Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 09

He threw himself upon her just then and kissed her savagely.

"Not here," she insisted. "Let's go indoors."

Leading him by the hand, she dragged him into the bedroom and methodically removed his shirt, slippers, pants and underwear. In no time at all he was standing in front of her completely naked, while she remained fully clothed. When he made a motion to remove her dress, she moved his hands away.

"No," she said firmly. "I want to keep my clothes on this time. You know. Like the women in those films you like to watch do."

Pierre smiled. "You mean like in the CFNM movies?"

She nodded and gently pushed him down onto the bed.

During the course of their lovemaking, Phoebe stopped to remove something from her night table. It was a thin, plastic dildo.

"What are you doing," he asked her.

"I want to try something."

"Like what?" he inquired further, eying the plastic cylinder with suspicion.

She sucked the top of the dildo as if she were administering a blowjob to it. "I want to stick this thing up your ass while I jerk off your big, swollen prick."

His eyes widened. "You want to stick that thing in me?"

"Oh, come on, my love. I've seen the pictures you masturbate to. Most of them show a guy getting fucked with a strap-on dildo. I know you like it so let's try it."

Unlike Pierre, Phoebe was always willing to try new and different things. She was spontaneous where he was calculating. She was adventurous where he was reserved. And in the sexual arena, she was dominant where he was submissive. In contrast to his aggressive tendencies in the business world, it was always she who took the lead in the bedroom.

"I must admit that I have often thought about being penetrated but I was afraid to tell you," he confessed.

"Why?"

"Because I thought you might think less of me."

She shook her head. "Oh, Pierre, that's ridiculous. People who love each other should not be afraid to experiment in sexual matters. If you don't like it, we don't have to do it again. Now put your legs up on my shoulders so I can play with your asshole."

Without a word he did as she asked. Placing a small amount of lubricant on the end of the dildo she gently inserted the tip into his rectum, guiding it slowly in and out in a steady but slow rhythmical fashion. Pierre groaned.

"How does it feel?" she asked him.

"Very…nice…" he replied with eyes closed.

After only a few minutes of working the dildo in and out of his asshole, Phoebe noticed that his cock was now fully erect.

"Look at you!" she laughed. "I guess you do like it after all."

Pierre barely replied. He just looked down at his turgid prick and closed his eyes again while his wife continued to fuck him with the dildo.

"I really want to watch you cum," she said as she wrapped her long fingers around his pulsing shaft.

It took her exactly three minutes of concentrated pulling on his organ to coax out his hot sperm. She seemed to have both hands working in synchronous motion: when her right hand inserted the dildo, her left hand pulled up hard on his cock, forcing him to force his lower body upwards off the mattress. Her machine-like cadence seemed to propel him into new heights of ecstasy. She found this delightful.

"Shoot it really hard, Pierre," she demanded. "I want to see it get into my hair."

As she spoke those words he looked up into her beautiful face, so reminiscent of a famous movie actress of the 1950s who became the real life princess of a ruler of a foreign country. Like her, Phoebe possessed the same perfectly symmetrical facial features, the high cheekbones, the delicate mouth and small aquiline nose, the steely gray-blue eyes, and the long, resplendent blonde hair pulled up high off her face, revealing her exquisitely shaped ears upon which hung the diamond and emerald earrings he had bought her for her last birthday.

Now, as he watched her pull on him, his balls preparing to launch his third load of semen for the day, all he could think of was granting her request to send his hot cum flying up into the air and splashing into her face and hair. If some landed in her lovely mouth—so much the better. He wanted to soak her in his sperm, to completely drench her in the hot aftermath of his raging lust.

Suddenly, his body tensed. Seeing his balls rise up towards the base of his shaft, Phoebe knew he was about to ejaculate. Both hands now worked his anus and prick with great speed, as they sought to provoke an intense orgasm.

Pierre screamed and thrust his body upward as far as it would go. The first jet of cream sailed straight up into the air in front of Phoebe's face and flew over her head and into the wall behind her. The next volley splashed across her left cheek and settled into her hair, leaving a trail of sperm from her forehead to her ear. As she laughed at this, the third and fourth ropes of cum flew into her now open mouth, and she laughed even harder as she stuck out her tongue to play with the fresh sperm, a portion of which now formed a thick glaze on her lips. Pierre opened his eyes just long enough to see the next three giant ejaculations meet head on with his lovely wife's upper body, coating her chest, neck, and both arms with his sticky warm fluid. His final few spurts dribbled down onto her hand as she gently withdrew the dildo from his anus. Pierre sighed heavily.

"That was the greatest orgasm I have ever had in my life!" he finally managed to say.

"I'm glad, my love," she said. "Let me get this stuff off my face and then I would like you to eat my pussy until I cum in your mouth. Would you do that for me?"

"With pleasure," he assured her.

In gratitude, Pierre employed his tongue on her clit in such a way that he forced her to cum several times, each time more violent than the one before. Phoebe was happy—very happy. And then she awoke.

She found herself sitting in her study, with piles of paperwork surrounding her. She ordered the maid to bring her some tea and resumed her work. It was well past dinnertime and she had slept right through it. Although hungry, she continued to attend to the matters at hand, which she knew could not be put off.

She thought about Pierre and how far he had fallen in little over twenty years' time, and how different a man he had become. She, too, had changed, but she had not become corrupted, as he had, flaunting the law and abusing his family when times got tough. Over the years he had become impatient and surly, often threatening her and Angelique with physical abuse. In time, he would eventually take out his rage on his wife, and to a lesser degree, his daughter, causing them to live in ever-increasing fear of provoking his wrath.

Phoebe did what she could to maintain some sense of normalcy in the emotional maelstrom that enveloped her family, but even her love for him, powerful and steadfast as it was—had its limits. Eventually she was forced to file for divorce. The material possessions she received as part of the settlement were little recompense for the loss of his love. She had always believed that somehow he would find himself on the right path again, and try once more to make their marriage work. But this did not happen. Pierre had succumbed to whatever demons were forever plaguing him, and his star had grown dim and was now finally extinguished.

She was just finishing the last of her tea when Jacques LaSalle, proceeded by one of her maids, came walking into the study. The maid introduced him and walked away quietly as Phoebe motioned him to take a seat next to her. It was 6:30 PM and the setting sun cast long, amber streaks of light across the expansive room in which they sat silently contemplating each other.

Phoebe liked Jacques. The fact that he was invariably prompt for all their meetings made her like him even more. Unlike her recalcitrant daughter, Jacques adhered to the conventions of polite society and was both cordial and respectful. Normally, warm and forthcoming, the young foreman, who so meticulously and diligently cared for her bounteous vineyards, seemed a trifle ill at ease. His eyes darted to and fro, as if he expected someone to come running at him from some concealed corner of the room. She wondered if he could possibly have discovered the reason for being summoned. Not that the visit was unusual in itself, for Jacques regularly reported to her frequently during the harvesting season. But those visits always took place during the morning or early afternoon hours—never at night. She scrutinized him closely, as if trying to ascertain information simply from his bodily motions.

"Would you care for a drink?" she asked him politely.

"No, Madame. No thank you."

"Are you sure? You look a little distraught."

He smiled faintly. "It's been a very long day and I am quite tired."

Something in his voice did not quite ring true, but Phoebe decided to let it go. "I promise not to keep you long. Do you know why you are here, Jacques?"

"No, Madame. I hope it is not because I did something to displease you."

"Not in and of itself. But your answers to my questions may displease me if I find that you are lying."

The young man seemed offended at the implication that he could be anything but truthful to the woman who had been so generous in providing him with a good job and a quality education. He was going to protest when Phoebe cut him short.

"I am not accusing you of anything, I assure you," she said calmly. "I just want the truth."

"About what, Madame?"

His tone of voice remained constant, but his eyes refused to meet hers.

"About my daughter."

"What is it you wish to know?"

"You are her champion, are you not?"

"Yes."

"That means that you spend a lot of time with her."

"Yes, Madame."

Phoebe leaned in closer to him. "I'll get right to the point. My daughter has changed quite a bit over the last several months. She has become hostile and distant—to me and everyone else. I worry about her night and day, but there is apparently nothing I can do or say that will make her confide in me. Do you have any idea what could have caused such a drastic change in her behavior?"

"I only know what I see."

"And what is that?"

"I am afraid to tell you," he replied nervously.

She sensed an internal struggle going on within the boy and let her hand rest on his.

"You know that I am fond of you, don't you?" she asked him.

"Yes, Madame."

"Then let me assure you that nothing that is said between us will ever leave this room. Is that assurance enough for you?"

Jacques was slow to respond, but he finally answered in the affirmative.

"Tell me what you know," Phoebe asked again, this time more forcefully.

Jacques began by telling her how cold and manipulative her daughter had become since Holly's arrival. But this change of attitude was only an ancillary result, indicative of a more problematic mental condition brought on by Lenore's refusal to name Angelique her successor.

"You aren't telling me anything new," Phoebe said, quickly rising from her chair. She walked over to the sideboard and poured herself a drink from one of the decanters. After taking a sip, she turned to face him. "Although it hurt me greatly when Lenore told me her reasons for not choosing Angelique to succeed her, I had to abide by her decision. I can see now that she was right, as much as I hate to admit it."

"And that is why Angelique is angry with you," Jacques said. "Because you have put your niece above her."

"My daughter understood why Lenore made that decision. She didn't like it of course, but she seemed to accept it nonetheless."

"She never accepted it, Madame. She may have played along for a time in the hopes of diverting you from her real motives, but she no more accepts Lenore's judgment than she would mine."

"And what are her real motives?"

The young man lowered his head and sighed aloud. "Forgive me, Madame, but I am amazed that you do not see it."

"See what?"

Jacques drew in a deep breath. "You are blinded by a mother's love perhaps. Or maybe it is something you do not want to acknowledge within yourself. But I can tell you from what I have observed with my own eyes, and from what I have heard from her own mouth and those closest to her, that your daughter means to overthrow the Sisterhood as it now exists and to supplant it with one of her own making."

Phoebe said nothing for a few moments, unwilling to believe so outrageous a claim. And then she burst out laughing.

"The whole idea of it is preposterous! There is no way she could accomplish such a thing. She is playing you for a fool."

"I only speak the truth."

"And what else have you heard?"
At first Jacques was going to reply, but then suddenly threw his hands up in the air and let them fall soundly upon his knees. "I don't know…"

"I promise I won't laugh."

"I am not certain…"

"Tell me what you know."

"I could be wrong, Madame…"

Phoebe was growing impatient with his fumbling. "Just tell me, damn it!"

Jacques cast his eyes downward and forcefully cleared his throat. "I have heard it said, though I cannot attest to it, that mademoiselle has constructed an inner chamber somewhere within the lower levels of the chateau."

"That's impossible," Phoebe said, dismissively. "Those levels have been closed off for hundreds of years. Those girls are toying with you."

"As I said, I cannot attest to it," Jacques continued. "But it is said that she conducts strange experiments on men within its chambers."

Phoebe laughed heartily, despite her promise. "You make her sound like a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein! I had no idea you were so naïve. Who told you such nonsense?"

"No one told me directly, Madame. I overheard her colleagues speaking about it."

"Those girls are messing with your mind. How could you be so gullible?"

Phoebe saw that the inquiry was leading nowhere. Jacques might indeed have some insight into Angelique's present state of mind, but this foolishness he was espousing was only making her annoyed. "Is that all you know?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Well, Jacques, you have managed to be of absolutely no help to me." She shook her head disapprovingly and sneered. "Strange experiments indeed!"

And with a sharp wave of her hand she dismissed him.

As if on cue, a maid, who seemingly appeared as if from nowhere, conducted him quickly out of the room.

Jacques had performed very well. When he had learned earlier in the day that Phoebe wanted to see him, he immediately told Angelique. The young girl, suspecting that her mother might question him about her, prepped him thoroughly on what and what not to say. Angelique, it seems, knew her mother better than her mother knew herself. For in that perverse yet highly intelligent and intuitive mind there lurked a master manipulator. Having recently won Jacques over to her side, and knowing that her mother would never believe such an absurd story, had given here a tremendous advantage. And she had calculated her mother's reaction perfectly. What better way than to tell the truth in order to get her mother off her back? Unfortunately for Phoebe, her greatest weakness was that she saw life only in terms of black and white, being oblivious to all the subtle shades of gray that lay in between. Her daughter knew this, and therein laid her strength.

As for Jacques, he was too intelligent to believe that Angelique was doing anything other than manipulating him. But strangely enough, he did not care. As he made his way to his cottage that lay just beyond the stables, he wondered what had happened to him that he should find so much pleasure in being controlled by a girl—and not just any girl, but an Anjou: a willful, cunning, and yet beautiful creature whose maltreatment of him and other men provided him with a sexual thrill that he had never experienced before. And for this he forsook his integrity and lied to Phoebe. Or rather, he told the truth, but told it in such a way as to appear to be playing the fool. He knew that Angelique would be greatly pleased with his well-acted charade. And when he stood tall and proud before the marker in tomorrow's games, he would further reward her with such an ejaculation of sperm that she would never let him out of her service. To please his mistress had become his raison d'être.

Phoebe knew she was grasping at straws when she conceived of the idea to interrogate Jacques, but she felt it was worth a try—anything to shed some light on the enigma that was her daughter. The interview with him had proved to be a disappointment. If he did know anything worth revealing about Angelique, he was not going to tell her. Maybe he was afraid of his being found out, despite Phoebe's assurances. He would not want to be on the receiving end of Angelique's anger if that were the case. Or maybe he had shifted allegiances. It was possible. But even so, why tell such idiotic tales about extinct dungeons and crazy experiments taking place right under the chateau? She had never known Jacques to be furtive until now and it bothered her.

She had been working less than an hour when the maid announced that Angelique had arrived. With a great deal of commotion, the young girl put down the bag she was carrying and threw herself onto the couch next to her mother. She flung her arms around her mother's neck and kissed both her cheeks. Her face seemed flushed, as if she had just run a marathon.

"Well, you look very happy I must say!" Phoebe remarked, returning her daughter's affection.

"I am mom. I am very happy." Her face seemed to glow with some strange inner light.

"And may I ask why you are so happy?"

"Oh, I really can't tell you that just now. You'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, after the contest."

"Oh, I see. This has something to do with the contest."

Angelique laughed gaily. "Don't try to weasel it out of me mom. I know your ways!"

Phoebe smiled. "All right. I promise I won't try to weasel it out of you. But you know it's not polite to keep your mother in the dark."

"Mom!"

"Okay, okay. Have you had dinner yet?"

"No, have you?"

"Nope. Would you care to join me?"

"Actually, yes. I'm quite starved."

Angelique's unexplained exuberance was a welcome change from the girl's recent display of surliness and indifference. To Phoebe, she seemed like her old self again, and this made her very happy. They sat in the kitchen and ate dinner together, as was their usual custom before Holly had so innocently, yet dramatically, interrupted their lives. They talked freely about this and that, and laughed as they used to do before the obligations of the Sisterhood had changed their lives forever. What had occurred to produce this change in Angelique's attitude Phoebe could not account for, but she was glad to see her daughter once more behave like a demure and respectable lady.

After they had finished eating, they adjourned to the courtyard to sit under the stars, which were now only just beginning to become visible through a partly cloudy sky.

"So," Phoebe began, "what have you done with all that negative stuff?"

"What negative stuff, mom?" Angelique replied, somewhat puzzled.

"You know. All that anger, the coldness…what became of it?"

It appeared as if Angelique was going to answer her with another question, but it came out as a statement. "Oh, you mean…" She laughed merrily. "No. I'm not mad at Holly or anyone else anymore. It's over. Done."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, mom. Just like that."

Phoebe detected no coyness in her daughter's reaction, but yet there was something in the tone of her voice that belied the seemingly truthful response.

"You know, Angelique, I have been very worried about you. For the past month you have avoided me. You treated me as if I didn't exist. And I'm not even going to bring Holly into this. God knows that you both have issues that must be dealt with. But I'm your mother. And while you are living with me under my roof, I expect you to treat me with respect. I don't care what you do in your private life. You are a woman now and you have to accept responsibility for your actions. But if there is something you need to tell me, then please, get it off our chest. I love you and I want to help you. Do you understand?"