Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 07

"Training for the contest begins in a few days. I have no choice but to compete against her."

"Compete yes. But don't confront her. I'll run interference for you if you like."

"You'll be there?" I asked, suddenly hopeful.

"I feel an obligation to protect you. I think it what's Yvette would want."

"Then will you be part of my team? I've already chosen my champion."

She took my hand in hers. "You and I are two spirits joined together in a common cause it seems."

"I feel that way, too," I replied, feeling as if an oppressive burden had just been lifted off my shoulders. "Do you foresee good things for us?"

Charlotte forced herself to smile even though her eyes looked sad. "I don't know. But I can tell you that I see a great rift forming within the Sisterhood, and even as we speak, battle lines are now being drawn. As much as I hate to say it, we must be ready to go to war."

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

The weekend was spent formalizing plans for the week's worth of training Craig would be undergoing for the contest. Although my champion was still upset at Barney's unexpected departure, his choice to visit with friends during this time helped to alleviate some of his ill feelings toward his wayward pal. We called each other several times a day, and when we talked it always seemed to put him in a better mood. He promised me that he had been true to his word and had not ejaculated for three days straight. I called him my "joy toy."

"Don't you mean 'boy' toy?" he said.

"No, I mean 'joy' toy," I replied. "Because your big cock brings me a lot of joy."

"It's going to bring you a lot more than that!" he laughed, explaining how shocked everyone would be at the amount of sperm he would eventually ejaculate after almost two weeks of forced denial.

I had entertained the idea of simply training Craig on my own, with the aid of maybe another girl or two. But after consulting with Lenore, she advised me to put together a team in order to provide me with the best possible chance of winning. As I was already a late entry in the contest, I had to scramble to put together a preliminary list of all those people whom I felt might be likely candidates for my team, sometimes consulting Lenore for her opinion about which women she thought might work best with me. She offered her help graciously, approving my idea of enjoining Charlotte Anjou's aid wholeheartedly. Lenore, herself, would not take part in the competition since she would be working with my aunt Phoebe, Justine, Estelle, and many others to help run the event. They could, of course, touch and fondle the contestants at any time prior to the contest, but only with the approval of the team's Masturbatrix.

After narrowing down the list of Sisterhood profiles, I finally put together a group of women whom I believed would constitute a championship team based upon their personalities and work ethics. I was to be the principal trainer (Domina), or Masturbatrix; Charlotte Anjou would be Domina I, the person who would take my place if necessary; Dr. Joanna Monroe would be Domina II; Felicia Antonetti and Janet Walsh would be my Assistant Trainers; and Zula would act as Rectifier, the one responsible for keeping the entire team in working order.

All these women were available to me, which meant that they had no champion of their own and had not associated themselves with any other team. In this I was fortunate, as each of them, with the exception of Charlotte, had previously achieved success of some kind or another in these contests. Once I had contacted each of them and each one agreed to join my team, I then had to set up a time for all of us to meet. It was decided that we should meet at Dr. Monroe's house in Paris on Sunday afternoon. I did this as a strictly precautionary measure in order to keep my devious cousin from possibly interfering in my business. And knowing her penchant for duplicity, it was certainly possible. I went over every conceivable contingency with them and came away firmly convinced that my decision to employ these particular women was the correct one. After we had shared some tea and exchanged pleasantries, I asked Zula to prep everyone as to the particulars of the contest, as she had taken part in several of them in the past.

"These contests usually start with a lot of teams," she informed us. "It's kind of like the Olympics. They compete against each other until the losers are weeded out."

"How is that accomplished?" Charlotte asked.

"After the opening ceremony tomorrow, the judges will be going around to watch each man as he's being masturbated by his Masturbatrix. If anyone fails to make the 10-foot limit, they're out of the contest."

"Ten feet?" she asked incredulously.

"These guys have to shoot their cum at least that far in order to compete."

Janet Walsh chuckled loudly. "I'll be that little pygmy guy can't even shoot his stuff ten inches!"

"Don't underestimate him," Zula said. "Sometimes it's these little guys who win. And they usually have the biggest testicles too. I got a glimpse of them under that leather thong he was wearing. They're immense."

"Exactly how far do the judges expect these men to shoot their sperm?" Charlotte inquired.

"There is no fixed requirement. But last year the winning distance was just over 17 feet."

Joanna laughed aloud. "That's because of all these new training devices we have now. Especially this thing they call 'hot lips'. I hear it's really excellent at getting out the sperm!"

"I heard that, too," Zula said, explaining to us what it was. "A few minutes with that thing on and there might not even be a contest! Just a bunch of overflowing canisters!"

The image of dozens of men being mechanically milked and shooting their sperm uncontrollably into a plastic cylinder made Felicia squeal. "Anybody for a milkshake?" she joked.

"I'll bring the strawberries!" Janet chimed in.

"So what does that mean?" I asked Zula. "I assume some of these guys will accidentally ejaculate during training. Does that automatically exclude them?"

"No," she replied. "But their chances of winning are reduced because their sperm capacity has been compromised. That's why you have rectifiers...people like me who make certain that doesn't happen."

"Go on."

"Well, eventually you're going to be left with seven teams. Winner takes all."

Charlotte sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. "I can't begin to imagine the pressure on these men. I've never attended one of these contests, but it sounds to me like they're going to be climbing the walls."

"Some of them do!" Felicia observed.

"What's the prize?"

"Since Phoebe is sponsoring this year's contest," Zula replied, "she's decided that ten thousand dollars should go to the guy."

"Ten thousand?" Janet asked. "I don't remember any of our previous contestants winning that much!"

"That's Phoebe for you," Felicia said. "Generous to a fault."

Zula agreed. "Well, listen to this. The winning Masturbatrix will receive the coveted 'Antoinette' award..."

"Antoinette award?" I asked.

"Named after Marie Antoinette," she explained, "a one-time member of our Sisterhood—and one hundred thousand dollars. The team gets to split another hundred thousand dollars between them. And there are many other prizes and gifts to go with it."

"That's an awfully large payout," Charlotte commented.

"Maybe," Joanna replied. "But the Sisterhood expects the winners to contribute a portion of that back into our organization."

"Even so. Why award so much money for what is essentially a handjob contest?"

"It's much more than that," Felicia said. "To have that kind of control over a man requires a unique blend of scientific application and artistic technique. Only the most gifted Masturbatrix ever achieves such greatness."

Charlotte displayed one of her enigmatic smiles. "That may be, Felicia, but to me it sounds like a dog show."

"That's kind of what it is," Zula said. "The men are the dogs and we are their trainers, trying to get them to perform an extremely difficult sexual feat."

"I suppose they're kept on collars too?"

"Some of them actually like it," Joanna said.

"What's wrong, Charlotte?" I asked her. "Are you having any doubts about taking part in this competition?"

"I may not have witnessed many 'Long Shots', Holly, but as far as handjobs are concerned I've learned a thing or two about what works and what doesn't. Don't worry. I won't fail you."

"I know you won't," I replied.

She gave me a reassuring smile and then turned to Zula.

"It seems to me that the Sisters takes these competitions very seriously."

"Some do and some don't," Zula replied. "There are those that will train the whole year to compete in the contest, and there are others who do it on a whim."

"What the farthest cumshot on record?" I asked Zula.

She took a long sip of tea and placed her cup back on the table. "Eighteen feet, four inches."

"You're kidding!" Charlotte exclaimed.

"No, I'm not. Ask Felicia or Janet. They were there last year."

Janet laughed aloud as she recalled the event. "Monsieur LaSalle from the vineyard. That's who it was. I was his Masturbatix. Felicia and I had teased him for 2 weeks straight with no release."

"And when he came, he came!" Felicia quickly emphasized. "It was truly amazing!"

"Are you talking about Jacques LaSalle, my aunt's foreman?" I asked Janet.

"Do you know him?"

"We met once," I replied, remembering his warm brown eyes and his kindness to me.

"Well, let me tell you, that man can spurt a mile. I believe he's in the contest again this year. Angelique's got him."

"Really?" I said with a touch of dismay, wondering what my cousin had done to enlist his services. "I didn't know she had chosen him as her champion."

"Teams don't have to announce their champions until the first day of training," Zula said.

Fully aware of my cousin's secretive ways, I knew such a ruling could only act in her favor. And it explained why she had been so silent about the issue.

"Janet and I tired to get him to be our champion for this year's contest," Felicia told me. "But the rules forbid a team from using the same champion two years in a row."

"You must have been quite disappointed," I said.

"Oh, we were. Very disappointed. But rules are rules."

"So now my cousin has him."

"And she stands a good chance of winning, too," she said, looking sullen.

"That's why we decided not to bother with it," Janet added. "That is, until you told us about Craig."

Joanna looked down at the paper she held in her hands listing the contest's rules and regulations. "Speaking of him," she said to me. "What more can you tell us about our champion?"

Zula snickered. "What more do you need to know, Joanna? He's got a nineteen-inch prick for Christ's sake!"

"Nineteen and three quarters," Joanna shot back. "I know his statistics. What I what to know is...what is he like? You've spent a lot of time with him, Holly. Fill us in."

"Well, I can tell you that he's not a true submissive, so using any kind of humiliation or force won't work. However, he has a tremendous desire to please women. The more pleasure we allow him to give us, the more enslaved to our will he'll become."

"So we can forget about the leash!" Janet noted.

"It's not necessary. Once we get our hands on him, he'll do whatever we want."

I saw Felicia quickly glance around the room at the others. "I think, girls, that Holly already has him eating out of her hands."

"Is that true, Holly?" Joanna asked.

"A little," I admitted.

"Oh, come on," Zula said. "I'll bet it's more than that!"

"Okay, I really like him a lot. And he likes me. But I assure you I want to keep this contest thing strictly professional."

"I wouldn't worry about it girl," Zula said. "The fact that you've got a thing for each other may actually work to our advantage—he'll try harder!"

Everyone laughed.

"All I know is," Felicia remarked, "we're going to need every advantage possible if we're going to beat Angelique."

Charlotte looked straight at me. "I, for one, will be happy to see that girl bite the dust for a second time."

"We haven't won yet," Zula reminded her.

After we had concluded our business, Joanna prepared us dinner and our conversation turned to other matters. By the time I got home, I felt assured that victory might very well be within our grasp.

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

The armada of trucks, vans, and cars began arriving at the estate at roughly seven o'clock in the morning the following day. I had set my alarm for an hour earlier so that I could wash, dress, and run down to the kitchen for a fast bowl of cold cereal. My aunt and Angelique were already having breakfast together as I walked in, and I was surprised to see them happily engaged in conversation after so many days of noninvolvement with each other. I was further shocked when Angelique actually deigned to greet me with a pleasant 'good morning,' and then went one step further by wishing me good luck in the contest.

"I'm sorry if I lost my temper with you the other day," she said to me. "I was in a pretty bad state of mind, but I'm over it now. I hope we can still be friends."

It sounded to me as if she had rehearsed this statement all evening. Even so, I could not help but feel that the words were sticking in her throat.

"Sure," I said, coolly. "Forget about it."

My aunt perceived my half-hearted response as an ostensible gesture toward reconciliation and immediately demanded that my cousin and I amend our relationship with a hug.

"I don't want to see my two favorite girls at odds with each other. Now, come on, both of you. Let's make up."

For my aunt's sake I pretended to act as if the issue were not as serious as it really was. I did not believe for an instant that my cousin entertained any real desire to seek to repair our damaged friendship. But seeing my aunt so happy, especially after her bitter confrontation with my uncle and her brief period of alienation from her daughter, dissuaded me from wanting to cause her any further grief.

Angelique threw her arms around me as if greeting a long, lost friend.

"That's so nice to see," my aunt beamed, as I reluctantly returned Angelique's hug.

For my part, I could not understand why my cousin was acting in such a genial fashion, let alone bothering to make feigned reparations with me in front of her mother. I detected an increased level of self-assurance within her obligatory attempt to befriend me: an almost sinister arrogance that seemed to laugh at me from behind a wall of artificial repentance for actions for which she had never meant to apologize. She might have temporarily forestalled any further confrontations with her mother by conniving her into believing her intentions were honest, but I didn't buy the act. As such, I removed myself from her embrace in a hasty fashion, so much so that she looked at me askance, as if she knew I was on to the truth, and for a moment I saw the old, familiar glint of disdain in her eyes and shuddered.

"I should get going," I said to them as I started to walk out.

"But what about your breakfast?" my aunt asked.

"I'll take it later," I replied. "I have a few things to attend to before the crowds come."

"Well, I just want you to know that the Sisters and other attendees will all be meeting by the south entrance. We're expecting at least six or seven hundred people, so all of us are going to be very busy with preparations. Both of you must be in the Masturbatorium by 9:00 AM with your champion and all the members of your team. You will then be assigned training rooms that will be used by you exclusively for the entire week leading up to the contest. I have several Sisters on duty to help you with any questions or problems."

"Okay, aunt Phoebe. Thanks."

"Here's your remote control for the access elevator," she said, handing me the device. "Only you, myself, Angelique, and Lenore will be able to get to the Masturbatorium from here. No one else is to use it."

"I understand."

"And make sure neither of you is late or you'll forfeit your spot."

Angelique looked at me as though staring down a trapped animal. "Don't worry, mom," she said impassively. "I'll be there on time."

I walked out of there as fast as I could. There was no way I was going to remain in that kitchen with Angelique glaring at me with those menacing blue eyes. She hadn't fooled me and she knew it. I would simply return to have my breakfast later when she was no longer around.

I headed back up to my bedroom feeling forlorn. From the moment I had seen my aunt and Angelique sitting together in friendly conversation, I thought that maybe my cousin had returned to her former self; that maybe she had come to her mother to apologize and to seek repentance for her dismal behavior. Realizing that this was simply a pretence only served to make me despair of any real chance at reestablishing our former equilibrium. Yet, it is strange how the human heart will tend toward tolerance and forgiveness when one's loved ones are concerned. Some part of me wished for Angelique to be my friend again, and when I realized this was not possible, I cursed myself for engaging in such a foolish notion. But why the sudden turnaround? Why was Angelique pretending to be nice to us?

Charlotte had recently warned me that my cousin was 'her own best friend' and that she was a 'master' at playing mind games. I knew this was true for it had been borne out in her actions. And as I stood looking out my window at the first of a long train of vehicles descending over the rolling hills to the south, it dawned upon me that her sudden act of friendliness was engendered by the belief that she was going to win the contest. What else would have allowed her to behave so impudently and carefree if not that she was completely assured of victory over her rivals—and especially me? Her confident demeanor should have tipped me off, but I was momentarily thrown off guard by her award-winning act.

The truth was, she did stand an excellent chance of winning. From what my teammates had told me, Jacques LaSalle seemed a formidable opponent. And it was certainly in Angelique's nature to engage in the kind of smug presumption I had just witnessed, elevating arrogance to a virtue, as though by merely believing in one's competence one might assume the mantle of greatness. On top of that, she had a score to settle: an act of redemption that the entire Sisterhood must witness, and to be performed by her very own hand, literally. And with every creamy salvo of semen coaxed out by her incomparably beautiful hands, she would thus be vindicated; the stigma she had been forced to accept by failing the test completely erased when she held the "Antoinette" trophy up high for all to see.

I waited for about fifteen minutes before going downstairs again and thankfully the kitchen was empty. I had my breakfast and then took the elevator down to the first level. As the elevator doors opened I was greeted by the unwelcome sight of my cousin, standing by herself in the antechamber that led out into the tunnel. She wasn't at all surprised to see me, leading me to believe that she had purposely remained behind to confront me. She forced a smile but it contained as much sincerity in it as one might find on the grinning face of a hyena just before it moves in for the kill.

"That was quite a performance you put on," I said, "but you didn't fool me one bit."

"I did it to shut my mother up," she confessed freely. "Now that I'm back in her good graces, I intend to stay there."

I didn't know how she had managed to get back on speaking terms with my aunt and I didn't care.

"What do you want, Angelique?"

"I want to know what your intentions are," she asked, pointedly.

"About what?"

"About leaving. After you lose the contest are you going to continue to wear out your welcome here, or are you going to do the smart thing and go home?"