Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 09

In Lenore's view, the male was the culprit—the bringer of war and the harbinger of all things anti-life. Men could create, yes, but they could not procreate. Not in the sense that a woman could. Men could never really know what it was like to give birth to a living being, and as such, did not feel the same empathy and respect for human life. Men could conceive of wonderful inventions in science, medicine, and art, but they were forever beyond the possibility of creating life. Man might possess the sperm that could impregnate, but that was where it ended. It was the woman who must nurture the life within and bring it to fruition.

Like my aunt Phoebe, Lenore saw the world as either black or white. Both were supreme pragmatists and did not suffer fools gladly. But Lenore, as kind and understanding as she was, was also sublimely arrogant. Not arrogant in such a way as to cause affront to others, but in a way that made one feel that she was somehow beyond reproach. I don't think she was really conscious about the way in which she made others feel overawed, but I was sensitive enough to know when she was behaving in that mode, and simply humored her. Others, those of the radical element, refused to compromise their own behavior simply because she was their superior, and snubbed her, often openly. That they already had problems accepting her personal worldview did not make matters any better.

And at the forefront of this push to overthrown the old order was my cousin Angelique. She had not been the original instigator, but her natural leadership tendencies saw her evolve over time into an ascendant role. She now stood at the pinnacle of the movement, and she was getting more powerful all the time.

Those who knew her intimately, myself included, had recently come to the observation that her bizarre mood swings and predilection for unruliness had stemmed from some as yet undiagnosed psychological disorder. I had seen glimpses of her odd behavior since arriving at the chateau, but over the course of the summer it had become decidedly worse. At first I though it was simply due to the mundane behavioral inconsistencies inherent in most personalities. But as the days and weeks wore on it became evident that this was not so. For the longest time, my aunt Phoebe denied that there was anything wrong with her daughter. But even she could not dismiss the fact that Angelique had clearly developed two distinct personalities: one ruthless and cunning, and the other, cold and distant. Any semblance of warmth she possessed was simply a tool in her mental arsenal of tricks to deceive and manipulate others. I could not imagine Dr. Monroe getting her to take a psychological examination, regardless of what my aunt wished for her daughter.

I was just beginning to fall asleep when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

"Holly, are you awake?"

It was Angelique.

"What do you want?" I replied in a surly tone. "It's 1:30 am."

"I saw your light on and thought you might be up. Can I talk to you?"

The last thing I needed was to cap off my evening with a visit from my psychotic cousin, but I was curious as to why she wanted to speak to me.

"Come in. The door's open."

She was dressed in a white silk nightgown and was barefoot. She closed the door behind her and I motioned for her to sit on the edge of the bed. She looked very preoccupied. Her beautiful long tresses framed her lovely face so that she looked more like an angel that the true demon she really was.

"I'm sorry to bother you at such a late an hour," she began with what seemed like genuine regret, "but I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

She pushed herself up on the bed and placed her legs so that they fell off the sides. "I think I'm in trouble."

Outwardly she looked fine to me. "What do you mean, trouble?"

"I mean I think there's something wrong with my head."

I laughed. "Really? I don't think that will come as a surprise to anyone."

She looked dismayed. "Please don't make a joke out of it. I know what you think about me but I really am sick. I've been getting these really severe headaches and my peripheral vision is blurred. It doesn't happen all the time, but it's becoming more frequent."

"Are you kidding me? Because if this is one of your ridiculous schemes you can leave right now."

"It's not a scheme!" she said, angrily. "I…I feel like I'm not myself half the time." She seemed genuinely worried and then she started to sob. "I don't know what's happening to me, Holly. When did we become enemies? I used to confide in you about everything. What happened?"

"I think you know the answer to that question. Don't play me for a fool."

I thought her true persona might reveal itself through my rather cold reaction to her ostensible mental condition, but she reacted as she might have done when we had truly been friends.

"You seem to think this is all some fabrication," she said dishearteningly. "But I'm telling you the truth."

"Have you told your mother about this?"

"No. She has enough problems as it is."

"If you are truly sick, then I suggest you tell her as soon as possible. And then see Dr. Monroe."

She looked at me disparagingly. "Dr. Monroe? That stupid bitch doesn't know the working end of a stethoscope!"

"Well you better see someone. Those symptoms you're describing could be due to many things. It's best not to wait."

"Thank you Dr. McKenzie," she said sarcastically. "You are so wise."

"I think you should leave, Angelique. I'm very tired."

My cousin gave me one those sickly smiles that I had seen all too often recently and jumped off the bed.

"Yes, we do have a busy day in front of us tomorrow, don't we?"

She slowly meandered toward the door, but I could tell her mind was racing, plotting, formulating something distasteful to say.

"I would wish you luck but I guess that would be foolish," she said coldly.

"Under the circumstances, yes, it would be."

"You know that I have to crush you, don't you?"

"I know you're going to try."

"I don't really want to hurt you, Holly. The truth is, I really love you. But you are in my way. I gave you a chance to leave, but you insisted on staying. And I can't have that. You understand, I'm sure."

"Oh, yes." I replied. "I understand very well. I understand that you probably do have a serious psychological condition, and for that I'm sorry. But even so, I'm not going to fall for your tricks."

Her evil grin caused a cold shiver to go up and down my spine. The more familiar Angelique, the one who was my adversary, was back. I could actually see the transformation progress by stages in front of me, and it was a frightening thing to behold.

"It's not that I think you're stupid or anything like that. But you're really not a leader. The Sisterhood needs someone like me. Not Lenore. And especially not you."

"That is your opinion. But the choice of who will lead the Sisterhood is not your decision to make, and you know that."

She laughed derisively. "Not my decision? It will be. And there is nothing you, Lenore, my mother, or anyone else can do about it."

I had heard enough. "Will you please leave? I really don't want to hear any more of your nonsense."

"Good night cousin," she said in a mockingly sweet voice. "Oh, by the way. I heard your friend Craig had an accident. How is he?"

"He's fine. Not that it's any of your concern."

"Oh, but it is," she replied somewhat arrogantly. "You see…I have to crush him too. Sweet dreams."

Never in my life had I seen such a dramatic change in personality occur right before my eyes. I must admit that it was truly unnerving to see her facial expressions run the gamut of decidedly unpleasant emotions. I just glared at her as she left the room.

There was no doubt in my mind that she had been behind the attack on Craig. Although I could not tell if her ailment was real or imaginary, she still remained my adversary—my enemy—and I would have to crush her before she crushed me. There would be no other way for this game to end.

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

At noon the following day, all the contending teams had assembled in the main hall. The audience was allowed in a half hour later. I surmised that there were roughly over 1,000 people in attendance, representing a host of countries. The logistics were handled flawlessly, thanks to the diligence of Lenore, Phoebe, and their colleagues. Lenore told me that it was the largest turnout they had ever had for such an event.

The order by which the teams would be presented was determined by lot. The Greek team would go first, followed by Brazil, China, Italy, Andaman Islands, France, and the USA. I was glad that my team was going to go on last in that it would give Craig that much more time in which to prepare himself. After yesterday's ordeal nearly put him out of the running, I tried to be as deferent to him as possible, making sure that all his needs were met and providing him with every comfort I could manage.

At exactly 1:30 PM the judges took their seats and the official ceremonies began. I felt as if I were attending a sort of mini Olympics, except that there was not one camera or video device to be found. The mechanical recording of all such events was necessarily forbidden for obvious reasons. If someone were caught filming or taking pictures, he or she would be removed and their equipment confiscated. A Sister who was found breaking this injunction faced severe penalties, as did acolytes. At no time during the long history of the "Long Shots" competition were these rules broken.

After all the top-ranking Sisterhood leaders had made their respective speeches, it was time for the games to begin. As the taped music began, the Greek champion proudly strutted to the narrow lane where he stood at the edge of a painted black marker upon which he had to place both his feet. The lane was almost identical to a typical lane you'd find in any bowling alley—the floor was not wood however, but a hard black plastic. It was a modular device containing several interlocking pieces that could be fitted together to form lengths of varying degree. And at several points along the vertical axis were placed electronic sensing devices, which would accurately record the distance of each champion's cumshot. This removed the necessity of having the acolytes rely upon visual confirmation, which could sometimes be inaccurate.

The other teams sat in a previously appointed area across from the judge's platform. The champions themselves sat together in a separate area behind the judge's booth, their long white robes resembling togas. Craig waved to me several times and I could tell that he was in good spirits. I saw Angelique and her associates, who sat a few rows in front of me, look on with a collective smugness at what they probably construed as an imminent win for their team. She must have read my mind because she turned to give me a look that can only be described as outright disdain. Nothing she could do would bother me now. I even felt bad for her, because I knew that by pinning all her hopes on Jacques, that she had made a fatal error in judgment.

My aunt Phoebe, Lenore, Justine and Estelle all sat together in the front row directly across from the lane. I was grateful that the seating had been arranged in stadium-style fashion, so that my view of them was not obstructed. For some reason, having them in sight made me feel better. I don't know why but it just did.

I saw Sylvie, Julie, and Juliette wave to me from the other side of the hall. A few rows down from them sat Mary Kate and Ashley, Drew, and Teri. I also noticed quite a few other celebrities and foreign dignitaries—even an American woman who was currently running for President of the United States!

The music came to an abrupt halt and I watched expectantly as the Greek champion removed his white robe to reveal an exceptionally muscular body. He was handsome, of medium height, and seemed quite enervated. When the team's Domina signaled that she was ready, one of the judges began the countdown by setting an electronic clock in motion, which was a rather large LCD device that hung suspended from the ceiling of the hall. Each contestant had only five minutes in which to ejaculate, otherwise the team would be disqualified.

Immediately the Domina's hands set to work on the Greek champion's rather large penis. For the benefit of those attendees who sat too far away to get a good view of the action, a theatre-style screen had been set up just above where the contest was taking place. These images were not recorded, only magnified. It was both amusing and arousing to watch his masturbation in such fine visual detail, and I found myself looking at the screen more than the actual proceedings.

Within a very short time he was fully erect, his team cheering him on. The Greek delegation sitting in the audience was very vocal, often calling the champion by name, which was Dimitri. Most of what they shouted was in Greek, but the occasional English word was heard now then, all of it very crude but funny.

At the three-minute mark the Domina was jerking him off furiously—her assistant always close at hand to provide the needed lubrication. And then at precisely 3:55, I heard the champion scream aloud and shift his lower body down and outward. On the upward pull of his penis a long, thick rope of semen shot out of his cock and sailed up the lane. It was very impressive, but I knew just from watching it that he offered no real competition to Craig. The electronic sensor registered 14.3 feet. The other shots of sperm failed to even make the ten-foot mark.

The Greek delegation was disappointed to say the least, but they accepted their lot with equanimity. Now it was time for the Brazilian team.

If it is a true that a well-rounded play consists of elements both tragic and comedic, then the Brazilian team emphasized the latter most effectively. Their champion was a rather smallish man, no bigger than 5' 4' in height. However, his cock was about 10 inches in length, or so said the stats that were displayed on the screen every time a new champion came to compete.

It was a completely oversized organ, replete with two very large testicles that hung almost halfway down his legs. He smiled and bowed to the audience and behaved quite like a famous celebrity might on a television game show. Such was his exuberance that the entire audience was soon cheering him on, regardless of their ethnic associations. I found myself laughing heartily at his comic display and hoped he would provide us with a good cumshot. And that he did.

Within two minutes his Domina had him shooting his hot load all over the lane. It was a very pell-mell kind of cumshot, with the sperm flying in all directions but not up the lane where it was intended to go. It had turned out to be quite a disappointment, but the team accepted their fate graciously and the champion walked off to a roaring applause.

The Chinese team now made their way to the lane marker. Like the Brazilian champion, their contender was also a small man roughly 5' 5" tall. He was extremely thin and was really nothing to look at. When he took of his robe his frail body contrasted sharply with his huge organ, which I surmised to be about nine inches in length. He looked funny with his black horn-rimmed glasses on his face, but he appeared determined to do his best.

His Domina was an exceptionally beautiful woman—elfin, delicate, but possessed of a firm grip and an aggressive nature. As soon as the countdown began she pulled on him savagely, her entire body being employed to add the necessary force to get him off. He was erect in less than 30 seconds and the close up on the screen showed that pre-cum was already forming at the tip of his cock. Up and down her hand flew, her face grimacing in a determined attempt to provoke an intense orgasm. And then, suddenly, after only a minute of assiduous stroking, his fat prick spit gobs of sperm into the air, the first spurt landing 16 feet away. The crowd cheered wildly. The little man showed his appreciation by bowing to the audience and was then led off by his grinning Domina.

So far, the cumshots had been impressive but not exceptional.

Italy was up next. The Italian champion was a gorgeous-looking man of about 25. He must have been about 6 feet tall and had long brown hair that he worn down to his shoulders. His body was firm and taught, his muscles ripped. And when the robe came off, he displayed a cock that was nothing short of perfect. I guessed it was about 8 or nine inches long but quite wide in diameter. It looked like it belonged on a statue.

The Italian delegation greeted him with shouts of "Bravo!" as he got ready to take his position at the marker. His Domina was a beautiful redhead with almost alabaster-like skin. She wore only a halter-top and short skirt with high heels. I could see that see was very serious about her business and whispered something in his ear at the last moment, which I presumed was a few words of encouragement. And then the countdown commenced.

In all the time since I have first witnessed guys being masturbated, I had never seen hands move so fast. I literally could not keep up with her movements. Her hands moved to some strange demonic force that could not be ascertained by the standards of ordinary human visual perception. In less than a minute he was shooting wads of cum high into the air and managed to hit, with his second shot, the 19-foot mark. Now I was starting to worry. And I could see that Angelique was worried too.

Needless to say, the crowd went completely wild. It was a great achievement, and the Italian team left the platform to a standing ovation.

It was now time for the Andaman Island team to make their bid for the championship. All of the members of the team were pygmies, including their champion, who stood only an inch or two higher than his female superiors. I estimated him to be only slightly higher than 4 feet tall. I had seem him perform in the qualifying rounds weeks before and could not forget the size of his genital equipment, nor the very impressive cumshot that he delivered. His prick was only nominal in size, but his balls were something else.

As he disrobed, I was again made aware of his huge set of testicles. There was now a week's worth of sperm inside them, desperate for release. And these little men had been known to shoot quite far under the expert stimulation of their mistresses.

The little pygmy woman applied a large dollop of cream to her hands and on the signal from the judges used both of them to masturbate him. Her technique was the opposite of the Italian Domina. She moved her hands up and down his slick pole slowly, deliberately, making sure her fingers traversed every inch of his meat.

I watched his body tense up as he prepared for ejaculation. It was now just over three minutes when he stared to shoot his hot cum. The first jet flew out in a more or less parallel line, coasting easily to the 20-foot mark. His Domina jumped up and down in delight, as did the rest of her team, at the incredible sight.

Felicia, who was sitting on my left, whistled loudly. "We have our work cut out for us I think, Holly."

"I'm sure Craig can beat that. Think positive."

"Fine, fine. But we still have Jacques to contend with."

I looked at the handsome Frenchman, who now, along with Angelique and her team made their way to the platform. The Andaman Islanders were still cheering their team when the judges gave the French team the signal to start. But something was wrong.

I had noticed that Jacques was constantly shaking his head every so often as he sat with the other contestants but he gave no indication that anything was wrong. Now, as he stood next to Angelique, it was quite clear that he was having great difficulty standing on his feet. Angelique and her team asked for a few minutes to determine what was wrong but it was obvious he could not perform.