Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 09

Several seconds elapsed in which Angelique had to fight to formulate a response. The truth was that she both loved and hated her mother, as she both loved and hated herself. She thought that maybe she should show her dark face just out of spite for the drivel her mother was speaking. That would be fun. But this would not serve her purpose of keeping her mother at bay. So, she smiled instead and employed the full force of her hypnotic gaze to assuage any trepidation her mother might be feeling regarding her welfare. It had the desired effect. Phoebe enveloped her in her arms and kissed her face repeatedly.

"My darling girl! My cheri! I have missed our times together so much. Let us not talk of the Sisterhood, or of Lenore, or of Holly or anyone else. Let us just be ourselves. As we used to be. You remember how that was, don't you?"

"Yes, mom, I remember," Angelique replied, as she allowed herself to submit to her mother's tender embraces. "I promise I won't be a bad girl anymore."

"You were never a bad girl, my child. You may be an Anjou but you are more like me than your father. You are a beautiful and wonderful person Angelique, and God has given you great gifts. Use them to enjoy your life and be happy. That is all I want for you."

It was an impassioned plea, but its effect was totally wasted on the young girl, whose mind had now become so impervious to honest human affection that all she could do was remain impassive in her mother's arms as the older woman continued to shower her with praise. After what seemed a long and uncomfortable silence, Phoebe drew her arms away and Angelique saw that there were tears in her mother's eyes.

"Why are you crying mother?"

"It's nothing. I'm just being silly."

"No, please. Tell me."

Phoebe took one of the napkins that lay on the table and wiped her eyes with it. "I dreamt of your father today. We had just gotten married and we were on our honeymoon in glorious Italy—Tuscany to be exact. He had a villa there you know."

"I remember. He sold it when you found out about his affair."

"Yes, well that was long before he began taking mistresses. We were so happy then. We used to walk along the deserted seashore totally naked."

"Really?" Angelique laughed, despite herself.

"There was no one around to see. Your father owned the entire seafront. We used to go swimming in the nude all the time."

"You never told me that."

"Well, you're old enough to know now. That was when your father was more willing to try new things. He was so much fun in those days."

"I don't remember him that way mom."

"No, he began to change soon after you were born. I don't know what happened to him. It was like a disease. Some insidious thing that lay hidden deep inside him and eventually ate him up alive. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

Angelique looked up at the sky and shook her head from side to side, letting her long hair fall lazily over her shoulders. "All I know is that he didn't treat you right. And he didn't treat me right either."

She spoke these words with a hint of menace, but Phoebe chose to ignore it.

"Your father's mind was corrupted Angelique. Some of it was his fault, but some of it was…"

"Was what mother?"

Phoebe took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "Some of it was my fault."

"Like the time he beat me so hard that I lost consciousness and you didn't even report him to the police?"

"Please Angelique. Don't bring that up. It would have done no good to have your father arrested."

Suddenly, Angelique's calm demeanor acquired a more sinister aspect. "It would have done me plenty of good mom! Maybe you enjoyed living in fear every day, but I didn't. Why did you protect him?"

"It wasn't him. I had to protect our family."

"How? By letting him abuse us? Must I remind you of what happened that night you spent with your sister in Paris?"

"No, no, please. I don't want to hear it!" Phoebe exclaimed.

"Of course you don't. You still don't believe it ever happened."

"What does it matter now anyway? Your father is a broken man. He has paid for his sins."

"He hasn't paid hardly enough as far as I'm concerned," Angelique said angrily. "I was only six years old mom. Six years old!"

"You could have been mistaken Angelique. You always had a wild imagination, even as a child."

Angelique looked at her mother with scorn. "I didn't need to imagine what I felt pushing in between my legs!"

"Please, don't!"

"You know how big he is," Angelique said with derision. "It hurt me mom. That thing really hurt me."

Phoebe rose from her chair and stood over her daughter, her face flushed with anger and tears.

"I don't want you to speak another word of it! I have spent the better part of my life trying to erase from my mind that abhorrent thing he did to you. And now you fling this abomination in my face—for what? Retribution for not being there to save you? How could I have possibly known what that son of a bitch was planning? How could I have known?"

Angelique was quiet for a moment in the aftermath of her mother's outburst. But she could not stay silent.

"You should have known," she began coldly, impassively. "You knew what he was like. You saw the way he used to look at me. If you were really interested in protecting our family, you should have stayed home with me that night. You should have protected me. You should have never left me alone with him—ever. But you did. And I can never forgive you for that."

Phoebe turned to meet her daughter's gaze. There were no tears in the translucent blue eyes. No semblance of anger, hatred, or regret. All that she saw was a cold, lingering menace, subdued but present nonetheless. Every tiny scrap of normal human emotion had become nonexistent, wiped away from the beautiful patina of her face until no feeling remained. The chiseled features of a statue would have held more emotion than the face Phoebe now beheld.

It now seemed to her that the gentle night breeze, which had given her so much pleasure, had suddenly become intolerably cold, and that all she wanted to do was to return to those sunny days in Tuscany, to the early days of her marriage where she could now rectify, by virtue of blessed foresight, all the mistakes her misplaced trust and naiveté had incurred. All she had ever wanted was for her and her family to be happy. The precocious little blonde girl from Rodeo Drive who married a French nobleman had been the envy of her entire family. She, who had traveled the entire planet, had sat at the right hand of kings, and who had become rich and famous and loved by all who knew her could not buy with a king's ransom the forgiveness of her own child.

And as if to add one further morsel of agony to her mother's already guilt-ridden mind, the spiteful creature who was her daughter got up from her chair and embraced the stricken woman in a mock attempt to offer consolation, her voice laden with sarcasm.

"Don't worry mother. I've learned to live with my disgrace. Even if you haven't. I think we can still be friends though. But you really can't tell me what to do. Not ever. Otherwise I'll just have to disappear. As in forever."

Angelique gently kissed her mother's cheek as a tormented Phoebe watched her slowly walk away toward the west wing of the chateau.

"You will forgive me someday, Angelique," she called after her. "You are more like me than you know."

Angelique stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face Phoebe. With all the coldness and lack of sensitivity she could muster, she replied: "The truth is mother, I'm really not like you at all."

With that, the hateful young woman turned away, leaving Phoebe all alone and shivering in the cool night air. The answer she had sought to explain her daughter's aberrant behavior had finally been revealed, and it horrified her. She had suppressed the memory of the violation of her child by her husband for so long that she had ultimately convinced herself that it was all just a child's fabrication. But it was true. It had happened and she had not been there to protect Angelique. But even worse, she never reported the incident to the police. She had protected the rapist for fear of bringing shame upon the entire family, never accepting the fact that the young child had rights of her own, which she was obligated to uphold.

Phoebe had too much self-respect to continue punishing herself for a decision she had made long ago and under duress. A decision that had been made with only the best interests of her family in mind. Angelique was still young and immature. In time she would come to realize that people sometimes make great sacrifices in the name of love—as Phoebe had done by protecting the integrity of the Anjou name. And hopefully, with that realization, would one day come forgiveness.

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

Barney Cole was sitting in his hotel room playing with his cock. It was a mindless thing he did from time to time as he watched television or read a magazine. He never did it in public of course, just when he was alone and was desirous of releasing some of his abundant sperm. But this was impossible, as he knew he had to perform in the "Long Shots" contest tomorrow afternoon.

It bothered him that he had become a willing puppet in Angelique's quest for attaining the championship. But her physical presence enervated him in such a way that he could not resist pleasing her. What magical or demonical power she possessed over men was impossible to define, but she wielded it with the confidence and surety of a master craftsman.

A month earlier, when she had first approached him about taking part in her secret plan to win the contest, she had asked him to perform for her and a dozen of her confederates. He was to allow her to masturbate him in a process called "tease and denial" until the pressure in his balls increased to the point where he would climax without benefit of having a hand stroking his penis. She called it a "touchless cumshot".

He remembered how quickly he had achieved an erection and how every woman demanded to touch it and stroke it. The subterranean floor of the ancient castle cellar was cool to his bare feet, but he didn't mind. For three hours he was fondled and teased, brought to the brink of orgasm several times until Angelique determined he was ready to ejaculate. And ejaculate he did.

Begging her for release, Angelique finally took pity on him and pulled on his cock fiercely as the other eleven girls watched with fascination. Screaming that he was about to cum, Angelique quickly removed her hand from the huge throbbing prick and stood back and watched in amusement as Barney began firing off huge wads of hot, creamy spunk into the air. His prick convulsed in an uncontrollable back and forth motion, every upward thrust of his cock producing a long, thick rope of gooey semen that flew in every direction imaginable. All the girls laughed hysterically at the sight of his huge, unmanned dick shooting volleys of sperm high into the air. Some tried to catch the spurts in their open palms, while others just giggled and watched intently as the cream burst forth from his swollen balls in a never-ending cascade of white.

This had been only one of many masturbation sessions that Angelique and her team had put him through. All of these sessions were just a prelude to prepare him for the "Long Shots" contest. He was bred to win. And Angelique would not suffer defeat gladly. Even now, as Barney stroked his cock to full erection, he thought of the beautifully blonde girl and how powerful she really was. He adored her and he worshiped her. He would do anything for her; maybe even kill for her. His immortal soul was now in the palm of her hands and he was happy beyond belief that he was the one she had favored.

He could not count how many times her splendid hands had brought him to a mind-blowing orgasm. Once, when he was naked and alone with her and a few of her team, she actually talked him into an ejaculation. There had been no physical contact at all, just the sound of her sexy and demanding voice used as a proxy to force an ejaculation. She and her friends marveled at this and tried it several more times, once when she had gathered over fifty girls within the confines of the ancient dungeon to witness how it was done.

From the beginning of his training, Angelique had been feeding Barney with a special herbal concoction that was designed to greatly increase sperm production. It was not any kind of viable drug, but an aphrodisiac that was derived from completely natural sources. Any form of drug taking during the competition was strictly forbidden. But this substance, although very potent, was deemed acceptable by the Sisterhood. Many of the champions were probably taking it, or something like it, but each man reacted differently to it. Some men did not achieve any appreciable results at all, while others, like Barney, seemed to thrive on it, achieving a tremendous increase in sperm count. It was nothing like the extremely powerful EJAX-472, which was forbidden, but it was a useful aid nonetheless.

As with all the other champions, Barney had not ejaculated for seven days. His balls were full and he really wanted to masturbate himself to orgasm. But he knew if he did, that his days with Angelique would be over. He really didn't care so much about winning the contest—that was her concern. What he wanted was to forever remain with her, to be used by her, to be her total slave. No other life was possible for him now.

He thought of his friend Craig and how much he truly cared for the young boy. He missed him terribly and was saddened by the thought that he had become part of his mistress's secret plan, forcing him to lie to his friend. Like Craig, Barney was a man of conscience, so he felt remorse for his actions. However, unlike Craig, Barney was not a morally strong man. He could be manipulated very easily, whereas Craig could not. Craig would do anything within reason to please his female superiors, but he would not sell his soul in the process. And unlike Barney, he was not a true submissive.

It was getting late and Barney realized that it was useless to dwell on such matters. Tomorrow his friend would learn that he had betrayed him, and there would be no turning back. That was bad enough. But to think that he might actually lose the contest and subsequently lose Angelique's favor was a far worse fate. It disgusted him to think that the favor of one tyrannical girl should outweigh years of friendship with a man whom he knew to be a better man than he. But his hand continued to work at his prick, teasing it, tensing it, imagining it one day shooting its hot, sticky contents all over Angelique's beautiful face, and that was all that mattered.

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

"You know I'm really not supposed to be here," I said, as I nestled into Craig's arms. "It's not exactly prohibited, but I'm sure Lenore would frown upon it."

His apartment was spacious, if not sparse. We were watching some old sci-fi movie on television. It was all in French.

"I'm glad you came. I can't thank you enough for what you did for me today."

"It's a good thing those women were on break or you might have died in there."

"I came pretty close. I figured it was either the machine or the smoke that would eventually get me." He hugged me closer. "I don't understand what made her do it."

"Somebody is desperately afraid that we're going to win, and that person wanted you out of the way."

"Do you have any idea who might have been behind it?"

"Well, I can't prove it, but I would bet my life that it was Angelique."

Craig looked at me askance. "You're cousin? Why would she do such a thing?"

"Think about it. You've seen the competition. You and Jacques are the only real contenders in this game. Angelique is desperate to win at any cost. What better way to increase her chances of winning than by getting you out of the way?"

"Okay, but where does Zula fit in all this? What could have made her turn traitor and abandon the Sisterhood?"

"Money. Lots of money."

"You think your cousin paid her off?"

"I'm sure of it. She has the resources. And Zula has been waiting for years to strike out on her own. She was never really happy being a Sister."

A commercial came on just then and Craig hit the mute button. I could see that he was still feeling a bit queasy from his earlier ordeal. I made a motion to leave.

"No, don't go," he said, reaching out his hand to pull me back. "Can't you stay a little longer?"

"I want to Craig, I really do. But I don't think it's a good idea. We both have to get up early and you really need to get some sleep."

Reluctantly, he let go of my arm. "I guess you're right. I 'm still feeling a bit off."

"Then get to bed. That's an order."

"Yes, my queen," he said, rising to take a bow.

We both laughed.

"I'll see you at the South Gate by noon. And make sure you're on time."

"Don't worry," he replied, kissing me on my lips. "I'll be there. Are you sure you're okay driving home?"

"Of course, silly. I know my way around Paris better than you do."

We kissed several more times before he let me go.

"I love you, Holly," he said as I turned to go.

"I love you too," I replied. "Now go to sleep!"

As I drove home I felt a wonderful feeling of exhilaration come over me. It was great being in love, and I was so happy to have found such a fantastic guy like Craig. Even the thought of Angelique's mischief and Zula's betrayal could not dampen my spirits. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.

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

We are all prisoners of our troubled minds. No one escapes the wheel of life. Either you learn to navigate within its constantly revolving spokes, or you get run over and die. A wise man once said, "If you don't act on life, life will act on you." I have always remembered those words and have tried to live by them.

I got home just after midnight and entered a silent house. I had changed, put on my pajamas and sat in bed reading for a little while hoping it would make me tired. But sleep did not come.

In a little more than twelve hours the "Long Shots" contest would begin and the winner would walk away with the coveted "Antoinette" award, a large sum of money, and most importantly, a tremendous boost in prestige. To an outsider, the importance attached to the latter might seem odd. But in the Sisterhood, it was all about perceived power, not necessarily the actual physical manifestation of it. Even the poorest Sister could possess vast power, if she knew the right people and played the right game. It was all about appearances. And no one knew this better than Lenore.

She had come from a modest, middle-class background and had risen through the ranks of the Sisterhood by virtue of sheer determination and hard work. She knew how to charm people; how to make them feel important. She was generous in her praise for those who served her well and never spoke ill of anyone. Lenore was the quintessential outsider and the ultimate diplomat. Having entered the Sisterhood on the recommendation of a friend who was herself only a neophyte in the order, she knew no one in the upper echelons of power. But over time her superior capabilities could not be ignored, and she found herself assuming more and more responsibility as the years wore on. Her coming had been like a breath of fresh air, as one Sister had whimsically put it. She had been at the right place at the right time.

Lenore had told me a lot about herself during my time at the chateau. These tidbits of information came to me in drips and drabs, whenever the Sisterhood leader felt the urge to talk. Under her watch the Sisterhood had grown in size and strength, and was now a prodigious body of powerful women who would soon become the next great leaders of the world. It would be a better world—one in which all wars would be eradicated and people would live in peace. The trouble was, there had recently arisen a radical element within the order. And this element was not content with the ramblings of a woman whom many considered to be out of touch with reality. Many felt she was naïve to think that wars would suddenly cease because women were in power. And I had to admit that I, too, felt the same way. That is not to say that I supported the radicals, but I did agree with some of their points.