welcoming speech. Angelique was nowhere to be found. All the girls were wearing some combination of sneakers, blouse, and shorts; Craig was wearing the requisite white robe.

"Guess what I have?" Zula said, waving a DVD in front of my face.

"I don't know," I replied. "But it is polite to say 'good afternoon' don't you think?"

"Don't ever accuse her of being polite," Joanna said to me. "You'll only get her mad."

"Well?" I said. "What is it?"

"This is a movie of last year's competition. We can put this to good use."

"Great," I said. "Put it on the table over there and let's get down to business."

Zula seemed a bit miffed at my abruptness, but I was anxious to go over my plans as soon as possible.

"How are you feeling, Craig?" I asked. "You look like you had a good night's rest."

"I did," he replied happily. "Got ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. I feel great."

"I'm not asking you to perform miracles today. I just want you to place in the qualifying rounds."

"No problem, Holly. I'm ready when you are."

I took some time to explain once again the rules pertaining to these tryout sessions with my team. In this particular round there was really nothing my associates could do except stand aside and watch me masturbate Craig. Their involvement with the contest would take on far greater dimensions later on, when the final round would determine the winner. However, I needed their moral support as well as their conscientious attention to make certain that I was giving my team and myself every possible chance for success.

"We're with you, Holly," Charlotte reminded me.

"Damn right!" Janet exclaimed.

"Bravo! Fortuna!" Felicia added.

Joanna gave Craig a quick exam and confirmed he was is excellent condition.

"Four days without an ejaculation, right?" she asked Craig.

"Yes, ma'm."

"Well, Holly, if your skills are up to snuff, you should have him spurting to the moon."

"I'll settle for a good ten feet," I replied, smiling at Craig.

At exactly 12:30 PM the giant doors leading into the Masturbatorium opened wide, allowing the attendees to enter. Like us, some of the teams came in during the morning to train, but most were happy to forego training and simply slept late. These teams now entered along with the rest of the throng while announcements were made over the loudspeaker directing the various delegations and their teams to their designated seats.

As I led my team into the main concourse, we were joined by masses of people who quickly formed around us, pulling us forward. Thankfully, there were many acolytes who interspersed themselves amongst the crowd, breaking up the momentum of this human chain, creating smaller groups that could be more easily manipulated and directed. I was, frankly, overwhelmed by the size of the crowd, having been informed by Zula that the numbers had now reached well beyond one thousand people.

My aunt had decided that the seating design should take the form of twenty wooden tiers upon which chairs were placed along a 180-degree arc, in the fashion of an ancient Roman amphitheatre. To the right of the amphitheatre and perpendicular to it was the judge's booth; directly across the booth was the podium, which faced the spectators. And several feet beyond the podium stood the lanes where the contest would be held. There were a total of ten lanes in all, and they looked very similar to bowling lanes with the exception that black, plastic markers had been placed every foot along the way to measure the distance of each ejaculation. In addition, there were rubber foot grips installed into the wood where the masturbatrix and her champion were to stand, and a thin, red, plastic carpet covered the area from the start line to the farthest marker—thirty feet away. Sisterhood acolytes, appointed to track the distance of each cumshot, stood at each lane's ten-foot marker with pen and paper in hand, making conversation with each other as they awaited the keynote address to begin.

At first I thought the idea of a man shooting his sperm 30 feet away quite funny, but quickly recalled that Craig had came near to achieving a 20-foot cumshot only recently at Sylvie's. And Jacques LaSalle had succeeded in passing the 18-foot barrier the year before during this very same contest. The thought that someone's orgasm might actually span the 30-foot limit was something I could not quite comprehend, and I began to wonder just what method of teasing and denial, extended milking by hand and machine, and supplemental oral concoctions might produce such a prodigious feat.