Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 09

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The weeklong training period for the "Long Shots" contest was ready to commence. I awoke early, about 6:00 AM, dressed, and had a quick breakfast of cold cereal. It seemed everyone was still asleep, and for that I was grateful. I really didn't want to run into my cousin. I could not bring myself to look into those malignant, hypnotic blue eyes of hers this early in the morning or have to endure any of her casually indifferent remarks. It was bad enough that I might encounter her during the training sessions, and I didn't want to compound the experience if I could help it. Once back in my bedroom, I felt secure knowing that she was beyond my reach for the present. I sighed with relief as I looked over the training schedule, making adjustments here and there as I deemed necessary.

The training week would run from Monday through Friday, 9:00 AM to 3:00 PM, with a one-hour rest period. Saturday was the day of the contest, which would be held at 2:00 PM in the main hall of the Masturbatorium. Even now my mind was envisioning a great victory for my team. I saw myself holding the "Antoinette" award in my hands, acknowledging the thunderous applause that greeted my victory with silent and dignified grace. But most of all, I relished the look of utter defeat on Angelique's face, the sanguine, hypnotic blue eyes no longer reflecting the malice within but replaced with a vacant incomprehensibility, as she and her team made their ignominious exit from the great hall, the procession of unhappy, cowering figures casting evil glances at me and my associates as the deafening applause followed them out. It was a moment I savored in my mind for quite some time before coming back down to earth.

It was now down to seven teams: United States, Italy, France, Brazil, China, Greece, and the Andaman Islands. In truth, any champion could win. Nothing in these contests was ever a given. However, I was fortunate in that I had on my team several women who had previously won the coveted award—women like Felicia and Zula and Janet. Our team could only benefit from their combined expertise, and I was grateful for their support.

I got to the training room about 8:30 AM, surprised to see my entire team, including Craig, already there waiting for me. Most of the other rooms were still dark, but there were a few, including Angelique's, that were already bustling with activity. I greeted everyone and gave Craig a big hug. He was already completely naked and was being masturbated by Felicia in order to prepare him for the Extractinator.

"Isn't this the finest dork you've ever seen?" she said to me with a grin, as her delicate fingers skimmed over the length of his hardening prick with ease.

"I think it is," I replied, admiring Craig's equipment. "You girls are here early."

"We wanted you to know that we are serious about winning this competition, Holly," Charlotte said, as her eyes shifted from the Extractinator control panel to meet mine.

She was wearing a pair of faded jeans, sneakers, and a white blouse with no bra—a far cry from the exquisitely dressed woman I had seen the last time we were together.

"I have no doubts about that," I replied. "Is the machine ready to go?"

"Almost," Zula said, as she fidgeted with some of the controls on the panel. "Manual override enabled. We're good."

Joanna and Janet were staring at Felicia all during this time, watching her pull ever harder on Craig's now fully erect cock.

"I'd say you've got him as hard as he's going to get," Joanna chuckled.

"Yeah, cut it out Felicia," Janet warned. "You might make him cum."

"Are you ready, Craig?" I asked him.

"Whenever you are," he replied, seemingly anxious to get started.

"Okay, ladies," I said. "Put him in the machine."

As I watched them help him into the imposing device I was again reminded of how friendly and willing to please he was. He obeyed every one of their orders speedily and without question, sometimes looking at me for reassurance but never showing the slightest hint of unwillingness to perform as instructed. They, in turn, treated him almost as if he were a fragile and priceless piece of artwork. Even Zula found it difficult to remain taciturn for very long in his presence, his easy manner and affable disposition seeming to have a quelling effect upon her.

Once he had been secured within the machine I had Zula start the program and we all sat down and watched as his cock and balls were fondled, prodded, and stroked for the next hour. He showed remarkable restraint, even when the mechanical hand was set to its highest position. We watched astonished as the hand flew up and down his greasy pole at speeds no human hand could match, and yet his concentration could not be broken. For a full five minutes this tortuous handjob continued, and at one point I saw him look at me with a sense of pride at his accomplishment. I knew, as we all did, that this could not continue for much longer without causing an ejaculation, so I ordered Zula to end the training session and let Craig rest for a short while before beginning again.

After Zula and the others had helped him out of the device, he staggered over to me—his legs wobbly and his face flushed—and sat down.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

"Fine. It's just that my body…it feels like one big piece of jello!"

"Your face is all red."

"And I feel tingly all over. That machine is something else."

"Do you think you would have cum if we kept going?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but I'm glad you ended it when you did."

For the rest of the day we had Craig alternate between being serviced by the machine and our own expert hands, and at 3:00 PM I ended the training session and ordered him to go home. At first he seemed reluctant to go, but I was forced to remind him that fraternization between a mistress and her champion during training sessions was strictly forbidden. In truth, I wanted to be with him, but I had to be firm. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with Lenore.

The remainder of the week went by pretty quickly; each day almost like a replay of the day before, with minor variations. Zula had become an expert at handling the machine, knowing precisely when to stop the device before sending Craig into orgasmic oblivion. For his part, Craig performed superbly, managing to maintain control over his penis to the degree that neither any of us, or the Extractinator, could force him to give up his sperm. I had never seen such self-control exhibited in a man before, and it made me feel confident that he would perform well in the contest.

On Friday, the day before the contest, I decided not to push things too far, as I felt that Craig needed rest more than another rigorous training session. At noon the other girls and I went for lunch while Craig rested on the bed in the adjoining room. I felt bad for him lying there looking up at me with those large blue eyes, unable to eat a morsel until training had commenced. He took it stoically, knowing that his sacrifice would not be in vain.

Zula had had a rather large breakfast, so she decided to stay behind and continue to work with the machine. She had always been a sullen person, but today she seemed even more so. I could see that something was bothering her, but she went about her business as usual, barely speaking to anyone. At one point, Charlotte inquired if she was feeling all right, to which Zula responded with a scowl. I decided not to interrogate the big black woman, fearing she might lash out at one us. So I left her alone and let her do as she wished. The image of her smashing in her late boyfriend's skull with a hammer simply because he did not like her dress, made me err on the side of caution.

My aunt Phoebe, Lenore, Justine, and Estelle met my colleagues and me for lunch. We sat at a long table in the main hall, which had been outfitted to serve as a cafeteria until the training sessions had ended. During this time I saw Angelique and Marge Davis at another table not far away, laughing and joking as if they already knew the outcome of the contest. She wore a pair of white shorts, sneakers, and a black halter-top, and her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail. She looked at me a few times, but I paid her no attention. At one point my aunt had called to her to join us at our table but she acted as if she didn't even recognize us.

Marge Davis looked her usual sinister self. She was dressed in a pair of black leather jeans and black blouse, over which she wore and half-length black leather jacket. To compliment her attire she wore a pair of black leather riding boots, to which were attached a pair of jodhpurs. The only thing she was missing was a whip. Like Angelique, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but on her its effect was much less flattering, giving her appearance a particularly severe quality. She sat next to her confederate; listening to everything my cousin had to say but saying nothing herself. All she did was sit there and laugh, sometimes loudly, and with a frightening maliciousness that gave me a cold feeling down my spine. Charlotte glanced now and then at the source of this malignancy and I saw her face turn dark. After one particularly loud outburst of laughter she cursed to herself in French and I saw her knuckles turn white as they firmly clutched the knife she was holding.

"English pig!" she said into my ear.

"Don't let them get to you," I replied as quietly as I could. "They'd love nothing more than to ruffle our feathers. Ignore them."

The laughing from the other table continued unabated, but Charlotte retained her composure. However, it was my aunt who finally lost her temper.

"What could possibly be so funny that the two of you must continue to act like a bunch of hyenas?"

"Since when is it against the rules to laugh?" Angelique retorted in her impudent way.

"Since it is most disturbing to the rest of us who are trying to enjoy our lunch. Take it elsewhere or shut up."

Without a word both my cousin and Marge Davis quickly got up and marched out of the room without giving any of us another look.

Lenore shook her head in disgust. "Forgive me Phoebe for saying this, but I hope that Holly and her girls make mincemeat out of the French team."

My aunt looked dismayed. "I don't understand why she must be so obnoxious. There is no excuse for it. I must apologize for her behavior."

"I passed her in the outer hall this morning and she didn't say a word to me," Justine commented.

"And why should she?" Estelle replied forlornly. "If she treats her own mother like this, how can we expect any better?"

"I don't know what to do about it," my aunt said. "I think something in her mind has snapped."

Lenore swallowed a morsel of food and then took a leisurely sip of wine. "I am sorry to say it but I think you are right."

My aunt looked directly into her superior's eyes. "And what am I going to do about it? Can you—can anyone here help me?"

"I don't think you should do anything about it," Felicia interrupted. "At least not now."

Janet removed the fork from her mouth in one quick motion. "But if she's sick—I'm sorry Phoebe—if she's sick then she needs professional help. I don't think it is a good idea to wait."

"Thank you for your professional opinion," my aunt replied dourly. "What about you Joanna? You're a doctor. What do you suggest?"

The beautiful redhead raised her napkin to her mouth to wipe away a crumb and smiled faintly. "I'm a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist. But if you really want my advice, I would wait until the contest is over before making any plans. And your inauguration is coming up in a few weeks. I'm sure you're going to want your daughter there."

"Oh, I don't care about that," my aunt said dismissively. "I just want her to be healthy again. I can't bear to see her acting so recklessly."

"I still would advise you to wait until the contest is over. It's only another day. If you want, I will speak to some of my colleagues and we will work something out. You know I will help you in any way I can."

"I will defer to your judgment because you are the professional here. For now we will let it rest."

No one said another word about Angelique. But during the rest of our conversation my aunt said very little. Even though she laughed at a few of our jokes, I could tell that inside she was sad. Lately her eyes had lost some of their sparkling luster. That inner radiance that bespoke of a love of life and the energy to live it to the fullest extent was now partly hidden behind an impenetrable veil of gloom. These days she seemed distant and often taciturn, as if her concern for her daughter occupied her mind to the exclusion of all else. And for this, I despised Angelique even more.

"What the hell is going on there?" Justine remarked, rising abruptly from the table to look over my head.

Suddenly, I heard several women screaming and turned around to see the entire Brazilian team running toward us.

"Come quickly!" one of the women shouted at us. "The machine is blowing up and the man is still inside!"

"Jesus Christ!" I heard my aunt swear aloud as she and our entire table quickly rose and dashed toward the training room.

The acrid smell of an electrical fire reached my nostrils several seconds before I actually saw the smoke emanating from the door of our training room. As we approached the door, I could hear Craig's voice screaming from inside. He was trapped in the machine!

My aunt tried to open the door but it was locked.

"Holly, get this door open or otherwise he's going to die in there!" my aunt shouted as she fumbled with the doorknob.

As I inserted the key into the lock Lenore ordered some of the women to fetch a fire extinguisher. I quickly got the door open and was greeted by a thick cloud of black smoke. Craig was coughing loudly and shouting for someone to help him. I heard the loud screeching sound of metal upon metal—the Extractinator was still on, and seemed to be operating at top speed.

I knew that I didn't have much time. Crawling on hands and knees, with my eyes tearing and my throat dry with smoke, I made my way to the power switch and pulled the plug. The machine stopped abruptly. Looking up I could see the dim outline of Craig still locked into the device. He moaned a few times and started coughing again.

"Craig, it's me." I shouted to him. "We're going to get you out of there. Hang tight."

He moaned a few more times and continued coughing, this time more violently.

"We need help!" I cried. "Aunt Phoebe!"

From behind me I heard a loud commotion and turned around to see my aunt, Lenore, and several other women come rushing into the room. One was carrying a fire extinguisher and was using it on the power console, which was aflame.

"Work quickly!" I heard my aunt tell the women as she and Lenore lifted me to my feet.

By this time everyone was coughing uncontrollably as a result of the thick, pervasive smoke that filled our lungs.

"Hurry," Lenore cried through choking gasps as my team and I worked feverishly to extricate Craig from the broken machine.

It was difficult to work as the smoke made the room very opaque. But under my direction we managed to free Craig in less than a minute. It took seven of us to carry his body out into the hall and away from the smoke. He appeared semiconscious.

We laid him down on the floor outside one of the training rooms and I put a small pillow under his head. He was breathing heavily and still coughing. One of the girls offered me cup of water, which I put to his lips. He took a sip but could not seem to swallow it. The coughing continued.

"Auntie," I said, as I looked at my aunt with tear-filled eyes.

Immediately my aunt kneeled beside me, her eyes welling up too. "Oh, child," she said stroking my hair. "He'll be okay. He'll be okay."

"I don't understand," Lenore said to Justine. "How could this have happened?"

"I don't know," Justine replied. "The machines have been in use for quite some time. I've never heard of any problems with them. Certainly nothing like this."

"That's because there was nothing wrong with the machine," I said. "The fault was with the person who programmed it."

"Are you saying somebody sabotaged the machine?" Joanna said.

"Yes," I replied. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Lenore swore under her breath. "But who would do such and thing? And why?"

"Someone who wanted to hurt us, obviously," Felicia said.

"Yes," I said. "Someone who knew how to program the machine. Someone in our group who's not with us right now."

Craig opened his eyes slowly and smiled at me. He indicated he wanted some water so I put the cup to his mouth and he took a little sip. He put his right hand on my arm and let it rest there.

"Thank you," he said between coughs.

Lenore ordered all training sessions ended for the day and had our training room shut down. A few hours later Craig was feeling much better and my aunt had Jake drive him home. Before he left, he had explained to us exactly what happened, and it served to corroborate my own intuitions about the woman who had once been part of my team.

It had been an eventful day, and as I said goodbye to my teammates I knew they were feeling the same sense of anger and disillusionment as I was at having been betrayed. It wasn't enough that Lenore had excommunicated the saboteur from the Sisterhood when it was found she had left the country the following day. I would find a way to make her pay for her crime that almost destroyed the life of the boy I loved. Somehow I would find a way to make that big, black woman pay.

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

Phoebe was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming because she was happy. It was the second night of her honeymoon and she and Pierre were staying at his villa in Tuscany, which sat on a high promontory overlooking the Mediterranean. They sat on the veranda drinking wine of the local variety and the sun was just beginning to set. She luxuriated in the cooling breeze that swept off the crystal clear aquamarine sea and sighed longingly.

Pierre looked so handsome in the waning light of the nascent sun. His eyes were strikingly blue, like the waters of the ocean itself. And behind those penetrating eyes was a keen mind, full of love and devotion to none other but her. She knew this not because he had so often reminded her of it, but because of the way he treated her: as if she were a priceless gem without equal. They had already made love twice before during the day, and she was ready for another round.

"I don't want you to think I was spying on you, my love," she began in dulcet tones, "but I came across some of your pornography the other day."

"What pornography?" he inquired, feigning innocence.

"Those magazines you keep in your second drawer. You know, the ones from America. I found them when you asked me to pack your underwear."

"Oh, those!" he laughed. "I've had them for years. I hope you weren't offended by them."

"I'm not offended. I know that men like to jerk off to the pictures. It's normal."

He sat back in his chair and admired her for a few moments before speaking. "You know, I'm glad you feel that way, Phoebe. Many women see such things as a threat. But the truth is, most men need these outlets for their overactive libidos."

"You mean most men need to release those billions of sperm that you guys produce every day."

"Oui," he replied sheepishly.

She threw her head back and laughed. "I totally understand. Why don't we go inside and I'll help you get rid of the rest of that sticky spunk you've got left in your balls."

Pierre's eyes lit up. "Again? Really? Oh, I love when you talk to me with that filthy American mouth of yours my cheri. Sacre bleu!"