Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 05

"Yes, madame?" he replied, his exuberance fading somewhat at the cool intonation of her voice.

She took a long look at him, as if seeing him for the first time, and I think itwasthe first time that she actually began to see him as more of a person than simply as an object of disdain. She took a deep breath and exhaled, letting her eyes gaze around the room before finally settling upon the handsome patient.

"What I want to know is...is there any correlation between the size of man's penis and the amount of semen he ejaculates? I have seen men of average size shoot enormous amounts of sperm, while larger men often shoot less. What is your observation?"

François seemed pleased that the imposing Sisterhood leader was now treating him with a semblance of courtesy she had previously denied him. I knew that she was desirous as me to get the young man to deliver the long-awaited sperm sample, and even if such courtesy, extended as it was to an inferior, was only a well-disguised pretence, it served its purpose.

"I can't speak for other men," the patient began, "but in my case, madame, I usually shoot enough sperm to fill a cup."

The women groaned at this seemingly impossible statistic.

"A full cup?" Lenore asked, not fully accepting his claim either.

"Yes, madame. I don't stop ejaculating until I fill it up to the top. Voila!"

There was a great amount of discussion that ensued among the women upon hearing this admission, and although most of them refused to believe that any man could perform such a feat, there were some, like Charlotte Anjou, who seemed to believe that it was possible.

"Sister Lenore," she began. "On my visit to India several years ago, my friends and I went to visit a village where the local holy man performed a religious rite where he would masturbate himself in front of a crowd of women—all virgins—who would collect his sperm in a large bowl and bathe themselves in it to preserve their youthful appearance. His cock was just as big as the one hanging between this young man's legs."

Lenore didn't seem fully convinced. "Well, Dr. Monroe," she said, turning to the physician. "I'm glad you decided to use the larger beaker."

Some of the women laughed.

"If you don't mind," Lenore said to Charlotte, "I'd like to reserve judgment on this until I see it for myself."

Greta Hofsteddar, a woman whom I recognized from her earlier appearance at my aunt's home in San Diego, suddenly spoke up.

"But you have seen it before," she said to Lenore. "Don't you remember a few years ago when we had my husband perform for my birthday? His prick is almost as big as this man's, and he filled up an entire cereal bowl full of cum."

Lenore thought for a moment, then her face suddenly lit up.

"Oh, yes!" she answered. "I do remember now that you mention it. Corn flakes wasn't it? And he filled up the bowl even though most of his sperm landed on you and me!"

The two women enjoyed a long and hearty laugh.

"He gave me a cream rinse!" Greta joked as she ran her hands through her long, blonde hair.

"I remember that too!" Lenore chuckled. "It was a most impressive cum shot."

It was nice to see Lenore so at ease and happy after all that had transpired earlier. The lewd and lively banter seemed to put everyone in a good mood. Even my aunt was slowly beginning to abandon her melancholy attitude.

"And speaking of cum," she said. "I hope we are going to see some soon. Do you hear me, uh, François?"

"Yes, madame," the young man replied, looking hopeful that his newfound acceptance with these women would provide his mistress with the coveted sample.

I felt that the mood in the room had now reached a point where I could now institute my final plan in order to get François to ejaculate. I was taking a big risk— depending on these women to support me in my endeavor when their normal reaction would be to ridicule the inferior male. But these women also wanted to see me succeed. Or at least some of them did. Certainly Lenore herself, who had chosen me as her successor, and the patrician-looking Charlotte, who had previously put Angelique in her place while displaying nothing but congeniality toward me. There were others, too, who desired a successful conclusion to this drawn-out "punishment": some wanted it to end solely because they had other engagements looming, and others who wanted to see if the young man's claims of ejaculatory prowess were indeed true.

All during the session I noticed that François would sneak a peek at me every so often, as if admiring me from afar. Even when we got a chance to speak, his voice was always gentle and musical, and more than once I watched as he struggled to overcome his timidity and dare to look directly into my eyes. In that moment I knew that we had established some emotional connection. And I was now going to use this advantage to the fullest. He was mine for the molding.

"François," I said. "Do you feel a little more comfortable now that you have had a chance to talk with these wonderful ladies?"

"Indeed, mademoiselle...I mean, Holly. Much more comfortable."

"Good," I replied. "I would like to ask you some more questions if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

His equanimity throughout the entire question and answer period impressed me greatly. Although his shyness was still apparent to some degree, he seemed much more relaxed and cooperative now that he felt that his manhood was not being compromised. The women no longer appeared to him to represent a threat. Not like the rapacious Angelique, whose unforgiving method of sperm extraction could do nothing but achieve an even further retreat from his willingness to comply with the insensate demands of an indestructible will. I had seen the major flaw in my cousin's approach, but she, supremely convinced of her own infallibility, was blind to her own harsh, unfeeling treatment of the man, attempting to force out of him by her own will the seed of his lust, rather than coax it out by degrees tempered by patience and gentleness.

I pulled my chair out so that I was sitting facing directly in front of him. He looked at me curiously but did not seem in the least bit intimidated.

"Dr. Monroe," I said, addressing the doctor first. "Would you and your assistants kindly remove your lab coats please?"

She looked at me inquisitively, expecting further explanation. But when it wasn't forthcoming, she simply shrugged and removed her coat, instructing the two brunettes to do the same. I then asked nurse Alicia to remove her nurse's hat and frock, which she quickly did. François seemed pleased to see these four attractive women in normal business attire and, as I had surmised, the removal of their medical uniforms helped him to relax even more. In his case, the cold and clinical procedures previously carried out by Dr. Monroe and her staff most likely had an adverse affect upon the way he had responded to treatment, resulting in the botched exam. It was not uncommon for a person's blood pressure and heart rate to increase when in the presence of a physician, and this, coupled with his innate shyness, certainly would have hampered his attempt to produce the sperm sample. I just couldn't afford to leave anything to chance. I then instructed one of Dr. Monroe's assistants to remove the uniforms and place them in the exam room. The beaker, another item that could possibly contribute to his anxiety, was kept hidden behind Dr. Monroe's chair, out of the patient's sight. I was now ready to begin.

"Well François," I began. "You appear to be more calm now. More relaxed."

"Oh, yes," he smiled. "You and these lovely women...these Sisters...have made me feel much better. Thank you."

"I'm very happy to hear that. Now, I am going to ask you some very intimate questions and I want you to answer me honestly. Will you do that for me?"

The handsome boy gave me a very warm smile and looked at me as if I were the only woman in the room.

"I will be most happy to," he replied.

His face, his mannerisms, and his lilting voice all indicated that he had developed a crush on me. It seemed incongruous, given the circumstances, that a man as timorous as he could allow himself to experience such feelings of attraction. But it was apparent to me, and probably everyone else, that François felt a special attachment to me. I, myself, could not deny that I was immune to his good looks or boyish charm. But I had a job to do, and I could not allow myself to be influenced by whatever vague stirrings of passion he may have felt toward me, not when it might interfere with my duty to the Sisterhood.

"I would like you to tell us the most sexiest thing that ever happened to you," I said to him.

His eyes lit up for a moment. "Well," he began, "there is really not much to tell...except for that one time..."

"Yes, that one time... go ahead."

"I...uh..." he muttered aloud, seeming reluctant to continue.

"You can tell me," I said moving a little closer to him. "Please."

I could tell that he was a little reticent to reveal whatever secrets he possessed, but after a few more encouraging words from me and some of the women, he finally confessed.

"It is a very decadent story," he said, looking down at his hands. "I am almost ashamed to tell it."

"There's no need to feel ashamed. No one here is going to judge you."

As I said this I looked at Lenore, who gave me a reassuring smile. Even though he seemed to be willing to open up to me and the group, I had to prompt him several more times in order to get him to relate his tale. Thankfully, I found an unexpected source of help in Charlotte.

"I love lewd stories," she said to François. "Please share it with us."

"Yes, please, François," Janet Walsh said, showcasing her spectacular legs so that he could get a good view. "All of us here enjoy hearing sexy stories. Tell us."

Several other women, including Lenore herself, implored him to convey his prurient tale to us, and being that his own natural tendency was to please a woman, he finally let go of whatever inhibitions he had left and began his story.

"It happened on my eighteenth birthday," he began. "My stepsister Gabrielle, who is two years older than me, had three of her girlfriends from college come to stay for the weekend at our house in Paris. Our parents were away visiting in America and had left the house in her care. Well, one day I was surfing the Internet looking for pornography and I saw a picture of a beautiful, naked woman and I started to masturbate..."

"I've caught my husband doing that more than once!" one women commented suddenly.

"Please!" Lenore said to the woman. "Don't interrupt!"

The woman, an attractive, middle-aged blonde, responded with a frown while several other women looked at her askance.

"Please go on, François," I said.

"Well," he continued, "I had not heard my stepsister come home because my door was closed, or at least I thought it was..."

"Don't tell me she caught you!"

"She and her three friends! The door was not completely closed, and somehow when they opened the door downstairs to come in, the wind opened my bedroom door a little too. I was too busy to notice."

"With a prick that size I'd say you were pretty busy too!" my aunt jokingly observed.

He laughed. "I guess you are right, madame. All my blood went from my head to the little head down there."

"Not so little," she reminded him.

"No, not so little," he said. "But I was at that point almost ready to cum. And what man can think clearly at such a moment?"

"No man I ever met," Justine quipped.

"What happened then?" I asked him.

"All of a sudden I hear this screaming laughter and then the door goes flying open. The four girls come waltzing into my room to get a better look at what I'm doing and there I am with my pants and underwear down to my ankles with a picture of a naked woman on my computer screen. It was embarrassing but very exciting at the same time. Does that sound strange to you?"

"No, not really," I replied. "Maybe you wanted them to catch you."

He thought about that for a moment. "Perhaps."

"Please go on."

"Well, of course, I try to pick up my pants but it's too late. They see me with my big dick sticking out a mile long and my stepsister's three friends go into fits of laughter, but Gabrielle acts very nonchalant. She tells the other girls that she has seen me masturbate many times before and I look at her like she's crazy. 'Oh, François,' she says, 'your door does not lock properly. I have watched you stroke that monster many times!' And then she laughs and all the others laugh too, but my erection does not want to go away."

"But you are usually so shy," I said, feeling closer to understanding his fetish. "Most guys would lose their erection under such circumstances. Why do you think you stayed hard?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "But I think it may be that I enjoyed having all these clothed women around me, paying close attention to my penis."

"It's hard not to notice it," I smiled. "And of course you were at home, and it was your stepsister after all...so you must have not felt threatened."

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "I was completely unafraid because I was around people I knew. But I was extremely horny at the same time. My heart was beating very fast, but I did not try to cover myself at all. I just stood there like a grinning idiot, enjoying them enjoying me."

I snuck a glance at Lenore, who seemed pleased at the results of my inquiry. I don't think she, or any of the other Sisters, expected François to be so forthcoming. But his detailed description of his past sexual encounter with four women provided a most intriguing story, and even those Sisters who had professed to have other engagements now decided to stay and await the outcome of his lurid tale.

Angelique watched the events transpire with the eye of an eagle. Her anger had subsided somewhat, but I could still sense a hint of vengeance in the perpetual frown she now wore exclusively for all to see. My aunt appeared to be sorely disappointed with her daughter's negative attitude, but she had the good grace to accept Angelique's failure and move beyond it to champion my own efforts, seeing that the good of the Sisterhood was more important than catering to the bruised ego of a vindictive young girl. It must have been extremely hard for her to have witnessed her daughter's dissolution at the hands of the very same man I was now manipulating with the gentle and deferent skill of a competent psychologist: a skill set that my cousin, in her arrogance, would never have thought to employ.

"So," I said to François. "You were standing there half naked with your penis...your big dick (I said the word "dick" because I had noticed earlier that he used the term himself and that he seemed pleased by it) hanging out for all the girls to see. What did you do then?"

"It was not so much what I did," he replied. "It is more whattheydid to me."

"Oh, really?" I said. "And what was that?"

It was very quiet in the room at this point, and everyone, including myself, seemed intent on not missing a word of his explanation.

"They...ordered me to continue what I was doing before they came in."

"You mean masturbate?"

"Yes."

"While they watched you?"

He looked sheepishly around the room and seemed embarrassed when some of the women began to giggle.

"I could not believe they would ask me to do such a thing in front of them, but Gabrielle and the other three forced me down onto the chair and told me to jerk off to the image of the nude woman on my computer screen. I was so excited and ashamed at the same time but I could not help myself."

"Most men find masturbation to be a very private act," my aunt broke in. "But we teach them that once they have decided to devote their lives to serving the Sisterhood, we are the ones who control their bodies. You know this, don't you François?"

I don't think he appreciated having his tale interrupted by being reminded of his servile role, but there did not seem to be any hint of resentfulness in his reply.

"Yes, I know it, madame," he said. "I am most willing and able to serve the Sisterhood, and I want nothing more than to cater to your every wish. But I am not a submissive man." At this point, he turned to face my cousin, who was wearing a huge scowl on her face. "And no amount of coercion will ever make me do what my conscience will not allow."

Angelique bit her lower lip but said nothing. Her eyes sparkled with an unusual intensity, a sudden glimmer of malice focused in our direction. His words caused some stirring within the Sisterhood ranks, but Lenore appeared entirely unaffected by his sudden and uncharacteristic boldness.

"We have had men like you before," she began. "All served the Sisterhood very well and for many years. You are one of those men who enjoy serving and pleasing women because it brings you great satisfaction. That is all well and good, and there is room for you here. It is not necessary that you submit blindly to our will, although many of our servants wish to be treated so—theywantto be controlled. Since Holly has shown to us that you possess an uncompromising spirit, I will not order you to be further punished should you fail to produce the sperm sample. Such punishment would be pointless. However, you will be cast out, never to return. I leave the choice to you."

A new feeling of uneasiness crept over the young man's features although he tried hard not to show it. I knew that the thought of him being forever dismissed from service to the Sisterhood would be far more injurious than any form of corporeal punishment the Sisters could inflict. The Sisterhood had become for him his raison d'être, and the thought that he might be "cast out," as Lenore had put it, could not but trouble him greatly. The Sisterhood leader understood this, even before I, myself, had grasped its implications. Whether this new threat would serve to make him produce the sperm sample or not, along with the momentous decision to reveal it, was highly questionable and a big gamble on Lenore's part. I almost wish she had said nothing, seeing how far I had progressed with François. But the die had been cast, and there was nothing to do but continue the game.

Angelique looked at me with a sinister grin, no doubt hoping that Lenore's warning would result in François' failure to ejaculate, resulting in his, and my own, ultimate humiliation and dismissal. She made no effort to hide her disgust for the man, or for my impromptu methods used to provoke him to climax. Her earlier attempts to convince her mother and me that she felt little or no disappointment at being denied the chance to become the older woman's protégé was nothing more than a sham—a clever performance carefully thought out and executed by a mind determined to achieve its goal at all costs. Her recent actions had made this point disturbingly clear. If I failed at this critical juncture, I would lose credibility in Lenore's eyes. Such a failure might not result in my forfeiting my current status within the Sisterhood, but it certainly would not improve it. And even more disturbing, it would give Angelique the opportunity to turn my defeat into her own personal victory by default, which she could then flaunt before me and everyone else until those hypnotic eyes of hers had convinced the whole world that I was only some upstart girl from America whose charm had momentarily blinded the better instincts of her beneficent but naïve Sisterhood mentor. As much as I hated to admit this fact to myself, I could no more deny its veracity than I could deny Angelique's uncompromising nature. From this moment on, I would never look at her the same way.

"François?" I began. "Would you please continue with your story?"

Fully aware that his fate was now on the line, he took a deep breath and resumed his tale. But instead of the halting speech he had employed earlier, he now spoke out in a more demonstrative way, using his hands to embellish a point, or substituting a French word for an English one when he felt the word did not fully communicate his meaning. In effect, his storytelling approach became suddenly more visceral and engaging. My questions, too, were handled with quick and descriptive answers, which delighted me to no end. I know he was trying very hard to prove to us, and more importantly to himself, that he would not allow his inherent shyness to destroy his chances at becoming a servant to the Sisterhood, and my only concern was that, in his haste to redeem himself, he did not falter or allow his newfound passion to interfere with the ultimate goal of producing the sperm sample.