Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 07

Julie's left hand immediately grasped the base of his shaft while her right hand continued to stroke him with hard, rapid movements. She moved her head back slightly and to the left in order to get a better view of his orgasm.

"Catch it! Catch it!" she screamed, as I watched Craig's entire body freeze under the girl's insistent tugging. 

The first spurt of semen shot out so fast that it startled everyone, especially Julie. 

"Hurry! You have to catch it!" she laughed as her hands brought forth the second eruption of hot cream.

This time the trajectory of the cumshot was much higher and had drifted to the right. Sylvie was there.

"Got it!" she exclaimed, as the sperm hit the rim of her glass first before collecting in a pool at the bottom.

Julie was overjoyed at seeing all three of us jockeying for position with our wineglasses extended before us, trying to anticipate when the next load of sperm was going to be fired.

"Oh, God!" Craig cried as two huge ropes of sperm followed one upon the other.

I somehow managed to outmaneuver Juliette, and caught the first of these ejaculations head on into my glass. I had to quickly move my glass into vertical position to prevent the cum from dripping out, but I succeeded in doing it. Juliette, who watched as the bulk of Craig's offering landed on her arm, leaving only a modest amount in her glass, captured the next spurt.

"Another one!" she demanded.

As if in obeisance to her command, Craig's cock reared back and fired off another thick and creamy salvo right at her, which she successfully trapped in her glass.

"Ha!" she laughed as she looked down into the glass. It was half full.

Craig continued to shoot his sperm at us, sometimes high into the air where we had to fight each other to get at it. One jet of semen was completely trapped in Sylvie's glass, thanks to her quick maneuvering. This was followed by a succession of spurts that were fired off at random, some of which I managed to catch, but most of which Sylvie's agile hands succeeded in obtaining. Juliette caught the final stringy load. All of us laughed as we watched the bulk of it splash onto the outside of her glass and dribble down onto her fingers. Craig was completely spent, but Julie was absolutely enervated.

"Look at my hands!" she said, as she raised them up for us to see. "You had a lot of stuff inside you, Craig!"

"I guess so," he replied breathing fast. 

Sylvie handed her a napkin. "You were superb!" she said.

"Absolutely!" I added.

"Okay, you were good," Juliette said begrudgingly.

Receiving such praise from us put Julie in a very happy mood. She carefully wiped the sperm from her hands with the napkin and then retreated to the bathroom to further clean up. The three of us looked into each other's glasses, curious to see which one of us had caught the most sperm.

"I guess you win," I said to Sylvie, seeing her glass almost completely full.

"You played very well," she replied. "You almost got as much as me."

Juliette looked disappointed. "I only caught one load. But if my sister had pointed his cock more toward me..."

"Don't start," Julie shouted from the bathroom. "You had as much chance as they did."

"No arguments, please," Sylvie warned them. "The game was played fair and square."

Sylvie and Juliette soon joined Julie in the bathroom to remove traces of semen that had struck their clothing or hands. I had, however, miraculously remained unscathed.

"I think we better be going," I said to Craig, as I watched him clean his prick with a napkin.

"Yeah, it is getting kind of late."

He quickly dressed and then poured himself a glass of water. He took one sip and smiled. I hadn't realized that I was staring at him the whole time.

"Something wrong, Holly?"

"I would like you to be my champion at the 'Long Shots' contest," I told him.

He smiled again and took another sip. "I'm your man," he said.


After Craig and I said goodbye to Sylvie and the twins, he drove me home as promised. I had a chance to learn a little about him during our hour-long drive, and the more I heard, the more I knew I had made the right choice in making him my champion.

"So you were married to her for how long?" I asked him.

"Six months," he replied.

"What happened?"

"Cheryl was a great girl, but the marriage just didn't take."

"Was it true what you said about your penis being too big for her?"

"That was part of it, but the truth is we just rushed into it before we had a chance to really get to know each other. I guess that happens to a lot of people."

"I guess so," I replied. "But I wonder if we ever really do know people as well as we think."

He shrugged. "Probably not."

Craig seemed not to want to talk about this aspect of his life so I changed the subject. In due course he told me all about his experiences with the EJAX-472 drug: how it had changed his life and how it had led him, inadvertently, to me.

"I know I did a stupid thing by taking that damned illegal drug," he said. "But as weird as it sounds, it opened up a whole new world for me. I wouldn't have met you otherwise."

I chuckled softly. "I guess I should be grateful for your stupidity."

"Yeah," he agreed. "The one time when my 'other' head made the right choice. But I don't want you to think I usually make decisions that way."

"Well, Dr. Swensen must have seen something in you for her to take you on this trip. And your friend Barney too."

He smiled. "Some people might think she was using me and him like guinea pigs. You know, like pitting us against your aunt Phoebe's studs in order to rack up some new statistics. But Christiana's not like that. She actually invited Barney and I to come along because it was her way of saying 'thank you' for helping her with her experiment. She wanted us to enjoy ourselves."

"That was very nice of her," I said. "It's too bad she had to leave. She seems like a very fascinating person."

"She's a great lady," he emphasized. "Maybe one of these days you could visit me in Stockholm. I'm sure she'd love to see you again. Not to mention me, of course."

"I'd love to," I replied. "Speaking of your friend, Barney...where is he anyway?"

"He has family living here in Paris so he's staying with them. Mostly he hangs out with me at the hotel though."

"Do you think he's going to compete in the 'Long Shots' contest?"

"I don't know. He hasn't said that much about it. Why?"

"Why?" I asked, surprised. "Because he stands a good chance of winning. Both of you do. And there is a lot of money involved, too. He'd be crazy not to enter."

"Barney is a great guy but he's not always forthcoming. I'll ask him tonight when I see him."

Craig's mouth dropped open when we reached the top of the hill overlooking my aunt's estate and surrounding vineyards. The vast stretch of cultivated lawns and gardens loomed before us like an imposing patchwork of emerald green framed beneath the vista of a cloudless, crimson sky, within which stood the magical fairytale castle of the proud Anjou family.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "It that it? Is that your aunt's estate?"

"I know!" I laughed aloud. "I can hardly believe it myself. It's like living in Disneyland."

"You know, the last time I was here it was late at night and I couldn't see much. Man, was I missing the picture or what?"

"Well, my dear Craig, you'll be getting to see a lot of this place in a few days. Training for the contest begins next week."

He let out a loud whoop. "I can't wait! And you're going to be training me, right?"

"I'll be your principal trainer," I said. "But I will also have other women to assist me."

He seemed to like this idea immensely. "The more hands the merrier!"

As we drove up to the front entrance I saw my cousin ride by on Antares. I thought she might stop to greet us as we approached the front gate, but she ignored us and rode off toward the coral.

"That was Angelique, wasn't it?" Craig asked.

"That was her."

"She didn't look too happy."

If I had only known about the schemes my cousin was clandestinely hatching at that moment I would never have mistaken her taciturn appearance for anything but the arrogant scowl it really was. 

"We had a falling out," I said, as I watched her and her mount vanish behind the tall hedges. "This is her way of punishing me."

"Maybe you could try talking to her."

"I intend to. But I don't think it's going to change anything."

"You never know," he said. "She is family after all."

"Yes, she is," I concluded, dismally.

He took his right hand off the wheel and placed it over mine.

"You know what I like about you, Holly?"

Before I had a chance to respond, he went and answered his own question.

"You give a shit."


"You give a shit," he repeated. "Everything matters to you."

"Yes, it does," I concurred. "I suppose I'm just an intense person."

"Intense, passionate, beautiful, smart...you're just an unbelievable girl. And you've got the greatest hands..."

He raised one of my hands up to his face and kissed it.

"You'd better treat them nice," I advised him. "These hands are going to be demanding a lot from you."

He moaned softly as my other hand lightly brushed his thigh.

"Like they did today?" he asked, as I gently removed my hand from his grasp.

"Today was just a warm-up."

"A warm-up?" he asked surprised. "Shit, I better hold off on coming for a while!"

"Until next Monday. That will give you four days to conserve that precious cum of yours."

He laughed. "I'll try not to jerk off."

"You have to be here to start your training at 9:00 AM," I told him. "And don't be late or you'll be disqualified."

"Anything for you, Holly," he said, looking at me with a sudden, burning desire.

I gave him a kiss and got out of the car. He held onto my arm until the last moment, reluctant to let me go, and asked me if I wanted to go back to his hotel. As much as I wanted to go with him, I also knew that he would try to initiate sexual intercourse, and although I liked him very much, I simply didn't know him well enough to relinquish my virginity to him. It simply didn't feel right to me. I explained my feelings to him and he seemed to understand, although I knew he was disappointed.

"Do you want to meet me and Barney at the beach tomorrow?" he asked. "I'll wear my new emerald-green thong for you."

The chance to spend some time with him at the beach, and in an environment where I would be relatively safe from being pressured into having sex—or worse, from having to turn him down—appealed to me greatly.

"Sure," I replied. "What time?"

"Ten o'clock. I'll meet you by the main entrance."

"I'll be there."

I gave him some further details about the contest and then we said goodbye. He remained in the driveway until I had let myself into the house and then drove off. The mark of a gentleman, I thought.


I was so tired after leaving Craig that I went upstairs and went straight to bed. My adventures in Paris had completely tuckered me out, and I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The following morning I found neither my aunt, nor Angelique, anywhere in the house. I had overslept, and now that I was running late I decided to forego breakfast and call a cab, as Jake was nowhere to be found. After I had showered, I hurriedly put on my white bikini and threw on a white cotton blouse over it. I arrived at the beach a few minutes late, but Craig was waiting for me by the main entrance, already outfitted in nothing but his emerald-green thong and receiving appreciative looks from many young women—and some men. Barney wasn't with him.

"Wow! You look great!" he remarked, as he surveyed me up and down. 

"So do you!" I replied. "Green suits you. What there is of it anyway. Where's the big man?" 

"He couldn't make it," he replied. "He said he had other plans."

Craig didn't seem too happy about his friend's decision not to come and dug one of his heels into the sand.

"Other plans," he said derisively. "Come on. How could anyone pass this up?"

"Did you ask him about the contest?" I asked. 

"He's not going to do it," he replied with a frown. "In fact, he's leaving for Montreal in two days."


"That's where he's from."

This news surprised me. "I thought you two guys were having such a great time here. Why is he leaving?"

"He told me that he had some personal business to take care of back home and left it at that."

"Personal business? Did he give you any details?"

"None. Which really bothers me because I know Barney pretty well, and it's not like him to be so evasive."

"What are you going to do?"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm staying. But if he wants to leave I can't stop him. I just feel like he's hiding something from me."

The beach was already crowded, but we staked out a spot for ourselves on one end close to a small outcropping of rock. Craig had brought a blanket, sunscreen, sandwiches, and several bottles of chilled water that he kept in an insulated container—everything we'd need for the next several hours as we sat lying in the hot sun.

"I'm sorry I didn't think to take anything with me," I said. "I was running late."

"You made it here, that's all I care about," he smiled, as he placed the blanket down on the sand. 

For a while we said nothing to each other. I allowed him to put sunscreen on my back and then I did the same for him—all as we watched the green-blue waves gently roll onto the shoreline not fifty feet from where we sat. A short distance away a young couple lay side by side locked in a passionate embrace; they seemed oblivious to everything going on around them as their bodies lay intertwined on the sand. Craig and I watched them for a few moments in silence, and then we positioned ourselves next to each other with our backs to the sun. 

At intervals, a gentle, cooling breeze would sweep across the water and caress our heated bodies, offering a temporary respite from the sun's merciless rays. We remained quiet for some time until, finally, the combined effects of the sun, waves, and wind forced me to doze. All around me I heard the sound of people's voices being carried on the wind, and every so often the plaintive cry of a gull would reach my ears. At some point I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I heard was Craig's voice urging me to wake up.

"Holly, look!" he said in a hushed but excited tone. 

He put his hand upon my arm and shook me gently. 

"What is it?" I asked, raising my head up.

"Our friends are doing it."

I followed his gaze to the couple we had noticed earlier. Both of them were fucking under cover of a blanket, and the girl's occasional cries of ecstasy filled the air. Strangely enough, no one around them seemed to care about the indecent act being performed under their very noses. Even when the girl's intermittent yelps became a steady drone, no one seemed to pay them any attention. It was odd, to say the least, but then again, this was a French beach, and the French were nowhere near as uptight about such things as their American counterparts.

"Wow!" Craig remarked, reaching under his thong. "I'm getting all excited just listening to her!"

He shifted his body a little to the left so that I could see his crotch. 

"You're as hard as a rock!" I laughed.

"It doesn't take much to get me going," he admitted, as he tried to move his now enlarged penis into a more comfortable position within the thong. 

As he manipulated his cock, I noticed that there was something opaque attached to the end of it.

"What is that?" I asked.

"I have a condom on," he replied.


"For times like this when I get a hard-on and I start to leak. I don't want to get my thong all messy. I feel embarrassed."

"Are you leaking now?"


"Pull the blanket over us."

"What for?"

"Just do as I say."

Without another word, he took one end of the blanket and wrapped us up in half of it, leaving the other half on the sand to protect us from the heated surface. I put my arms around and him and drew his face close to mine. 

"Make love to me," I said to him.

"Are you serious?" he exclaimed. "You want me to..."

"No, I don't want you to fuck me. I want you to kiss me and I'll jerk you off into the condom. I'm feeling horny, too, you know."

Before he had a chance to reply, I placed my mouth on his and gave him a long, passionate kiss. At the same time I pulled his thong down and began to masturbate him with both hands. 

"I wish I were inside you," he moaned, as I stroked him hard with one hand while my other hand played with his huge, cum-filled balls.

"Play with my clit," I said, tonguing his ear. "But don't put your fingers inside me."

"Oh, God," he whispered excitedly as his hand reached down toward my pussy.

His fingers made contact with my clit almost immediately, and he stroked me with an even, consistent tempo, just as my own hand performed the same motion on his stiff prick. 

"Is it true that you're really a virgin?" he asked.


"Oh, wow," he said, driving his cock in and out of my fist with increased speed. "You're just fucking beautiful all over."

Suddenly his face darkened.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"The contest, remember? I thought you told me not to jerk off."

At this point I really didn't care about the contest and told him so.

"Whatever you say, Holly," he said pulling me closer to him. "But are you sure..."

"Oh, Craig. Just shut up and make love to me!"

He kissed me really hard then, and I clung to him for dear life as his arms drew me even closer to him. I think my admission of being a virgin actually served to stimulate him even more, but I wasn't sure why. Despite its size, I wanted so much to feel that enormous cock deep inside me, but I was not yet ready to surrender myself to this man completely. For now, the present form of sexual stimulation would have to suffice—for both of us.

"We're being watched," I said.

Craig tilted his head to one side toward the young couple. "They seem to be enjoying it."

"They had their fun," I said. "Now it's our turn."

For the next several minutes we hardly came up for air, as both of us found it next to impossible to stop kissing. Then, without warning, I felt a tremendous wave of pleasure overcome me, forcing me to clamp my thighs tightly together over his incessantly moving hand.

"Oh, yes!" I moaned loudly in his ear. "Just keep doing that...yes, that's it!"

I wasn't aware that I had stopped tugging on his prick, but I had. All that mattered to me was the incredible sensation that was now engulfing my body like a huge tidal wave. I was coming all over his hand.

"Oh, my God!" I cried.

As his powerful and agile fingers brought me to orgasm, I drove my tongue deep into his mouth and groaned. My climax seemed to go on forever and in the midst of it I heard him whisper several times, "I love you." I knew Craig was very fond of me, as I was of him, but people were known to say such things during the height of passion, and I didn't take it to mean anything more than that. As I came down from my orgasm I relaxed my grip upon his hand and he pulled away.

"No, don't go anywhere," I said. "Let me finish you off."

"You already did," he said smiling.

"You came?" I asked surprised.

"Yes, ma'm. I came right along with you."

"You did? But I stopped stroking you."

I watched as he reached down and slowly removed the condom from his now semi-erect penis. It was full of sperm.

"See? You got me so excited I couldn't help myself."

"Amazing," I said, seeing how much of the condom was actually filled with the creamy fluid. "You'd better bury that thing now."

He proceeded to dig a small hole in the sand next to where he was sitting and threw the soiled condom in it and quickly covered it up.

"I have planted my seed," he laughed, as he patted the sand down with his hand.

"Just as long as nothing sprouts," I said, jokingly.

Toward mid-afternoon we decided to leave the beach and have an early dinner at one of the local restaurants. Both he and I had gotten quite a bit of sun and we were both beginning to feel a bit tired, so we chose to eat lightly. After dinner, he happily offered to drive me home, and we arrived at the estate around 6:00 PM.

"Thanks for taking me home again," I said, as I leaned over to give him a kiss.

"You're welcome ma'm," he replied, with a grin.

"You know I meant what I said yesterday about conserving your sperm. It does make a difference in the contest. I shouldn't have attacked you."

"Don't worry about it. I promise you that whatever sperm I have left will remain there until Monday."

Craig had told me earlier that he had made plans with some friends of his that would preclude us from seeing each other until the day of the first training session. Neither of us was happy about it, but it was probably for the best. If we were together every day I doubt I would have been able to keep my hands off him.

We kissed a few more times and then said goodnight.

As I walked into the foyer I heard voices, very loud and very angry, emanating from down the hall. It sounded like they were coming from my aunt's study, and I recognized the voices as those belonging to my aunt and my uncle Pierre. My uncle's speech sounded slow and slurred, as if he was drunk. From that distance I couldn't make out much of what they were saying, though I knew they were certainly arguing. When I heard Angelique's name mentioned once, and then twice, I decided to find out what was going on. 

The parlor, which was adjacent to the study, was vacant and dark, and I quietly stole down the hall and entered it, taking position behind the half-open, curtained door that divided the two rooms. My aunt was seated at her oak desk, legs crossed, a black, leather valise on her lap. Standing across from her was my uncle, somewhat unsteady and dressed in a charcoal-gray suit. In his hands he held a bottle of his own vintage wine. It was almost empty.

"I swore to Angelique that I would never step foot in this house until all of you came to your senses," he said. "But I see that will never happen without my intervention, and so I am here whether you like it or not."

"Have I ever stopped you from coming to visit with us? Have I Pierre?"

"No, you have never stopped me. But something must be done about this Sisterhood business. These men always coming and going...and naked I hear too! Fine surroundings for our daughter and our niece! Il est honteux!"

"The ways of the Sisterhood are not for you to understand or criticize," my aunt retorted. "The men who serve us choose to do so—they are not compelled. And they are well rewarded for their services. They are naked so as to exemplify their subservience to us. Angelique understands this as does Holly. And you are making me late for my dinner engagement."

My uncle threw his hands up in the air. "To hell with your dinner engagement! You are probably going to eat with that bitch Lenore and her entourage of whores. I'm talking about our daughter. She has not been the same these past few weeks since Holly arrived. I don't know what happened, but I am going to find out."

"How do you know what Angelique is going through and why should you care? You never did before."

"I spoke to her two days ago. But I don't suppose she would have told you."

"No, she didn't."

"Well," he said, "she is not the same, that's all I can say. Not the same at all. I can hear it in her voice. I am very worried about her."

"It's true she has been acting cold and distant lately, but she refuses to talk to me about it. What I don't understand is why you have taken such a sudden interest in her welfare."

Some of my uncle's anger seemed to dissipate momentarily, as if somewhere a bell had sounded signaling the end of a round of fighting. In the subdued light of the sole tiffany lamp that sat on my aunt's desk, his face seemed very old and sad. He stood for a while contemplating what he was going to say, and before long he reached for a nearby chair and sat in it. His voice sounded dry and brittle.

"I failed the both of you," he began, "and for my transgressions I have paid dearly. The only thing I have left is my daughter. She is all that I love in this world, not you, not my money, not my power...just Angelique. And I will not allow you or this accursed Sisterhood of yours to subvert her any further. I will stop you Phoebe. I will use any means necessary to protect my child."

My aunt's face at first registered pity, then hurt, and then indignation. 

"Let me tell you something, Pierre," she said. "Because of my love for you—which you have succeeded in almost completely erasing—I kept your worst offences from ever being made public. The dirt that I have on you, beyond your many acts of infidelity, is enough to ensure that you will spend the rest of your life in prison." She waited a few moments to let these words sink in. "I could have crucified you! But I didn't. And do you know why?"

He shook his head but did not meet her gaze.

"I didn't because I wanted our daughter to be spared the shame of seeing her father publicly humiliated; to see the proud and noble Anjou name dragged in the mud for all of France to see. And let me assure you that this moodiness of hers..."

"It is not moodiness," he broke in.

"Whatever you want to call it... moodiness, temperament...was not a result of her involvement with the Sisterhood. It is something else."

"Something else?" he sneered. "You mean to sit there and tell me that this female supremacy nonsense that you practice has not gone to her head? What girl would not put on airs and act as if she were superior to everyone when she can snap her fingers and have an army of naked men at her command? Men whom she sees are to be used and abused and ridiculed and humiliated, all to satiate the whims of a teenage girl! Do you not think this is evil and perverse?"

My aunt Phoebe nearly laughed in his face.

"You fucked a multitude of women behind my back, and even had children with some of your mistresses. You lied, manipulated, and blackmailed people to make your business a success and let your marriage and child go by the wayside. And one of your good friends got into a fight trying to protect your so-called good name and got shot in the back for it. So don't you dare tell me that the principles your daughter and I adhere to are evil and perverse. We are trying to make the world a better place by putting females in control of society because men like you have made a mess of it!" 

"Ah yes, men like me! After I gave you this estate and the vineyards and everything else!"

"You didn't give me anything, Pierre. You bought me off to save your own skin. It doesn't absolve you from your sins."

"I made a mistake and I admit it," he said feebly.

"You made a mistake?" she snarled. "You did a lot more than that my dear husband!"

"I am not going to apologize to you again!" he said, raising his voice. "I don't care what you do with your own life, but I want Angelique out of the Sisterhood!"

"Whether she stays or leaves is her decision. She is of legal age and she needn't answer to you anymore."

"We'll see about that. When will she be home?"

"I told you, I haven't talked to her for the past three days."

He let out a low, hollow laugh. "You see? There is a problem."

"Yes, there is a problem," my aunt replied, rising from chair. "But it's not what you think. Now will you please leave? My car is waiting."

My uncle slowly got to his feet and placed the bottle of wine on the end table next to him. She watched his plodding retreat toward the door leading out into the hallway with disheartened interest, as if witnessing the final laborious steps of a broken man on the last legs of his journey. For a moment I thought she was going to say something to him, but instead gripped the valise tightly in her hands and took a few steps toward him. Hearing her footsteps, he turned to face her, smiling forlornly.

"I could bring legal action against you," he said. "If the authorities knew what was going on here they could close down your operation. The Sisterhood would be no more."

My aunt was not intimidated. "And I could also put this in their hands," she said, coolly, as she waved the valise in his face. "There is enough information here to ruin you."

"I could suffer nothing worse than losing my child."

"Leave Angelique alone or I promise I'll turn this evidence over to the police," she said, threateningly. 

"Then we shall both go to Hell together," he answered back, his voice almost breaking. "Au revoir."

It wasn't until the front door closed that my aunt sat back down in her chair and hastily threw the valise into a drawer and locked it. She then put her head down on the desktop and cried. It was unnerving for me to see this strong and confident woman reduced to tears. Although my uncle had long since fallen out of love with her, she still had feelings for him, as was evident by her reluctance to prosecute him. I knew, as he most probably did, that this reluctance was not engendered so much by her wanting to protect her daughter from any punishment Pierre might incur from his breaking the law, as she claimed, but rather from her own desire to see him prosper, which she viewed as proving far more beneficial for Angelique's sake as for the sake of the love she still continued to bear him.

Presently, she ceased crying and quickly tidied up her desk and left for her appointment. I then went upstairs to my bedroom and contemplated the implications of my uncle's threat. 

It seemed to me that he would be the one to suffer the most, because even if my uncle could expose the Sisterhood for being a criminal organization, which it was not, my aunt might choose to retaliate simply because he had dared to threaten her. It was conceivable that the French authorities could make life difficult for the Sisterhood, or rather their parent organization, the Philanthropic Society, by maintaining constant vigilance upon their activities once Pierre had warned them. This, in itself, would prove extremely problematical for an organization that had prided itself on generosity and benevolence as a front for far more audacious activities. So although the threat of imprisonment was a frighteningly real possibility for my uncle, the equally distasteful prospect of the Sisterhood being placed under perpetual scrutiny by law officials was just as intolerable. It was a situation in which no winners would emerge.

Angelique was the catalyst; my uncle, the unknown variable. Would he act on his threats? Would his newfound love for her provoke him to strike out against the Sisterhood in the belief that he was rescuing his daughter from the clutches of a group of demented female supremacists as he, no doubt, viewed them? More importantly, would he risk his own freedom and fortune to win back his daughter's love and trust, especially since, given her headstrong and uncompromising temperament, there was no guarantee whatsoever that she would ever return his affections?

After I had showered and dressed, I went downstairs to get myself a snack and something to drink. Around 7:30 PM the phone rang. It was Craig. We talked about our eventful day at the beach and how much he was looking forward to participating in the "Long Shots" contest. I had taken the call in the parlor, which was situated at the far end of the hallway just off the kitchen, and was laughing so hard over something he said that I hadn't heard the front door open and close a few minutes later. Just as I was hanging up the phone I noticed someone standing by the doorway in the shadows. Startled, I immediately jumped out of my seat.

"What's so funny?" my cousin said in an unfriendly voice.

"Oh, it's you!" I said, relieved. "I was on the phone with Craig."

"Where's my mother?"

I wasn't about to reveal myself to her as a snoop, so I decided to lie instead of telling her what had transpired between her parents.

"I don't know. She wasn't here when I got home."

I noticed that she was holding a small, metallic suitcase in her hands and she looked very tired.

"Did she leave any messages?"

"Not that I know of."

She paused for a moment and then turned to go.

"Wait a minute," I said moving closer to her. "You've been avoiding me and your mother for three days now. Don't you think you owe us some kind of explanation?"

I had no sooner said those words than I felt those strange hypnotic eyes trying to bore a hole right through me.

"I don't owe anybody anything," she replied in a supercilious tone. "But if you must know, I spent the day at my father's house in Nice."

This was, of course, a lie.

"I thought you and he weren't getting along."

"We're getting along fine," she lied. "And I had to get away from here. I'm sure you know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean. Why don't you explain it to me?"

At first I thought she was going to reply, but she rudely turned her back on me and made a hasty exit toward the stairs. Angry over her lack of courtesy, I ran after her and grabbed her by the shoulders, causing her to drop her suitcase. As it hit the floor the locks sprang open revealing a collection of assorted mechanical devices that appeared cylindrical in shape with human-looking lips attached to pairs of moveable metal arms.

"You idiot!" she yelled, pushing me away.

She quickly got down on her hands and knees and drew the suitcase to her. I watched as she checked each cylinder in turn, making sure nothing had been damaged. When she was certain nothing was amiss, she refastened the locks and stood defiantly with her suitcase once more in hand at the bottom of the stairs.

"What the hell are those things?" I asked.

"None of your fucking business!" she exclaimed, as she made her ascent up the staircase.

"Okay, so you're pissed off at me because I won the contest. That's what this is all about isn't it?"

She kept walking without acknowledging me.

"I'm talking to you!" I yelled after her.

Still, she kept going.

"Oh, let me guess. It's because Lenore chose me over you, right? Is that why you're treating me and everyone else like shit?"

At the top of the stairs she halted and stood with her back toward me for several seconds. She then turned around slowly and looked down upon me much as a tyrant might look upon a pusillanimous subject cringing in the dirt.

"I don't care about the contest, or Lenore, or the fact that my own mother, who was supposed to have supported me, chose to favor you instead. As much as those things anger me, I must force myself to live with them. What I can't live with is the fact that you betrayed me—you, of all people: sweet, naïve, cousin Holly—my best friend. Who would ever have thought that you were such an ambitious bitch? Well thank you for finally revealing your true colors because now I know who the real enemy is—it's you!"

I listened to her diatribe as one might listen to the ravings of a fundamentalist preacher—those misguided fanatics that appear on early morning television who now and then, with handkerchief in hand, are forced to wipe the spittle from their mouths as they ardently expound the virtues of their faith to a rapturous audience of like-minded zealots. She looked impervious perched upon the topmost stair, almost unreachable, like a goddess, daring me to ascend the steps to Olympus so that she could cast down more epithets upon me, certain that one of them would eventually hit their mark and send me hurtling into oblivion.

"Are you out of your mind?" I said, angrily. "I never betrayed you. I only did what I had to do to pass that stupid test!"

"You could have helped me to win," she said, "but you didn't. You wanted all the glory for yourself."

"That's crazy! If you couldn't figure things out on your own then what obligation did I have to help you? If I did it would have been cheating."

Angelique dismissed my explanation with a well-timed guffaw.

"It would have been cheating!" she said, mocking me. "Like it fucking matters."

"It does matter and you know it."

"You like to think that it was just a test," she said smugly, "but it was more than that. It was the determining factor to see who would ultimately lead the Sisterhood after Lenore steps down. Up until then I still had a chance. I'm the natural leader, not you. But Lenore can't see that. Neither can my mother. But I thought you understood. Well, it's all right. I don't need them anymore, and I especially don't need you." 

"That's great," I said, unable to contain my disgust. "So all this pretending to accept second place—all of it was just an act?"

"I had to bide my time. I had to see if you were on my side."

"On your side? You weren't the one chosen. I was."

"You're not a leader!" she screamed at me. "You don't deserve the honor that fool Lenore bestowed upon you! And there are many other Sisters who feel the same way!"

"So what are you going to do about it, huh, Angelique? Have you got some weird plan in mind to get me out of the way?"

She gave me a sinister smile but remained silent.

"Fine. Have it your way. But your mother deserves better."

"She can go to hell, and so can you."

The goddess cast one last contemptuous glance at me and turned sharply down the corridor. I heard her high heels clicking in perfect rhythm as she marched toward her bedroom, which was then followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. I had no desire to climb those stairs up to my bedroom, afraid that whatever negative energy she had left behind might also contaminate me. Instead, I headed for my aunt's study and found some innocuous book to read—anything to take my mind off the sickening feeling I had in my stomach from my encounter with the demon that had taken possession of my cousin's soul. 

I opened the book and promptly put it down. It suddenly came back to me that both Pierre and Angelique had invoked Hell's punishment in the course of a single evening, and had wished upon their loved ones this unenviable fate with no more compunction than if they had bestowed upon them their blessing. This may have been my uncle's way of dealing with situations over which he had little control, but it certainly was not the way my cousin would have behaved. As disturbing as this thought was, there was something even more troubling about the way in which Angelique had acted toward me. It was some aspect of her personality that I had not recognized right away, its importance dimmed in the fury of our confrontation. But now, with my anger ebbing, I was able to analyze the situation in more depth, and what I discovered during my analysis was a profound truth made blatantly conspicuous by its very absence. That casual approach toward life she often exhibited, that striving to find the humor in any given situation—that was all gone. Even her laugh, as boisterous as it was, had been devoid of warmth. In fact, nothing about her even suggested a hint that those wily machinations of hers—so often resulting in a harmless but uproarious conclusion—were present in her personality. My uncle had been right: Angelique had changed, and the change had been concurrent with my victory over her. Or rather, the seeds of her metamorphosis had already been planted long ago, and all she needed was the right catalyst: me.

I decided to sleep in the guest room of the first floor rather than go upstairs to my own bedroom and chance another encounter with her. For hours I lay awake pondering my next move. It was clear I was now Angelique's enemy, but what was I to do? Should I strive for reconciliation or pack my bags and return home? Should I discuss the situation with my aunt, who was, herself, already beset with her own personal problems, not the least of which was her ostensible estrangement from her daughter? What about my promise to Lenore and the Sisterhood? I had to talk to someone about this issue, but whom? 

It dawned upon me that there was one person who knew a lot about Angelique but who was sufficiently removed from the situation to provide an objective opinion—Charlotte Anjou. Although there was no love lost between her and my cousin, Charlotte did possess an uncanny insight into human nature, as well as professing to be able to see into the future, and she might be able to explain the recent anomalous behavior of my cousin in such terms that an attempt at reconciliation could be made—if I decided to pursue such a course of action. I pulled her card from my purse and dialed her number. After we had exchanged pleasantries, I gave her a brief explanation as to the reason for my requesting a visit, and she told me to stop by her house in the morning to discuss the matter. Following my unpleasant encounter with Angelique, it was refreshing to hear a warm and friendly voice. 

Charlotte had told me not to worry, that she would indeed be happy to offer whatever advice and help she could. Knowing this provided me with great comfort, and I soon felt myself relinquishing the tensions of the day that had dwelt so heavily upon me. But as I drifted toward sleep, another image insinuated itself upon my dwindling consciousness. I tried to will it away but it fought to reassert itself. It was something I had encountered in a previous dream: a splash of golden radiance, of normal time condensing into fragments, of some indistinct apparition moving within the whole, and a tiny voice imploring me to remember.


"Hey, Craig!" said the voice on the other end of the phone. "It's Barney."

It was 3:00 AM and Craig had been in a dead sleep, his adventures at the beach finally catching up with him. He was so tired he could barely extend his arm out to reach the lamp by his bedside. He had finally picked up the phone on the third ring, cleared his voice a few times, and made a feeble attempt to sound alert.

"Hey, Barney," he replied. "What's up?"

"Look man, I'm sorry I'm calling you so late, but I wanted to say I'm sorry for not showing up yesterday."

"Barney, it's 3:00 AM. Can't we talk about this later?"

"I'm leaving for Montreal now, man. I'm calling to say goodbye."

Craig sat up in his bed, suddenly wide awake. "You're leaving?"

"That's right. Got a 3:30 AM flight."

"I don't understand. What's going on?"

Barney took his time answering. It sounded to Craig that his friend was breathing heavily.

"Barney," Craig said. "Did you hear me?"

Craig thought he heard the sound of female laughter coming over the phone.

"I heard you, bro," Barney replied. "Look, all I can tell you is that my mother is very sick and I have to go home. That's all there is to it. I'm sorry I can't say goodbye to you in person, but that's how it is."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's...she's very sick, that's all I know."

"Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come with you?"

"No man, there's not enough time. I have to go now."

"No wait," Craig said reaching for the pen on his night table. "Give me your phone number."

"No time, bro. I'll call you when I get home."

Again, the raucous laughter reached his ears.

"Barney? Where the hell are you?"

"Sometimes shit like this happens, man," his friend replied, hastily. "You've been a good buddy to me, Craig. The best I ever had. God bless you, man. God bless you and take care of yourself."

"Wait a minute! Barney!"

The dial tone sounded loudly in Craig's ear. He put down the phone and tried to fathom exactly what had just transpired. A sick mother? That was one of the oldest routines in the book. And Barney had sounded more evasive than ever. But what was all that heavy breathing about? And the girlish laughter? Given Barney's character, it just didn't make sense for him to pick up and leave in such a fashion.

It was too late to try and intercept him at the airport and Craig never did get Barney's cousin's phone number in Paris. He didn't even know their last name. And Barney didn't carry a cell phone. Fortunately, Craig was going to be visiting with friends for the next several days. He was going to miss Barney a lot.


Barney Cole couldn't hang up the phone fast enough. The "hot lips" device attached to his penis had been stopped momentarily so that he could make a call to his friend Craig, at Angelique's insistence, and now the girl turned it back on to see how much longer it would take him to shoot his cum into the cylinder. He had already withstood two hours of continuous manipulation by the insidious device.

He was seated in a chair surrounded by seven women, one of them being Angelique's trusted lieutenant, Marge Davis. The other women were what Angelique referred to as "fluffs," a term given to women in the adult film business who were charged with keeping men in an erect state via oral stimulation of the penis, but who were, in their present capacity, Sisterhood wannabes who were selected to carry out Angelique's orders without question, even if it meant surrendering their bodies for whatever purpose their mistress saw fit.

This was the fourth level of the Masturbatorium: a dungeon-like environment with dirt floors and heavy with the stench of decaying things. Torches sat blazing in iron braziers attached to the concrete walls; there being no concessions to modernity whatsoever. This cavernous room, and the one below it, were the original rooms in which people had been tortured and killed during the unenlightened and bloody period known as the "Dark Ages." Some of the ancient torture devices had still remained, their metallic components almost completely rotted away with the passage of the centuries until only vague skeletons remained. These once formidable instruments of torture lay in a heap in one corner of the room, and surrounding them were huge crates that once contained surplus war rations belonging to the Germans, now emptied by the ravenous vermin that had long ago inhabited this dank, nether world.

Angelique did not like coming here. She did not like the idea that there may still be rats lurking about. But she had now obtained her secret weapon, and her secret could not be made known until the proper moment, and at her discretion. With the upper floors of the Masturbatorium now being decorated by a slew of Sisters in preparation for the "Long Shots" contest, she had no choice but to utilize this unsavory environment or risk having her secret exposed. This was something she could not afford to do.

In order to get Barney and the rest of her accomplices into the dungeon unseen, she was forced to employ the second of two underground tunnels that ran southward in parallel fashion for a distance of one-half mile and terminated in an above ground bunker situated within a grotto that had long been overrun with vegetation. This secondary tunnel, which was actually the first of the two tunnels built, had been constructed during the 18th century when many of the French nobility needed access to a speedy exit in case of invasion by rival factions during the Revolution. It had undergone many repairs during the intervening centuries but ultimately fell into disuse. During World War II, the Germans built another tunnel about a mile southeast of the existing one, a tunnel large enough to accommodate the army's huge transport trucks carrying munitions and supplies. This was the tunnel that was presently in use by the Sisters—a completely modern structure that served as a drop-off point to facilitate the passage of people, foodstuffs, and other assorted items that ultimately found their way into the Masturbatorium. 

Angelique had arranged for clandestine deliveries of items she had ordered from her Paris distributor to be brought to the old tunnel entrance—standard dominatrix accoutrements like chains, harnesses, whips, and an assortment of modern gadgets of which the "hot lips" device was one. Even larger machines were wheeled through the tunnel—futuristic-looking devices whose apparent purpose was not readily discernable even by discrete observation, but which could contain a man's body so efficiently that a myriad of functions could be performed on him via a simple, automated program. A few of these dastardly machines stood not far from where Barney sat, awaiting only the delivery of an electrical generator to set them in motion.

For all her insistence on her being cognizant of every activity going on within the confines of the estate, Phoebe was completely unaware that her daughter had been making efficient use of the ancient passageway. She knew that it existed but paid no attention to it. To her, the decrepit tunnel held no interest except as something that should remain sealed up forever. Angelique, far more resourceful than her mother, viewed it as a key element in her play for power. Not only did her use of it make her feel as if she had easily outwitted her mother, it also served to provide her with all the tools she would need to accomplish her goal—to obtain the preeminent position of power within the Sisterhood, and to vanquish the girl she had recently called her friend. And now, as she looked around at the assemblage of people and machinery she had chosen to suit her ends, the possibility of imminent victory over her traitorous cousin became very real.

Angelique had instructed all the women to dress in jeans, boots, and light jackets for this evening's entertainment. For even though the weather outside was hot and humid, the air of the dungeon was cool and fetid. Because of this, she had generously allowed Barney to keep his most of his clothes on, with the exception that his pants and underwear remain down at his feet while the experiment was being conducted.

Barney didn't seem to mind the coolness of the metal chair he was sitting on. In fact, he was sweating so profusely that it afforded him some measure of relief during his arduous ordeal. The women sat in a semicircle around him: Angelique, Marge, and another woman to his right, the other four women to his left. They had all patiently awaited the outcome of this trial, and if things went as Angelique hoped they would, these women would soon form the coterie of a much larger organization—a subset of the Sisterhood group or, more precisely, an offshoot of the established order based upon principles foreign to its parent organization, predicated upon rules and regulations formulated to serve the interests of one willful young woman.

"You handled that conversation with Craig very well," Angelique told Barney, as she punched in some numbers on the remote control.

The machine suddenly came to life, its twin metal arms driving the mechanical mouth up and down at great speed. Barney braced himself against the onslaught, determined not to let the device rob him of his sperm.

"I...I felt bad lying about it," he replied, using both hands to hold his body upright in his chair. "I don't like deceiving people."

Angelique watched his enormous black cock jiggle back and forth within the cylinder, the human-like lips exuding copious amounts of lubricating fluid as they propelled themselves along the entire length of his shaft.

"Sometimes it's necessary to lie," she remarked, in a matter-of-fact tone. 

"But it doesn't make it right," Barney said, breathing hard.

"There is no right or wrong. There is only that which serves the needs of the Sisterhood, and that which does not."

Upon saying this, she put the machine into high-speed mode. The sudden impact upon his penis caused him to nearly fly off his chair.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, employing all his strength to keep himself from falling over. "What are you doing to me?"

"Just a few more seconds and we'll be finished," she said, indifferent to his feelings.

Marge and the other women were getting a thrill watching Barney's huge torso tossed back and forth by the small and unimposing device. Their laughter, and the constant drone of the machine's motor, was the only sound filling the room. It soon became apparent, however, that the experiment had gone on far too long, and without any appreciable results.

"I think he passed the test, Angelique," Marge said, after almost a minute had passed.

"Just making sure," Angelique replied.

She turned the machine off and told one of the girls to remove the device.

Barney was tired and thirsty, but pleased that he was now, officially, the only man who had not succumbed to the "hot lips" contraption.

"I told you I could do it," he announced with pride.

"You performed superbly!" Marge remarked, as one of the fluffs gently removed the contraption from his penis. "Not a drop of sperm inside!"

Angelique smiled. "Now for the last stage of the experiment."

After Barney had refreshed himself with a glass of water, she ordered him to get up and stand facing the opposite wall. 

"I want you to face in this direction and keep both your arms behind your back," she told him. "Just do it the same way we practiced all week and let's see how far we've come."

She then instructed one of the fluffs, who was holding a tape measure in her hands, to stand about several yards away in a straight line from Barney's position.

"Last time he shot it about sixteen feet," she told the girl. "Let's see how well he does now. Keep your eyes on me, not his cock. I'll let you know when he's about to cum."

"Do you think we should use some lubricant?" Marge asked.

"No," Angelique replied. "It's not allowed in the contest so we shouldn't use it now. Just keep him steady while I jerk this black monster off."

Barney watched as the beautiful, blonde girl took his nineteen and three-quarter-inch tool in her right hand. Without much ceremony, and with Marge holding his hips to steady him, she began to masturbate him with hard, extremely rapid strokes, knowing that the two hours spent in the machine would have prepared him for a monstrous orgasm. He groaned aloud as his sperm-laden cock responded to her firm and unyielding grip. He knew that it wouldn't be long before her lovely hand would be coaxing out giant spurts of semen in hot, creamy surrender for all the women to see.

From the moment Angelique had asked him to be her champion he knew that he could not refuse her. He wasn't sure if it was her seductive smile, her flirtatious yet inviting sexuality, or her splendid pair of legs that won him over. Maybe it was all of these things and more. Barney had always had a passion for blonde, white women, and to him, she represented the finest of what her race had to offer—a treasure he could not pass up. His passion for her was such that it had forced him to deceive his best friend, and even to betray some of his own principles, one of which was his own lifelong penchant for honesty. The notion that he had acted on false pretenses continued to disturb him even as he was surrendering himself to the will of this arrogant girl. The few moments of pleasure he would derive from this "test" could not prevent the growing anxiety that continued to gnaw away at him: the knowledge that he had not been true to himself.

Barney's eight-year marriage to his ex-wife, Janine, had been a study in contrasts. She was an unrefined, taciturn, and ambitionless woman who found Barney's perennial upbeat attitude to life inexplicable. Their stormy marriage had been punctuated with frequent disagreements and emotional upsets, with Barney often assuming a placatory role. Eventually, her negative, energy-draining attitude to life began to siphon the life out of him, and their lovemaking ultimately became nothing more than a set of mechanical exercises performed by rote. He eventually fell into a state of depression wherein he found barely any satisfaction with sex at all. His desire to rectify this problem led him to the Swensen Research Clinic in Stockholm, where the doctors, in particular one very pretty, young, blonde researcher—Rebecca Hellstrom—proved instrumental in his cure. And now, as he watched Angelique masturbate him, her long blonde hair swaying to and fro in time with her masterful stroking, he thought of Rebecca and how wonderful it was to once more submit to the control of a beautiful, white woman.

"I can't take much more, baby," he said, spitting the words out between clenched teeth.

"Hold off just another second," Angelique commanded him. "I'm going to use my thumb and forefinger just under your corona."

When Barney saw her fingers grip the tip of his shaft, he felt his legs almost give out under him. 

"Oh, fuck!" he screamed. "Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Angelique was thrilled to see this powerful black man now completely under her spell. She looked up into his face and smiled wickedly, running her tongue quickly back and forth over her top lip. Barney groaned.

"Here it comes!" she yelled to the fluff with the tape measure. "It's the first spurt that counts, don't bother with the others."

Barney thrust his hips backwards and Marge tightened her hold on him as Angelique delivered the final strokes to his now erupting penis.

As she pulled up on him, a long jet of white-hot sperm shot out of his prick and flew across the room with amazing speed. Because the room was poorly illuminated, some of the girls didn't even see the cumshot. But, fortunately, the fluff with the tape measure did see it, and she quickly ran to the spot where his cum had landed and stood there waiting to see the remainder of his orgasm.

Angelique's hand was moving so fast that Barney was totally overwhelmed, his body rigid and flushed as he sank backward into Marge's waiting arms. The first shot had indeed traveled extremely far, and because it appeared that it had reached an unprecedented distance, Angelique decided to reward her champion by letting him experience the kind of orgasm only she believed she could provide.

Whatever methods she employed seemed to be highly successful because several successive shots of sperm landed not far from the first far-reaching jet. Two of the girls, standing to one side, had to dodge when one of the volleys sailed over their heads, but were nevertheless christened by three subsequent copious emissions that shot out with such force that a good portion of both their clothes became saturated with sperm. 

As Barney continued to ejaculate, Marge shifted her position a bit so that she could watch his orgasm. She let out an ecstatic cry of joy when, after she had whimsically placed her hand under his testicles, a tremendous explosion of sticky semen shot high up into the air above her head and splashed into the wall behind her. Angelique had seen this through the corner of her eye and laughed.

"Spit it all out you black bastard!" she said, pulling violently on his prick 

Another thick wash of white cream sailed out of his tortured organ in obedience to her command and struck the dirt several feet away. This was followed by another half dozen ejaculations, most of which reminded me of lotion being pumped out of a dispenser as it splashed over her fingers and trickled down onto his balls and Marge's tickling hand. 

When the last ejaculation became nothing more than a tiny dribble, Angelique removed her hand from his penis and wiped the sperm off her fingers with a towel. Barney fell to the floor in a heap. Never since his involvement with the EJAX-472 experiments did he experience such a powerful and voluminous orgasm. When it was announced that his first cumshot had reached the unheard-of distance of twenty-one feet, all the women, except Angelique, rewarded him with a round of applause. Instead, she gazed down upon his prostrate body and smiled proudly, as one who had just achieved a great victory. Her secret weapon was now ready to face the world.


Charlotte Anjou's house was a quaint, but unimposing, two-story wooden structure located just north of the Château de Versailles in Versailles, a large, suburban city approximately ten miles Southwest of Paris. This chic suburb was extremely compartmented; divided by large avenues that created the impression of several small cities ignoring each other. The area in which she lived had retained its very bourgeois atmosphere, and although it was a pleasant-looking neighborhood, I wondered why a woman of her apparent wealth and social position would not have chosen a more exclusive area in which to live.

I had left my aunt's estate at about 10:00 AM, having seen neither hide nor hair of my aunt or Angelique. I had a quick breakfast then showered, dressed, and called for a cab. I arrived at her house just around 11:00 AM, anxious to meet with this beautiful and enigmatic woman.

As the cab pulled up to the house, I noticed that the front yard was festooned with a variety of flowers, which ran along the periphery of the lawn bordering the street. To the right stood a splendid-looking rock garden and several small pieces of statuary, including a winged Cupid that stood in the center of the garden. The entire yard had a meticulous look to it, and the heady fragrance of the flowers put me in a wonderful mood.

I arranged with the driver to pick me up in a few hours and made my way up the stone walk. I had chosen to wear only a blouse and a pair of cutoffs as the weather was terribly hot and humid, but regretted this choice when Charlotte answered the door in a formal, dark blue, business suit, looking every bit like a CEO preparing to address a meeting of stockholders.

"Bon jour, Holly!" she said kissing me on both cheeks. "Entre donc! Entre donc!" 

She led me into a room immediately off the hallway to the right, which was more or less a sitting room that possessed a very lived-in quality to it. The décor was simple but elegant: a green, upholstered, antique couch; two similarly styled sofas, but in burgundy; two end tables and a coffee table all with pink, marble tops designed in Italianate fashion, and, in one corner next to the room's large bay window, a magnificent grand piano with a pile of sheet music resting on the stool next to it. There was a four-tiered, lawyer's bookcase that sat against the wall directly behind the piano, which was full of law books and other various legal tomes. Some books on music had somehow found their way onto the top shelf. Despite the heat outside, the room was perfectly cool and pleasant.

"The trees," she explained. "They cover the whole house. That's why it's always so nice here in the summer."

Motioning for me to sit down, she excused herself and went into the kitchen. Moments later she came back with a tray of croissants and other assorted pastries and two large glasses of ice tea.

"Thank you," I said, as she handed me the glass of tea. "You have a lovely home."

"Merci. I think it is. It belonged to my parents and it was left to me after they died. Some people think because I'm an Anjou that I have a lot of money, but it's not true. Everything in this house, except for the furniture in this room, I earned myself from practicing law."

"I noticed the law books in your bookcase," I said.

"And the music books! That's my true love—the piano!" She laughed gaily as she glanced at the instrument across the room. "I have the analytical mind of a lawyer and the sensitivity of a musician, so my father used to tell me. Do you play?"

"I play guitar a little. But I'm not all that good," I admitted.

"I'm not that good either," she confessed, "that's why I took up law."

Her manner was so easy and relaxed that I immediately felt at home in her presence. 

"So, how is everyone back at the chateau?" she asked.

"I wish I could say they were fine, but they're not."

"Oh?" she replied, searching my face. "Why is that?"

"Well, I don't have to tell you that Angelique hates my guts. Last night she finally admitted it."

"You confronted her?"

"I had to. She hadn't spoken to my aunt or me in several days. I wanted to know why."

"And what did she tell you?"

"She told me that she regards me as her enemy, and that I should go to Hell."

Charlotte's face grew dark. "She said that to you?"


"Because you defeated her in the test?"

I nodded. "Because I didn't help her to win."

My gracious host's smile quickly turned into a frown. "Help her to win? Espèce d'imbécile! This girl is beyond arrogant!"

"She's not the same person," I said, my eyes downcast. "She hates everybody now. She hates Lenore for naming me her successor. She hates her mother for supporting Lenore. And she hates me...most of all."

"She hates you because you are the true leader, not her. Lenore is a very wise woman. She chose you because she believes in her heart that you are the right person to lead the Sisterhood after she resigns. I had dinner with her a few days ago and she told me as much. From what I know of you, I have to agree with her assessment."

"I never wanted this honor. I don't really have any desire to be a leader."

"That's why it must be you," she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. "As sad as this may sound, with the exception of your aunt Phoebe and a handful of others, Lenore really can't trust anyone within the Sisterhood. There's too much divisiveness; too many cliques jockeying for power; and one very angry and disillusioned girl who sees her chances for achieving power diminishing day by day because of you."

"But why did she suddenly become psychotic? I don't understand how her personality could have changed so much in such a short time."

Charlotte removed her hand from my shoulder and sighed gently. "The seeds of dissolution were planted in her at a very early age, and your uncle had a lot to do with it. I know because I was there during those days and I saw it myself. Her contempt for men, her insolence toward authority figures, and the hatred she shows toward the whole world is a direct result of the way your uncle treated your aunt Phoebe. She saw your aunt suffer. She witnessed the arguments, the threats... and, of course, the beatings..."

She saw the look of sudden bewilderment on my face and shook her head.

"Oh, yes, Holly, trust me. I know for a fact that he hit his wife...and Angelique too. Pierre always had an affinity for the wine, and he often took out his frustrations on them both. Phoebe taught her daughter to keep all the resentment she had for her father locked up inside her—just as Phoebe did, but Phoebe had coping mechanisms that Angelique did not possess. And your aunt wanted to preserve the illusion of family cohesion at all costs. So Angelique, you might say, became a walking time bomb. And failing this test is the thing that finally set her off. That's because Angelique sees the Sisterhood as a vehicle to get back at those who have hurt her. You are, in effect, responsible for standing in the way of her vengeance. When viewed from this perspective, her psychosis becomes much more understandable...and disturbing."

It took a while for me to absorb the full impact of her words. On the surface, my cousin had always projected a proud and confident demeanor to the world. It was certainly true that she was also arrogant and contemptuous of men, but I had no idea how deep the resentment flowed. My uncle's character, which I had always viewed as beyond reproach until his dalliance was discovered, took on a new and frightening dimension when viewed in the light of Charlotte's exposé. It went a long way toward explaining my cousin's aberrant mind-set.

"I would have never believed my uncle to be so cruel. No wonder Angelique's so screwed up."

"Pierre wasn't much of a man then, but he is even less now," she said, disparagingly.

"What do you mean?"

"He's sinking. Years of guilt and self-loathing have finally caught up with him. He's a shadow of his former self now. His businesses are losing money hand over fist because he can no longer cope with reality."

"How do you know this?"

"Because I'm his lawyer."


"Not that I feel any particular obligation to him, but we are related by blood after all. We both carry the Anjou name."

She said this with a sense of pride, as if the name itself were worth preserving even when the person himself was no longer worthy of it.

"But you're a member of the Sisterhood."

"He knows that."

"But doesn't that present a conflict of interest?"

"The truth is, he poses no real threat to us. But more importantly, all his one-time associates are tending to desert him now that his financial problems are slowly becoming public. I'm the only one he can trust, so he's turned to me."

"How badly is he in debt?" I asked.

"If we can't find a way to keep his creditors off his back, he'll lose everything."

Now I understood why my uncle seemed indifferent when my aunt threatened him with a lawsuit. If he became ruined financially, it would not make much difference if she went to the police or not. It would just be so much more wood upon the fire. In his tortured mind he might regard such an action as divine retribution for his past offences against his family—a fait accompli of such sublimity that only the gods could have orchestrated it. 

But did he really think he would find inner peace in trying to seek absolution from his daughter? Did he truly believe that he could redeem himself in her eyes for years of abuse? With his world potentially on the verge of crumbling down around him, why reach out to someone who wouldn't think twice about removing the last stone from his teetering financial foundation? 

"My uncle paid a visit to my aunt last night," I said. 

"I know. I spoke to him this morning," she replied. "I told him not to go but he insisted upon seeing Angelique."

"Why? What does he want from her?"

"He's seeking forgiveness," she replied. "It's a noble but feeble gesture. I would say the chances of her forgiving him are almost nonexistent." 

"He told my aunt that he's trying to save her from the Sisterhood."

"Oh, he doesn't think much of our organization, that's for sure. But he won't admit the truth to Phoebe. He's too proud to humble himself like that before her."

I folded my hands and placed them in my lap. "This whole situation is so messed up. I wish I had never come here."

Charlotte placed her hands over mine and leaned in toward me. Her tone of her voice was soft but emphatic.

"You have a decision to make. You can stay and continue your training or you can go home to America. But if you do leave, the Sisterhood will denounce you, and all those Sisters who believe that Lenore was wrong in choosing you as her successor will be vindicated. It will also open the door for other, less desirable, candidates to make a bid for the leadership, and Angelique will be the first in line."

"If she wants it that bad, maybe she should have it."

"Never!" she said, suddenly raising her voice. "She must never become its leader. It would mark the end of the Sisterhood as we know it."

I shook my head numbly. "I feel like I'm having that horrible dream all over again."

"What dream?"

I was not sure if I should divulge the contents of my recent nightmare to her, but I needed to speak to someone about it. And her warmth and interest put me sufficiently at ease to make the attempt.

"I haven't told this to anyone, but I feel that I can share it with you. All is ask is that you keep it between us."

"I will. I promise," she said softly.

"I had a dream several nights ago that this woman—she called herself Yvette, and she looked a lot like you—took me on a journey to this dark, underground cavern. She called it the 'Masturbatorium,' but it didn't look anything like the one we know. She said that it was a vision of what it might look like in the future if I neglected my duty to the Sisterhood..."

In the midst of my speech my host unexpectedly looked away from me and gazed worriedly out the window, forcing me to stop in mid-sentence. At first I thought she had noticed something outside that was demanding her attention, but I soon realized that it was my words that were producing the troubled look upon her face. I resumed speaking as she continued to look away, and when I finally concluded my speech she rose from her seat and walked over to the bookcase and withdrew an oversized, leather-bound book. She rifled quickly through the pages and when she finally found what she was looking for she handed the book to me.

"Is that the woman you saw?"

On the page was a black and white line drawing done in ink of a woman who looked very much like the one I had seen in my dream. She was holding a glass orb in her hands and her head was covered with a veil. Underneath the illustration were some words written in Latin, which I could not decipher.

"Audaces fortuna iuvat," Charlotte said. "Fortune favors the brave."

"That's the motto of the Sisterhood," I said.

"That's right," Charlotte replied. "And that is the likeness of Yvette Anjou, the founder of our Order...and my distant ancestor."

I looked at the picture again and then at Charlotte and was amazed at the similarity of their facial features. "You look just like her!"

"The resemblance is uncanny isn't it? You say this is the woman you saw in your dream?"


Charlotte resumed her seat beside me and took a sip of tea. "Prescience runs strong in my family," she began. "And Yvette was the first and the greatest of clairvoyants. During her lifetime she predicted many events that ultimately came to pass: the French Revolution, the rise and fall of Napoleon, and a prediction yet to be fulfilled—the establishment of a new world order governed by a Sisterhood of women dedicated to the abolishment of war."

I told her that this prediction was highly unlikely to come to pass.

"War seems to be the natural impulse of men," I informed her.

"Of men, yes, but not of women. With women in control, the incidence of war would be lessened and eventually terminated altogether. But that can only happen with females in power. As long as men continue to rule the world, war and all its attendant evils will continue."

I shut the book and put it down on the table in front of me. "Look, I'm all for peace and everything, but I don't see how the Sisterhood will ever attain such power. Men are still firmly in control of everything."

She smiled. "Yes, right now they are. But things will be much different a few hundred years from now."

"A few hundred years?" I said, doubtfully. "I don't think so."

Charlotte looked at me with some measure of disappointment, as though she had expected a different response from me.

"I want to ask you something and I hope that you will accept it with equanimity." Her face took on a more contemplative expression as she carefully sought to choose the right words. "Do you believe that there is more to this life than that which you experience via your senses?"

"Our senses are the only means by which we can interpret the world."

"Yes, that is true. But as wonderful as our brains are, they are also limited. Do you accept the proposition that there may be things in this universe that are, as of yet, beyond our knowledge and comprehension?"

"I would say so, yes."

This earned me an even bigger smile. "The dream you had was not so much a dream as it was a vision. And what you experienced was something very unique in this world. It is my belief that Yvette has been in contact with you."

I looked at her askance. "I don't believe..."

"The life energy of the soul can exist beyond the mortal realm, and can sometimes communicate its intent over vast stretches of space and time."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Of course," she assured me. "You must open your mind to the possibility at the very least, Holly. Can you do that?"

"I suppose so," I replied doubtfully.

" From what you told me, it seems that she has shown you a glimpse of one possible future reality, and not a good one."

"It wasn't good at all," I said, recalling the vision of the myriads of men tortured mercilessly by their female captors. "There was lots of pain and suffering...it was a horrible vision."

"But that reality need never exist. Yvette told you that."

I nodded. "She said that if I did not shirk my responsibility to the Sisterhood then that vision of the future would never occur."

"And do you think she was telling you the truth?"

"I don't know. It all seems so fantastic. How can my decision to remain in the Sisterhood or leave it affect the outcome of future events?"

"Each of us makes our imprint upon the future by what we do in the present. Some people's imprints are more pivotal than others, making them the conduit through which great changes are effected. I don't know why this is, but I believe you are one of those people."

"So what are you saying? The fate of the entire Sisterhood rests in my hands?"

"As with all things concerning the supernatural, one cannot say with any certainty what results will occur from any particular action in the here and now. There are simply too many variables. I think Yvette was simply issuing you a warning. She was trying to help point the way. It is up to you figure out the rest."

I didn't mean to laugh, but I couldn't help myself. "Oh, that's very convenient! And how am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know," she said. "But my instincts tell me that the answer will reveal itself to you in a very short time."

"Well I hope it's soon because I don't know how much longer I can stand to live in that crazy household."

"Your aunt loves you, even if Angelique doesn't. If only for her sake, don't leave her alone in that chateau with your cousin."

"Why do you say that?"

At first Charlotte seemed hesitant to offer an explanation.

"Charlotte? What is it?"

"I don't want to alarm you, Holly," she said gently, "but when I talked to Angelique during that session with Mr. Villon, I felt a cold and menacing presence in the room with us. Now I'm not saying your cousin is possessed, or anything like that. But for a split second I saw her spiritual aura emanating from outside her body. It was only for an instant, and what I saw terrified me."

Charlotte reached for her glass and drank the remainder of the contents in one gulp. She seemed visibly shaken by her recollection.

"You see, sometimes being a clairvoyant is not such a wonderful thing."

"But what was it you saw?" I asked, curious to know the truth.

She reached out her hand, grasped the leather book, and placed it gently in her lap. It seemed to me that she found some sort of comfort in it.

"I don't know how to explain it," she said. "I saw an image of... something dark and indistinct moving within a radiant golden light...it was blinding...and I felt as if it wanted to... devour me..."

As she described what she had seen, I let out a stifled cry.

"That can't be possible," I said, trying to avert the sensation of terror coming over me.

"You've seen this too?" Charlotte said, pressing me for information.

A sudden, awful realization was reflected in my face, a look that made my host reach out a trembling hand to me.

"You saw what I saw!" she exclaimed. 

For a moment all I could feel was my own terror and her cold, shaking hand upon mine.

"Holly, tell me what it was you saw."

"It was when we reached the bottom level of the Masturabatorium," I said, envisioning the ghastly image once more in my mind. "That's when I saw it. It was hungry... and it wanted to devour me, too, but she reached out her hand...and willed it away. 'The Beast,' that's what Yvette called it."

"The Beast ..." Charlotte uttered, her face turning pale.

For a long while we regarded each other in silence. The coincidence (or was it?) of a shared vision was too astounding for either of us to easily accept. With tears welling in her eyes, she finally excused herself and went into the bathroom. She didn't come out until a few minutes later, and she seemed quite distraught.

"Holly," she said, sitting down next to me. "I don't know what all this means, but the fact that you and I saw the same thing means that your vision—my vision—must be taken seriously. I do know that Angelique is somehow involved in it, but to what degree I can't tell. My advice to you is to stay out of her way and don't do anything to provoke her." 

"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?"

She asked this question in such a disparaging way that I almost didn't bother to answer her.

"I haven't made any plans as of yet," I said curtly. "And there's no guarantee that you're going to win."

I thought she was going to say something nasty to me at first, but she looked away to take a few moments to gather her thoughts.

"There's no way you're going to win," she said coldly. "So I'm giving you a chance to get out now while you still can."

"You're giving me a chance?" I said, put off by her audacity. "Why the hell should I do anything you want?"

"Not that you would understand," she replied bitterly, "but I'm trying to save you from the same humiliation you caused me."

I almost laughed in her face. "Since when do you care about how I feel? You failed the test. Get over it and move on. But don't you dare accuse of me of humiliating you. You did that to yourself." 

I started to walk away from her toward the tunnel exit but she grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

"I'm only going to tell you one last time, Holly. Withdraw from the contest or I'll make you look like the biggest fool there ever was."

With one angry motion I pulled myself free of her grasp. 

"Do your best!" I said, moving away from her.

"I mean it! Your little boy toy Craig is no match for my champion!"

I turned around sharply at the mention of my friend's name.

"That's it, isn't it? You're afraid that Craig might possibly beat Jacques. That's why you want me out of the contest, and that's why you put on the friendly act during breakfast. Well, forget it. Your little trick is not going to work!"

I walked briskly toward the exit, pointing my remote control at the door, which opened before me.

"I'm going to beat the shit out of you!" she shrieked. "You stupid little twit!"

"Psycho!" I screamed back at her.

It was no surprise to me that Angelique's failed attempt to intimidate me was actually prompted by a growing fear on her part that Craig might pose a possible threat in outperforming Jacques in the competition. She had witnessed my champion's astounding climax weeks earlier and she knew what he was capable of. But, although I did not know it at the time, she had enlisted the services of another man: a man who could shoot his cum much further than Jacques: a man who posed a serious threat to Craig himself, but who could also be beaten by Craig. It was this man upon whom she was pinning all her hopes—her so-called "secret weapon." 

Had I misjudged her? Maybe her sense of superiority was threatened after all. Maybe her feeble ploy was simply a manifestation of a larger fear: that a second failure might actually ruin her career in the Sisterhood once and for all—a sublime humiliation from which she would never recover.

As I jumped into one of the golf carts my aunt and her associates used to travel up and down the half-mile distance to the tunnel entrance, I realized that I was not alone. Coming up fast behind me was my cousin, her car swerving wildly from side to side as she fought to catch up with me. I kept to the right, allowing her to pass me if she wished. This she did, but not before ramming her vehicle's front end into the back of my own, causing me to hit the retaining wall and momentarily lose control. I swore at her as she flew past, but she just laughed at me and continued to speed toward the entrance with a crazed look on her face.

By the time I arrived at the entrance about a minute later, Angelique was nowhere to be found. A bevy of Sisters were already at the gate checking credentials, personnel, and equipment. Among them I found my aunt and Lenore. I said nothing to them about my encounter with Angelique. I was now firmly convinced that I was not dealing with a rational person, and I didn't want to say anything to my aunt about it since it would only cause her to worry—and she had enough to deal with as it was.

"Oh, there you are," she said to me as she affixed a nametag to one of the attendee's lapels. "Do you think you can help us out for a little while until your friend gets here?"

"Sure, aunt Phoebe," I replied.

"Then take these," she said, handing me a stack of tags and a roster. "Just check off the names on this sheet and hand them a nametag. We're going to start letting them in shortly."

I did as she requested and was surprised to see Lenore happily at work with the same task not more than ten feet away. As supreme leader of the Sisterhood, she was under no obligation to stoop to such a lowly activity. But the fact that she did not balk at such a job made me regard her in much greater esteem than I had previously. She was charming toward everyone, often cracking jokes with people and enjoying the simple act of hugging old acquaintances or shaking hands with new ones. My aunt, too, found it expedient to be with her friend. As hostess of the games, she could have simply done nothing but relax and let her servants and acolytes handle the more mundane matters pertaining to the contest. But, seeing that Lenore was not one to stand on ceremony, she obviously felt it only proper that she should accompany her superior at the gate.

Within minutes the tunnel became a teeming thoroughfare of people, vehicles, and equipment. My aunt had informed me that thirty-seven countries were being represented—more than even Zula had anticipated. As the different delegations filed past I was reminded of the processions that take place during the Olympic games, replete with flag bearers, team members and their champions, and all manner of hangers-on. Nearly every race and color of people passed by me during the short time I was occupied at my task—a veritable array of the Sisterhood's finest all assembled under one roof. 

Lenore had informed me earlier that, as this contest was not regarded as a traditional affair in which Sisterhood members would normally wear the requisite black robe, but more of a fun event, team members and their champions were allowed to wear whatever was thought suitable by the Sisterhood delegate from that particular country. As such, many different styles of dress were represented—even the champions were allowed to wear whatever they wanted—the one concession being that they must don a white robe during the day of the competition when not naked. 

Among the champions who filed by included a seven-foot tall Nigerian dressed in a colorful orange and white, two-piece robe complete with headdress and spear; a dark, swarthy Latino from Columbia dressed in the military fatigues of his country; a small, thin specimen from China outfitted in an ostentatious-looking kimono; and a pygmy from the Andaman Islands, wearing nothing more than a pair of cutoff dungarees and a scowl.

My own team was going to take up the rear, and as it was now almost 8:45 AM, I excused myself from my duties and headed toward the back of the congregation. I found my team members waiting for me at the appointed spot, designated by a placard bearing the image of the French flag attached to a tall, wooden pole. I was happy to see that Craig was already there making small talk with the girls.

"He's here!" Joanna shouted when she saw me approach. 

Our champion was dressed casually in a pair of brown slacks, a short-sleeve olive green shirt, and loafers. His longish, blonde hair shone brilliantly in the sun as he made his way toward me. Although I wanted to take him immediately into my arms, I indicated that he should keep his distance.

"Later," I told him. "Not now. Not in front of the Sisters."

"It's great to see you," he said cheerfully, as he fought to keep his hands by his side. "And you look really beautiful."

"You look pretty nice yourself," I said. "What do you think of all this?"

"I'm blown away completely," he replied. "There are so many people here. Is this thing being filmed?"

"Yes, but you'll never see it on television."

"No," he laughed. "I don't suppose you would."

One of the acolytes called out my name just then, indicating with a wave of her hand that it was time for our team to fall in line.

"Okay," I said to Craig and the girls. "Let's do it."

Following the directions of one of the Sisters, we drew up into a casual formation and proceeded slowly into the tunnel behind a contingent from Romania. After we had received our nametags, we climbed aboard one of the larger vehicles, which was used to transport our group and the Romanians into the tunnel. A few minutes later we found ourselves disembarking before the immense metal doors that led into the first level of the Masturbatorium. 

As we made our way through the gateway, Charlotte turned to me and whispered in my ear.

"Look who's taking up the rear."

It was Angelique and her team. Jacques had been relegated to the end of the line. He was wearing a pair of light blue shorts and a white short-sleeve shirt. There were no socks on his feet, just a pair of open-toed sandals. He looked somewhat worn down, as if he had not slept for several days. 

But what interested me most were the team members themselves. It was now that I was able to see, for the first time, which women had chosen to align themselves with my adversary.

Angelique stood at the head of the line, the one who would undoubtedly act as Masturbatrix. The other women with her were Marge Davis, Greta Hofsteddar, Anya Rostokovitch, Selena Montaldo, and Yin Ping Hun. I had no idea what functions they would perform within the team, but I knew Angelique had often spoken highly of Marge Davis, and I presumed she would be accepting the role of second in command. Charlotte brought to my attention the fact that these women were part of a group that had not approved of my tactics during the test, and I remembered that a few of them, Marge and Greta especially, had refused to offer their congratulations on my victory over Angelique.

Angelique's team gave us a cursory inspection before following us into the Masturbatorium. There were are few feeble smiles exchanged between my team and hers, but no one proffered their hand in greeting or made any advances toward us. For a brief instant I saw Charlotte and Angelique lock gazes, and one could not mistake the hatred in my cousin's eyes. 

"I'd like to slap that insolent, little face of hers," I said to Charlotte.

"She's afraid," she replied, as we crossed the threshold into the first level. "For all her posturing, she's more afraid of losing than anyone else."

"Maybe," I replied. "But I still want to slap her."

"Remember what we discussed. No confrontations. Victory in the competition is all you should be concerned about. If you want to demolish your cousin, that's the way to do it."

The first level was pretty much as I had remembered it with several modifications, one of which was the addition of a row of tables to the right of where we had entered. The acolytes who manned this area provided assistance to the teams by answering questions, directing traffic, and offering whatever help they could to the visiting delegations. The names of the teams and their respective training rooms were periodically announced over the loudspeakers, but some groups invariably lost their way in the vast labyrinth of the bustling concourse. But, in general, most people seemed to get to their various locations with the minimum of fuss.

Twenty training rooms were on the first level and another twenty were located on the floor below. These rooms were self-contained worlds containing all manner of training equipment, some familiar, some not; medical supplies; and all kinds of other related paraphernalia like gloves, lotions, salves, towels, etc. Some other changes to the décor included the rearrangement of furniture to make room for a cluster of prefabricated booths, which were to accommodate the judges, a dais set up opposite the booths, and various cosmetic changes such as the inclusion of protective, red, plastic carpets, which, I presumed, were to keep the floor free of sperm. In addition, a massive Sisterhood flag had been hung halfway down from the ceiling in the middle of the room. It was made of black silk and embroidered with the image of a huge golden sun around which the words "Audaces fortuna iuvat" were placed.

Our training room was located on the first level, not far from the elevators. It was a large, square room about 20' x 20' in dimension, and was well lit with florescent lighting. The room had a phone, a television, a computer, a few chairs, and a water cooler, in addition to the requisite training equipment. But what first got my attention was a strange-looking device that sat intrusively in the middle of the floor: a giant, black leather and chrome affair that looked like it was meant to sandwich a man in between the upper and lower portions of its treacherous, wide-open maw.

"Oh shit!" Zula exclaimed, as she laid her eyes on the machine. "I heard about this thing, but I didn't know they had one."

"What is it?" I inquired.

"It's called an "Extractinator," she replied, as she walked in front of it and ran her hand over the chrome surface. "For the absolute in total control."

End of Chapter 7

22:42 Gepost door Pé de Cenoura | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

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