15-04-18

Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 04

"Wake up! Wake up!" I heard a voice say. 

I struggled to open my eyes but the intensity of the glow forced me to keep them shut.

"Holly, wake up! We're in danger!"

Suddenly I felt someone grab me hard by my arm. The brilliant light wavered then flickered out.

"Get up you idiot!"

"What? What?" I muttered, as I felt my aching body react with resistance toward the intrusion.

Again the light fell upon my face, but this time not so harshly, and I could see another face on the opposite side illuminated by its gentle glow.

"Angelique!" I cried as I lifted myself out of the bed of leaves. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

I was so excited at seeing her that I nearly fell into her arms, driving her backwards onto her heels.

"Take it easy for Christ's sake!" she said, as the lantern fell from her hands. 

Not far off stood Antares, who whinnied loudly at the commotion. 

As I helped her to her feet she looked at me and shook her head. I now saw that she was shouldering a rifle.

"We've had people searching for you all night," she said impatiently. "What were you thinking?"

"I don't know," I said feebly. "I lost track of time and before you know it, the sun was going down. It was foolish of me, I know."

"I heard the shots. Did you see anything?"

"I saw two poachers. But some other guys came along and shot them with something...arrows I think. I was scared to death."

"You were told not to go this far into the forest. Serves you right. You're lucky I found you."

"I'm so thirsty," I said, realizing that I had had nothing to drink in many hours.

My cousin pulled a canteen from her saddle and handed it to me. She watched me drink down the liquid with a disapproving grin.

"We have to get out of here. There might be other poachers around."

"Let's go," I said, eager to return home, and thankful that I had been found.

She mounted Antares first and then helped me into the saddle behind her. The first hint of dawn began to show itself in the eastern horizon and Angelique goaded the horse into a steady gallop, keeping close to the forest's edge and avoiding the open countryside.

"There's an secret entrance into the Masturbatorium only a few miles away," my cousin said. "It's our best bet."

The first faint rays of sunlight were beginning to pierce through the trees to our left, and I was grateful to see the welcoming light. I knew that there was still a chance of encountering vagabonds and other assorted riffraff along the way, and knew Angelique was only being prudent by suggesting we use the secret entrance. We soon came upon a series of hillocks, one of which appeared to contain an open fissure leading down into a tunnel-like opening. We dismounted and led Antares toward the mouth of the cave.

Despite the nascent sun's warming glow, this place seemed to me a very dismal one, with fog steadily rising from the surface of the ground, permeating the air with a foul stench of sulfur. The air was fetid and heavy, forcing me to draw my gloved hand over my mouth.

"What is this place?" I asked coughing into my hand. "The odor is terrible!"

"Just keep moving," Angelique replied, heedless of the stench.

As we approached the entrance to the cave, the fog had grown so dense that I could no longer see where I was going. I turned toward my cousin but she seemed to have vanished into the fog.

"Angelique," I said uneasily. "Are you there?"

No answer.

"Are you there?" I repeated more urgently.

Nothing. Not a sound.

I felt as if I were enshrouded in a dense wall of mist, afraid to step in any direction lest I tumble and fall into oblivion.

"Angelique!" I shouted. "Where are you?"

I knew my cousin well enough to know that when faced with an emergency she was not one to fold under pressure. Although she had seemed to be as frightened as I was, she had a resolute nature and would not have purposely left me alone to face the unknown. We must have separated from each other much earlier on, and that distance—and the muffling effect of the fog—was serving to prevent us from hearing each other.

After several more unsuccessful efforts to locate her, I decided that I had no choice but to begin moving again and hope that I could find my way out of the pervasive fog. I took tiny steps at first, afraid that, like a blind woman without a cane, I might fall flat on my face. But soon my anxiety grew to the point where I started to walk haphazardly, without too much concern for where I was placing my feet, so panicked with fear had I become.

With both my arms outstretched before me, plodding along like a somnambulist in someone's demented dream, I waded through the thick mist, fearing that at any moment my life might come to an abrupt end at the slightest misstep. I called out to my cousin several times more, but to no avail. All I could hope for was that I was headed in the right direction and would meet up with her inside the underground tunnel leading to the Masturbatorium.

For what seemed like an eternity I walked and walked, the earth beneath my feet growing progressively muddier and warm. The smell of sulfur had somewhat diminished, but the air continued to hang heavily about me, the sun's rays hardly permeating the wall of fog. Thankfully, I managed to make my way without once falling or encountering any obstruction. And, as if in reward for my perseverance, the blanket of mist began to slowly fade away until I found myself at the mouth of a cave, though unsure if it was the same one that my cousin had led us to. The air was cooler here, and the ground was flat and strewn with boulders and loose rock. I could see the sun now, its crescent rising up slowly above the trees, helping to dispel the thin tendrils of mist that stubbornly continued to languor over the forest floor.

Now that my vision had improved somewhat, I clambered up toward the small incline leading into the cave and saw that someone was standing there as if waiting for me. It was very dark inside, and at first I could not tell if it was Angelique or some other member of the Sisterhood who stood guard at the entrance. I took a few more cautious steps toward the person, but whoever it was seemed not to notice me, even though I was standing directly in the line of sight. 

"Angelique, is that you?" I said with a sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing that my cousin would not react in this way if she had known it was I.

The person gave no answer.

"Angelique, don't play games with me!" I said angrily. "This is not funny!"

Again the figure remained mute, unmoving. 

I boldly made a quick ascent up the last few yards of the rock-strewn entrance, putting all fear behind me, ready to give my mischievous cousin a piece of my mind. But as I reached the summit of the incline, the figure suddenly walked toward me and out of the shadows. I stopped dead in my tracks, as a woman, dressed in nothing more than a simple black robe and slippers, extended her hand to me as if to help me in my effort. The first faint rays of sunlight revealed a lovely face belonging to a woman in her late twenties, and her gentle smile, yet confident demeanor, helped to allay some of my fear.

"You have a courageous spirit," she said to me as she took my hand firmly in hers and helped me to gain a foothold.

"Thank you," I said, holding on to her hand. "I'm Holly, Angelique's cousin. She was supposed to take me back to the castle. Have you seen her?"

"No, I haven't seen her," the woman replied. "But I will be happy to guide you the rest of the way."

"She was with me just a short time ago," I said, perplexed. "Why would she lead me here and then disappear?"

"I do not know," she answered softly. "But this is not her journey, it is yours."

I looked at her as if I had misunderstood. "My journey? What do you mean?"

The woman looked at me carefully, smiling faintly.

"Who are you anyway?" I asked. 

"My name is Yvette. I am a distant relation of the Anjou family dating back to the time of Philippe of Lyon, who was once a nobleman who served under the tyrant king of France whose name we do not speak. I am a visionary, and one who wields the power of the ancient Sybil. I will show you many wonders both terrible and sublime, and the world and what it shall become in the days ahead should you shirk your duty to the Sisterhood."

I shook my head and laughed.

"If this is some kind of joke," I said, stepping away from her, "I'm not amused." 

"This is not a jest," she replied sternly. "I know that what I am saying must sound incredible to you, but I am here for your welfare."

"Just tell me where my cousin is. I'm very tired and cold and I want to return to the castle."

"I cannot, for I do not know where she is."

She then reached into her pocket and withdrew what appeared to be a pomegranate. Taking a small knife from her belt, she cut into the fruit and gave half of it to me.

"Eat this," she said passing the fruit to me. "It will give you strength for the journey."

I was so hungry by this time that the pomegranate looked to me like nothing short of a three-course meal. Without another word to her, I tore into the fruit and ate ravenously. She seemed pleased to watch me eat in silence for a few minutes, smiling at me like some bemused benefactress.

"It will get warmer the further we go down into the tunnels," she resumed, as she, too, made short work of the succulent fruit.

By now my hands were wet with the juice of the pomegranate and although I did feel much stronger, I was still cold.

"Can we go now?" I asked her. "My hands are freezing."

Yvette withdrew a small piece of cloth from her pocket and handed it to me. "Dry your hands off and then give it to me."

I did as she asked, and after I was finished wiping my hands I gave the cloth back to her.

"Do you feel better?" she asked me as she wiped off the last remnants of the sticky, red juice from her hands.

"Yes, thank you," I replied, sticking my hands into my pockets.

She looked at me straight in the eyes and laughed. "You look much more alive now. Follow me."

She turned abruptly around and began walking at a brisk pace.

"Keep up," she warned. "Don't dawdle."

It was a good thing she had given me that pomegranate to eat, otherwise I doubt I would have been able to keep up with her in my exhausted state for very long. The shaft continued straight on for about 30 yards, illumined every 10 feet with torches that had been fixed in place on either side of the cave wall. As we reached the end of the tunnel a huge oak door, seemingly unused for a millennia, stood before us like a foreboding gateway into the unknown. She halted before it, raising her hand as if to knock, but instead pressed her finger hard onto several raised, metallic glyphs that were inset on the door just above the knob.

"Stay close to me at all times and touch nothing," she said in a somber tone as the door slowly creaked open upon its ancient hinges.

"Just take me to the castle," I said, unwilling to humor her strange affectation any longer.

"You will see it soon enough," came the cryptic reply.

As the door opened there was revealed to us an immense, dimly lit hall that reminded me upon first glance of the Pantheon in Rome—a circular vista adorned with a series of evenly spaced alcoves along its perimeter, containing statues of saints from ages past. The huge rotunda contained a small, circular hole in its roof from which emitted a few weak rays of sunlight, which provided our only illumination. In the center of the room was a square opening in the floor, and attached to it was a railing that formed the top level of a long set of twisting stairs leading to what I believed were the floors underneath. The entire room reeked of dankness and decay, and I immediately felt oppressed by the heavy stillness of the tepid air that seemed to harbor the unwholesomeness of putrefaction. 

"It smells like a slaughterhouse in here," I protested, as I put my hand to my nose to obviate the stench. "What is this place and where is the elevator?"

"There is no elevator in this section of the Masturbatorium. We must take the stairs."

"My aunt Phoebe never told me about this place," I said, as I followed Yvette to the landing.

"There is much you don't understand, Holly," Yvette answered. "But you will."

She reached out her hand and took mine in hers. With her other hand she grabbed onto the railing and we began to make our descent. The spiral staircase was rickety, and some of the metal steps were actually corroded through with rust, but we made our way carefully, gingerly stepping this way and that to avoid the more damaged parts of the staircase.

The first thing I noticed was that Yvette was right: the air had grown considerably warmer as we descended, so much so that I had to abandon my woolen coat and hat. She assured me that these items would not be needed from this point on and that they would be retrieved later. At intervals I felt the onrush of wind that seemed to swell up from the bowels of the earth and push its way relentlessly up the stairway—a stale breath of air that reminded me of something not wholly objectionable, but impossible to define.

We continued our downward journey for several minutes and I soon began to grow dismayed that we had not yet reached the next landing.

"How much further down do these stairs go?" I asked.

"We are almost there now. Be patient."

I felt as if I was being reprimanded by a school headmistress and resented her tone.

"I want you to take me to my aunt—now!" I demanded, as I almost lost my footing on a decayed step.

Yvette turned to me and for the first time I saw a look of something like disappointment on her face. She said nothing but held my hand even more firmly than before as we made our way down the metal stairs, our footfalls resonating softly upon the cold steel beneath us.

We traveled for another minute or so until at last the steps came to an abrupt end, the metal railing trailing off into a black void. Yvette stopped dead in her tracks and pushed me backward, realizing that we would have to jump down in order to arrive at the platform beneath us. The walls on the next floor down were festooned with torches that provided an ample amount of light for us to detect that the distance to the floor below was only that of a few feet and that there was nothing to obstruct our passage. She seemed mystified upon encountering the missing part of the stairway, but said nothing.

She made the jump first and then I followed. 

"This is a dirt floor," I remarked in my crouched position, as my hands swept the area around me. "And the walls...we're still in the cave!"

"No," Yvette answered. "We are at the first level of the Masturbatorium. Come. Follow me. There is much to see."

"This can't be right," I insisted. "The first level is modern, with fluorescent lighting and wall to wall carpeting and air conditioning and..."

"No, Holly," she said shaking her head. "That is your aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium as it exists now. What I am going to show you is what it will be like in the future, many years hence."

"Are you telling me that you have the power to reveal the future to me?" I asked, nervously forcing out the words. "Does such power exist?"

"I assure you it does," she replied calmly. "This is only one possible future, and it is not a pleasant one. However, it can be altered. You are the key."

"The key to what?" I demanded. "What are you talking about?"

She drew herself up just then to her full height, towering a full head above me. "If nothing is done to change the course of current events, then what I am about to show you will become reality. It must not happen. You are the only one who can stop it."

I felt myself taken aback by her presumption.

"I can't believe this," I said. "On whose authority are you doing this anyway?"

"Come with me and you will understand," she said, motioning me to follow her.

"No," I replied. "I want to know where we are going."

"Into the Inferno," she said solemnly.

"Into the what?"

"Come with me and you will understand," she repeated.

Not far from where we stood was another set of stairs, and wafting up from the hole in the floor I began to hear the cries of what sounded like many people in pain. It was a most disturbing sound: distant, eerie, and sometimes not quite human. 

"What is that horrible noise?" I asked my guide. "Please don't tell me we're going down there."

"I promise that no harm will come to you," she said extending her hand to me. "Do not let your heart falter."

She seemed unaffected by the din coming from below, but she must have seen the hesitation in my face and let her hand fall to her side. 

My fortitude was wavering. In the dim ambiance of the torch-lit room I could barely see the lines of her face, but I could almost feel her frowning, such was the implication of regret in her voice.

"I don't want to go down there," I said firmly. "You can't force me."

"If you wish to return to the surface you are free to do so," Yvette said. "But I will take you no farther than where we first met."

I stood looking into her sad, downcast eyes, deciding what course of action I should take. I didn't want to go any further, but I felt somehow that I must. It wasn't a rational impulse, but one driven by an overwhelming feeling that if I didn't go, then I would be committing some terrible crime. After a time she met my gaze, and in those few moments I felt as though some part of her was trying to reach into my soul, to assure me that my fears, though genuine, must not stop me from making that descent into the subterranean world lying beneath our feet.

"Do you hear that?" I said to her. "Those people sound like they're in agony."

"Some of them are," she replied. "The innocent are made to suffer with the guilty."

"Guilty?" I asked. "Of what?"

"Of betraying the Sisterhood."

"But why do the innocent suffer?"

"For the same reason they have always suffered: to serve the needs of the Beast."

I stared at her in disbelief.

"What Beast?" I cried. "You don't make any sense!"

"The Beast takes many forms. Come with me and you will understand," she said yet again, but with much more urgency in her voice.

"I must be dreaming. This can't be real!" I exclaimed, feeling like someone beset by an ugly nightmare in that period of mental twilight when the mind struggles toward consciousness as it seeks to throw off the burden of sleep.

"It is not a dream," she assured me. "It is a vision of what might be. Such gifts are afforded to only a very few."

"I don't want to know what the future holds," I protested, sensing an imminent confrontation with the unknown. "I just want to see my aunt again!"

Yvette's features seemed to soften as she saw the look of exasperation in my face, and she addressed me in a gentle, motherly tone, as if she were talking to a distressed child.

"No one can predict the future, Holly. Even I can only glimpse the tiniest fraction of any given moment in time. And even then such moments are the most fleeting of shadows, ephemeral and constantly shifting in time and space. All I ask is that you accompany me now. Our time together grows short."

"I want you to take me to my aunt! Why won't you help me?"

She raised her hand to my face and with one gentle motion wiped away a tear that had fallen onto my cheek. For some strange reason I could not comprehend, her caress seemed to put my mind at ease, and I felt myself slowly beginning to regain my emotional equilibrium.

"What did you do?" I asked her, as I raised my hand to the spot on my cheek where she had touched me. "I...I don't feel so...afraid anymore."

Seeing that her mind was resolute upon our course of action, and no longer feeling any desire to thwart her plans, now nullified by her calming gesture, I allowed her to guide me slowly down into the mysterious netherworld of semi-darkness as the cries of myriad unhappy souls welled up from beneath us, their groans becoming louder with each tortuous step. I noticed that the stairs had become small and irregular, having been hewn from out of the rock itself. We had to walk slowly and cautiously, lest we lose our footing and fall headfirst into the incipient void. 

As we approached the bottom of the stairwell, we were greeted with a gust of fetid air that, despite its warmness, sent a chill up my spine. And then, as I looked upward into the dim mist surrounding us with my mouth agape, the sound I expected to come out of it never arrived, and I stood transfixed at what my senses told me could not exist in the layers of earth beneath the looming, resplendent structure that sat directly above it.

We were standing at the entrance of an immense cavern, the depth and breadth of which extended beyond what my impaired vision could calculate. But what I could see of it made me think of the expansive vistas of the Sahara Desert superimposed upon a landscape of red, indigenous rock whose massive stalactites and stalagmites rose effortlessly from both the floor and roof of the cavern, forming an imposing patchwork of glacial-like pillars that seemed to extend into infinity. And in the midst of several of these giant pillars, encircled as it was like some mock oasis, stood a pool of stagnant, white effluence, whose composition I could not detect from mere observation, and whose surface was broken by an occasional bubble forced upward from it's boiling interior, sending thin wisps of steam rising up from its surface. 

"Come, let us take a closer look," Yvette said, as she took my hand and led me toward the seething pool. 

"It smells horrible," I said, reluctant to move any closer. "You go."

"You must experience this yourself," she said, seemingly impervious to the repellent odor. "Otherwise our journey is for naught."

Without waiting for any further word from me, she gripped my hand hard and pulled me reluctantly toward the foul-smelling lagoon.

Because I had been so awestruck by my surroundings, I had failed to notice that the wailing voices, which had recently effected a most hideous din, had all but stopped, and that we were now looking down into the murky liquid while an almost obscene silence loomed all around us. Yvette didn't seem the least perturbed by it, but the sudden realization of it made me turn to her with fear.

"It's so quiet now," I said. "Did the people run away?" 

She shook her head. "They are still here."

"Where? I don't see them."

"You must remember that you are seeing only a glimpse of the future. Time and space are always in constant flux. Be patient."

I was just about to question her further when we were suddenly engulfed by a tremendous blast of air: a bitingly cold maelstrom that broke over our heads like an all-consuming wave, forcing us back into one of the nearby stalagmites. The gale-like winds pressed against us unremittingly, and within this mysterious vortex I began to discern forms and shapes of things that were not readily describable, and which faded out of view as quickly as they appeared.

"What's happening?" I cried as my hand clutched her arm for support.

"They are coming. Hold on to me and do not let go."

I watched in horror as Yvette's long, auburn hair was violently whipped about in the hurricane-force winds, and pressed my body close to hers, unwilling to jeopardize our tentative physical connection. 

And then the wailing began. At first it was very soft, almost plaintive, but with each passing moment the cries of agony grew louder until it drowned out even the awful fury of the pernicious storm.

"Look!" Yvette exclaimed, pointing toward a shifting mass of color not more than ten feet away.

I watched in complete astonishment as the form whirled around and around like some obsessed whirligig, arcs of light emanating from what I supposed constituted its main body, and apertures forming around it that resembled something like human extremities shooting our from these very same holes, all born of the surrounding winds. And then, suddenly, the air grew calm, and what were moments before only indistinct, unformed images, became the mouths, eyes, ears, heads, and bodies of hundreds of men and women, some beautiful, some hideous, but all actively engaged in some clandestine enterprise known only to them. 

"Can they see us?" I asked anxiously, still gripping my guide's arm for dear life.

"No. To them we are nothing more than a passing shadow."

"All the men are naked."

"Of course. This is the Masturbatorium after all."

As the winds died down, I released my hold on Yvette and she once again led me to the murky pool, which was now surrounded by a group of 100 or so naked men who stood like sentinels around its periphery. The liquid seemed to boil more energetically than it did before, and the steam rose from its surface in great clouds that lingered over the landscape like a great mist.

"What is this?" I asked, looking from man to man. "What are they doing?"

"Watch."

I allowed my eyes to follow her gaze, which was directed toward the center of the effluence. The viscous substance that bubbled and churned so ferociously, and which seemed to coagulate into giant, whitish globs that occasionally spit upwards like a mini geyser, reminded me of tapioca that had remained too long on the stove. But as the milky fluid began to spill over onto the edges of the pool, I soon came to a horrible realization.

"Don't tell me that stuff is..."

"Yes," Yvette said, watching the men trying to evade the intermittent wash of white. "This is the sperm pool."

A group of women now made their way toward the overflowing semen, apparently unaware of our presence, and proceeded to instruct the men to masturbate themselves. I counted over 60 women in all, representing a wide spectrum of ages and body types. None of them wore the black robes of the Sisterhood, nor even casual dress, but instead were outfitted in the most garish leather or vinyl pants and blouse, often festooned with odd-looking metallic accessories of which even the most demanding dominatrix might approve. A few of the more aggressive-looking women held whips in their hands, their eyes intent on doing some mischief. Some of the women looked young, about my own age, and some were quite old, even ancient looking. Most of them were more or less attractive—a few were even beautiful, but some were downright hideous, their faces deformed by some unknown demonic agency that was reflected in their inchoate stares. I felt no hint of warmth or pity from any of them, but rather a cold and calculating intelligence that seemed to permeate the group's collective mind.

"Shoot all of it into the pool and don't miss a drop, otherwise you'll be flogged," said a very tall, imposing woman with jet-black hair that fell down to her waist.

To emphasize her point, she took the whip that she held in her hands and flicked it sharply over the back of one of the men, causing him cry out in pain.

"Now!" she commanded.

In an instant all the men fell to masturbating themselves under the watchful eyes of the women. The men, like their tormentors, represented a diverse age group, and were dissimilar in body type and attractiveness. All of them however, possessed very large penises and testicles. 

"Why are they doing this?" I asked Yvette, as the men rapidly jerked their cocks, some of them groaning with lust, others groaning in pain, as an occasional lash fell across their backs in an effort to induce them to stroke harder.

"It is a form of punishment the Sisterhood inflicts upon those who bear false witness against them," she replied. 

"Punishment? It looks like they're enjoying themselves."

She frowned. "They will not be enjoying themselves for long. Watch and see."

Those women who were holding the whips walked in between the rows of men, checking to make sure that each masturbator was performing the task correctly. The slightest hesitation was greeted with a lash across the back or the buttocks. The more apathetic among them felt the lash several times, and these men cried out in agony as thin rivulets of blood poured forth from their open wounds. I took pity upon these men, whom I hated to see so cruelly treated.

"Can't you do anything to stop this?" I asked.

"One can not change the future. One can only change the present in the hopes of changing the future."

"Are all of those men guilty of crimes against the Sisterhood?"

"Some of them are, but not all. Some are merely being taught to fear the Sisterhood by way of example."

"To keep them under control?"

"Yes."

"Why don't they fight back?"

"Some of them do. But most succumb to the Sisterhood's mental programming methods and, of course, physical punishment."

Soon the cavern was echoing with the mixed sounds of pleasure and pain as the 100 or so erect penises began to approach orgasm. The whipping ceased after a time when it became obvious that the men would rather obey orders than suffer the lash. One hundred hands flew up and down their respective shafts; like well-oiled pistons they coaxed and teased with machine-like precision, unrelenting in their efficacy.

"You!" shouted a blonde woman with a whip to the man next to her. "Hold that thing down," she said indicating his penis, "and aim the spurts into the pool, or else I'll flay you alive!"

The man immediately did as he was told, a look of utter fear upon his face.

Realizing that the men's orgasms were imminent, the women moved closer to their subjects, teasing and taunting them mercilessly as the masturbatory frenzy continued. Some of the women took it upon themselves to actually fondle the men's genitals, hoping to hurry along the process.

The sight of so many men masturbating themselves at one time was extremely erotic, even if utterly perverse. But what was even more exemplary was the way in which this eroticism affected the women themselves. Knowing they had accomplished their task, the women began to relax a little and allowed themselves to enjoy the spectacle without further recourse for punitive action. I, myself, was captivated from watching so many huge penises being stroked up and down at lighting speed until the crystal clear liquid began to drip from the little slit atop the head of the penis onto the men's hands and shafts. I know this must have stimulated the women too because a few of them decided to replace some of the men's hands with their own, furiously pulling on the huge organs while trading jokes with their compatriots. Throughout all this, Yvette remained impassive, displaying neither amusement or distaste for what I considered an entirely unprecedented spectacle.

"They are going to ejaculate any second now," Yvette said without removing her eyes from the scene. "Watch closely."

There was no other place to look. I had now become so turned on by this display of masculine prurience that I could hardly wait to see the barrage of ejaculations I knew were now on their way. 

"I love to watch a guy cum," I said aloud, thinking about the way I had forced multiple orgasms out of Delvin's huge cock the year before.

"Do you?" Yvette smiled, watching as my face turned crimson. "So do I."

"You do?" I asked, surprised.

"Most certainly. I have masturbated many men to climax."

Suddenly several of the men let out huge groans all at once.

"Look!" Yvette said. "There they go!"

No sooner had she finished speaking than several enormous jets of sperm flew up and into the air high above the crowd, climbing effortlessly skyward in a 90-degree trajectory toward the center of the milky-white pool. As these first few spurts landed into the murky mixture, other cocks began to explode, sending their hot, creamy contents flying full speed to meet head on with other of their fellow victim's contributions. It was quite an impressive display of ejaculatory prowess as dozens of salvos of cum splashed into each other midway on their journey into the steaming pool. The women were delighted to see so many cocks climax at one time, their humiliating laughter serving to enervate, rather than detract, from the men's explosive orgasms.

"That's right," said the woman with the jet-black hair. "Get it all into the pool you miserable bastards! I want to see every cock completely drained!"

She walked around and in between the men, making sure that all the sperm was landing in the pool. At times she would allow her hand to tug on the men's scrotums, or simply run the handle of her whip between someone's ass cheeks, all the time her face displaying infinite contempt for these naked masturbators. Other women fondled the men as well, often insulting them to their faces, calling them "pieces of shit," or "pathetic assholes," even as they were in the throes of orgasm.

"Keep stroking!" another woman with short brown hair commanded, finding one man still unable to climax. "Work it harder! Harder!"

The man, a small, wiry, dark-skinned submissive with a huge penis, did as he was ordered and soon sent an amazing supply of sticky semen shooting across the surface of the pool. This was followed by six or seven more violent bursts, some of which collided with other volleys of sperm, creating droplets of white effluence that bounced and danced in the air before the eyes of the amused women.

"I love this!" the woman with the short brown hair laughed as she watched the little man's hand ferociously pull on his penis, sending yet another long jet of semen sailing into the pool.

"Men are such wretched pigs," a girl not much older than myself complained.

"Fucking wankers!" said another girl about the same age.

I watched as she went around from man to man, smacking their asses with her open palm even as the cum shot out in streams from their collective cocks.

When the last cock had finished delivering its creamy contribution to the mix, the woman with the jet-black hair ordered the men to remain where they were. The pool was now looking more milky white than ever before.

"What's going on?" I asked Yvette.

"Listen."

The woman with the jet-black hair now addressed the men with a voice laden with contempt.

"You pathetic creatures don't deserve to be called 'men'," she said with a smirk. "But your paltry contribution to the sperm pool will have to suffice." She called to one of her associates, a blonde girl of nineteen or twenty dressed in tight-fitting black leather pants and blouse. "Are they ready?"

"Yes, Marie, all is in order," the girl replied, barely able to suppress a laugh.

"Tell them to bring it out."

The young girl disappeared behind a massive rock formation that appeared to form the entrance to another smaller area, and for a short time it was quiet within the cave. Then Marie spoke up again.

"Although, as of yet, none of you miserable pieces of excrement has actually committed a crime against the Sisterhood, we deem it fitting that every so often those who have disobeyed our rules be punished by example. What you will witness here today need not happen to you, if you remain obedient."

Some of the women laughed as she finished her sentence, turning their attention to the creaking sound coming from behind them. I could see nothing at first, but the loud, scraping noise reminded me of something heavy and metallic being pulled along the surface of the stone floor with a slow, deliberate motion.

"What's that sound?"

"I don't know," my companion admitted dourly. 

We didn't have to wait long for an answer.

From out of the mouth of the cave, two rows of naked men, ten on each side, came walking out holding a massive rope in their hands, their bodies straining and drenched in sweat. Behind them a huge metal tower standing almost thirty feet in height was towed along with great effort: a framework of metal beams that supported a central lever that could be lowered or elevated by means of a control panel attached to the lower section of the tower. The lever itself was about fifteen feet in length and jutted out from the middle of the device at a 45-degree angle. Fastened to its end was a small chair in which a naked and terrified man sat. 

When the women saw the man's horrified expression they burst into gales of laughter, as each step brought him and the terrible device closer to the edge of the pool. The other men were ordered to make way for the new arrival as the machine was placed in a pre-selected position wherein the metal struts at the base could be locked into position in the stone floor. Having secured the device, the men who towed the machine were instructed to join the other men milling around the pool.

"Look at him cringing like a dog!" Marie said, addressing the man in the chair.

The men remained silent, observing their counterpart with nervous anticipation.

The hapless man's hands and feet were secured with ropes to the metal frame of the chair, and his entire head was held in place by a assembly of leather straps than ran under his neck, chin, and forehead and fastened to the back of the chair. He called out to Marie in a loud voice, begging to be forgiven for his disobedience. But she, like all the other Sisters, was indifferent to his pleas.

"The more you call out," she told him, "the lengthier the punishment."

He made one, last, vain attempt for mercy, but sensing the intractability of his tormentor he fell silent, as the raucous cheers of the women rose to a deafening roar. He struggled with his bonds but to no avail. Beneath him loomed the lake of viscous, white effluvia—now seething and bubbling more violently than before, a terrible concoction of years and years of accumulated sperm heated to a hateful temperature. The thought of what was about to occur filled my mind with revulsion.

"I really don't want to see this," I said to Yvette as I turned my head away.

"You must see it," she said firmly. "You must bear witness to these crimes and remember."

As the jeers of the women began to subside, Marie ordered one of her associates to stand next to the control panel. Once this was done, Marie then addressed the man in the chair.

"You are being punished because you disobeyed a direct order from one of the Sisters. Disobedience cannot be tolerated. However, as this is your first offence, the punishment will be lenient. Let this serve as a reminder to the rest of you," she said turning to the group of men assembled near the pool, "that the same fate awaits you should you be found guilty of insubordination."

"Dunk him! Dunk him!" one of the older women shouted.

Soon the entire Sisterhood took up the chant as Marie directed her associate to press the button that would lower the lever down into the murky slime. The associate did as she was told, and with a violent jerk the lever began to descend.

"Teach the bastard a lesson!" I heard someone scream over the din.

"Let him eat cum!" a thin, waspish-looking Sister shouted.

Seeing that the lever was now slowly making its way downward into the pool, the man struggled even harder to free himself from the chair. His face became twisted with fear.

"No! No!" he screamed as the lever made its inexorable descent. "Please! For God's sake, no!"

His voice could hardly be heard over the thunderous laughter and jeering. The male spectators looked on with a mixture of pity and awe, most trying to look away from the awful sight. The Sisters however were enjoying the spectacle immensely, and taunted the frightened man even more as the lever came to rest on the surface of the pool.

"Lower it all the way down!" Marie laughed joyously.

"No!" the man screamed as his feet touched the hot liquid.

Within seconds the lower half of his naked body was below the surface and he cried out in pain.

"It's hot! It's hot!" he yelled over and over again.

"Shut up you son of a bitch or we'll leave you under there forever!" Marie threatened.

I looked quickly at Yvette to see her reaction. There was none.

"How can you remain so indifferent to all this?" I asked.

"You must remember that this is only a vision of what might be, not what will be."

"I don't care. I still find it repulsive."

I had always found cruelty in any form extremely distasteful, but seeing these women, these supposed "enlightened" Sisters, behave in such a barbaric fashion made me view them as far less evolved than the men they were persecuting. In my view, punishment never seemed to be a very effective tool for getting people to act ethically. A system of rewards based upon support and encouragement seemed to be a far more fruitful approach to the age-old question of social conditioning. 

The lever had now been lowered so far that the man's entire body below the neck was submerged in the hot, steaming vileness. His face was contorted in pain and tears were running down his cheeks.

"Let me out! Let me out!" he pleaded.

Marie's answer was to lower him further into the pool.

"Drink!" she ordered as the lever descended.

The fluid rose up above his chin, and as it reached his mouth I saw him inhale a great draught of air even as the sperm rose up above his nose and eyes and finally over his head entirely, completely submerging him.

"Ten, nine, eight..." Marie began counting as the others joined in. "seven, six, five, four, three, two...one! Lift him up!"

The Sister at the control panel pressed a button that slowly lifted the lever out of the pool as the entire assemblage cheered and applauded. As the man's head came up out of the wash, a great stream of sperm shot out of his mouth. He coughed and spat up even more of the milky effluence as though his mouth had become a lotion dispenser. His entire face and body was awash in semen and I watched as he took in great gulps of air, grateful to be removed from the awful liquid.

"And again!" Marie announced gleefully.

The man's face grew horrified at the thought of a second dunking as he tried to free himself once again.

"No, please!" I've learned my lesson," he implored. "I'll never do it again!"

On and on he went, hurriedly trying to get the words out even as the lever once more made its way down into the pool.

"I promise Sisters," he shouted as the liquid once again cascaded over his body. "I promise to obey! I promise..."

It was too late. The sperm had now covered his mouth and nose and he was once more totally submerged.

The women were delirious with joy as they heard the man's final words dissipate into the molten glue that now covered his body. Again Marie led the countdown and the man was then released up into the air, his feet resting on the pool's surface.

Before the man could utter a word, he found himself once again on his way into the pool, still coughing up sperm and screaming in agony. And the more he screamed, the more pleasure the women seemed to take from it.

"Not again," I uttered, shaking my head with disbelief. "It's disgusting."

I watched in horror as the man's body once more disappeared into the brackish liquid. This time he didn't even have enough time to utter a single word before being submerged. This, of course, made all the women cheer all the more loudly, and to their delight, Marie let the count go to twenty.

"They'll kill him," I said, feeling great sympathy for the tortured man.

For what seemed like an indeterminable time, they kept the man submerged. Only when I heard Marie say, "Let him up!" did the lever finally rise above the surface, but this time the man barely moved. Layers of thick, creamy sperm dripped off his body in disgustingly huge clumps, hitting the surface below with loud smacks. His eyes were closed but from his mouth poured out rivulets of semen. He tried to cough up as much of it as he could, but he must have swallowed several pints of the horrible brew. It appeared the punishment was over.

"Can we please go now?" I asked Yvette. "You've made me sick to my stomach."

"I'm sorry you had to see this, but it was necessary."

"What kind of people could allow this to happen?"

She looked at me in her cryptic fashion but said nothing.

With the punishment now concluded, my guide led me to another set of stairs leading to the floor below. She warned me that from here on in, the things that I would see and witness would take on an ever more disquieting appearance, but that I should not allow myself to be troubled by them but only to watch and learn. This was little comfort to me after what I had just seen, but I nevertheless wanted to accommodate her wishes, as I felt that I had something to learn from it all—something she felt compelled to teach me.

The staircase was much like the one we had used to arrive at the floor above, except that it formed one, huge, winding arc that seemed to go on forever. When we finally set foot on the rocky surface at the end of the stairway my feet were actually tired. 

During our descent the strident cries of people in distress greeted us, with an occasional jeer or command rising above the rancor. It sounded to me like there were hundreds of voices echoing throughout the gloomy stairwell, some wailing, others laughing, but all tainted with the sound of some otherworldly malignance. At some point during our journey I began to experience a profound fear, and I startled Yvette when I suddenly grabbed her hand for reassurance.

"Do not be afraid," she said in a soothing voice. "Nothing can harm you here."

"It's the voices. They sound so awful."

"Let us see," she said, dragging me reluctantly behind her.

I was not prepared for what now loomed before me—a vast subterranean chamber that was more than twice the size of the one from which we had just exited, and filled with hundreds of men and women positioned in various places within the immense cavern. The men of course were completely naked. Some were chained to the rock face, spread-eagled and left unattended. Others were being tortured with the lash or forced to act as living furniture for their mistresses, one man's body even used as a human bridge to span a three-foot gap between two adjacent platforms over which the women constantly trod. 

I saw all kinds of devices being employed in which to entrap the men, some of which I had never seen before. Some, like the rack or the Iron Maiden I had seen in history books, but the bulk of the other contraptions were something that could only have been invented by some demented and perverse genius. I could not fathom their design or purpose other than those poor souls who were trapped inside them appeared to suffer great agony, and Yvette had to use all her healing skills upon me to keep my mind from delving into madness.

The women seemed to go about their torturing business with great relish, salivating over every wound inflicted upon their foes, either verbally or by physical attack. Many of the men's backs were a disgusting mosaic of open wounds and welts that formed a canvas of black, blue, and red—testament to the unbridled rage of their whip-bearing tormentors. Bodies were torn on racks, stretched on the wheel, and, worst of all, cut into tiny fragments on a thing called the "harrow," a device with hundreds of exquisite, razor-sharp blades that made machine-like incisions into the epidermis and then worked its way by degrees downward into the deeper tissues. It was so gruesome that I was felt like I was going to retch.

"What in God's name did these men do to deserve this?" I cried. 

"These are the men who employed physical violence upon the Sisterhood. It is the second greatest offense a man can commit."

"The second greatest offense?" I asked bewildered. "What's the first?"

"You will see."

"Are they going to die?"

"I suppose that would depend upon the severity of their transgression."

In one corner of the cavern a man was being forced to sodomize another man, while another was sitting bent over at the waist, his long penis with its tip firmly planted in his mouth while two women furiously masturbated him.

"He called me a whore," one of the women said menacingly as she roughly tugged away at the swollen shaft.

"And he called me a bitch," said the other woman. "Can you imagine that? This little piece of shit calling me a bitch?"

The two angry women were almost twice the size of the man, and while one of their hands was occupied with jerking him off, their free hands kept both his legs up toward his midsection and simultaneously forced his head down upon his cock so that they could force as much of his prick into his mouth. The more buxom of the two women, a brunette with a very beautiful face, grabbed his hair and began to shove his head up and down very quickly once she sensed he was nearing orgasm. The other woman responded by gripping his cock firmly under the corona, pushing the tip of his cock as far up as she could into his gasping mouth.

"Hey girls!" the brunette said to several women standing nearby. "Come and watch this. The son of a bitch is going to pop!"

Six or seven women quickly ran over to watch the spectacle, leaning in closely to observe the forced milking.

"We're going to watch you eat your own sperm," said the brunette. "And I hope you choke on it you fucking bastard!"

With several more vicious pulls on his hair, she forced his head down and held it there while the other woman fisted him with a series of rapid bursts. I watched as his huge balls convulsed and rose up in toward his body, and knew that the sperm was now on its way up through his tortured shaft. The women knew it too and laughed mercilessly as the man's face turned red in his effort to breathe between the unrelenting stroking.

"If I see one drop of sperm," said the brunette, "just one, we're going to do it all over again."

The man made some feeble gesture of understanding and prepared himself for the onslaught.

"He hasn't ejaculated in two weeks," said the woman pumping his prick to the other women standing around. "We made sure the fluffs got to him several times each day without giving him release so that his sperm buildup would reach its maximum potential."

"Oh, boy," said a young girl of about nineteen. "So he's really going to get a mouthful!"

The others laughed at her comment but stopped once they saw the man's throat begin to convulse.

"Here it comes!" laughed the brunette, as the first ropes of creamy sperm began to splash about in his gulping mouth.

The brunette held his head in place as the other woman kept stroking his climaxing cock. I could see his eyes bulge out of his head as the torrent of hot, liquid seed shot into his mouth, and in between swallowing his own semen he had to fight for a second's worth of air to breathe.

"He seems to like the taste of his own goo!" a voluptuous blonde offered, unable to take her eyes from the scene. "I love it!"

"Drink it all down you miscreant!" a middle-aged Sister rasped. "We don't want to see one drop!"

It must have been extremely difficult for the man to comply with his tormentor's wishes, seeing that his position was not conducive to keeping the sperm from escaping his mouth. But comply he did, managing to swallow so quickly and effectively that not one drop of cum was visible. This seemed to gratify the Sisters to no end.

"That's it, keep swallowing," the brunette said, looking pleased. 

"Mmm...I'll bet it tastes like vanilla pudding!" the woman masturbating him squealed with joy, as her hands brought forth yet another creamy eruption.

As the man continued to swallow load after load of cum, the women derided him without mercy, some even offering to squeeze his balls or help masturbate him to get the most sperm from his cock into his mouth. His orgasm must have lasted almost thirty seconds, but it seemed to have lasted much longer. Nowhere was there to be found a trace of sperm.

Finally, his throat stopped contracting and the brunette released her grip on his head.

"Get up and go back to your cell, you fucking pig! And if you ever speak to anyone of us in that tone of voice again, I'll make sure you find yourself there on the rack!"

The man cowered before his female superiors as he made a quick and ignominious exit out a nearby doorway. 

"I never thought that women could do such things to a man," I said as I watched the group disband.

"Why?" Yvette replied. "Men have done far worse to women."

"Yes, but it doesn't make it right."

She didn't reply but I saw her mouth curve up into a slight smile.

"What?" I asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Come, we must leave now."

Taking my hand, she led me to another flight of stairs not far off from where we were standing. I was puzzled by that enigmatic, Mona Lisa-type smile she had given me, but she would not divulge what it was she was thinking, even when I pleaded with her to tell me.

"Some things are best left unsaid," she finally replied. "Leave it at that."

"Why? Did I do something to offend you?"

"No," she laughed. "You have behaved exactly as I expected you to behave."

"What does that mean?"

"Don't you know?" she replied, as if I possessed the power to read her mind.

The flight of stairs that led us to the next floor comprised all of twenty steps, for which my tired legs were most grateful. It was rather disconcerting to find that instead of an immense cavern-like environment, such as that which existed on the upper floors, this area was no larger in dimension that a small banquet hall. In fact, the room was laid out much like a dining room with tables full of all different kinds of food, prepared in such a way as to be reminiscent of a medieval feasting hall, and replete with a long dais upon which sat all sorts of delicacies. Lit torches adorned the marble walls and tapestries hung down from the rafters, emblazoned with the emblems of some unknown character. There were three chairs positioned on one side of the table facing us, and in them sat three men busily feeding themselves. They were, like their counterparts above, completely nude, and they said nothing to each other as they feasted in a most rapacious manner upon the food in front of them.

"Who are these men?" I asked Yvette.

"They are the betrayers," she replied solemnly. "By their treachery many Sisters have met their deaths."

"Why are they being treated so well then? I don't understand."

"You will."

Several women bearing whips then entered the room and began instructing the men to eat quickly.

"Hurry, hurry," one of the women said. "Your Mistress will not be pleased if you don't eat enough. Eat! Eat!"

And with those words she, and the rest of the women, began to whip each man in order to make him eat faster. It was a sickening sight to see each man gorge himself without restraint while being continuously whipped. I had never seen such an example of wanton gluttony in my life.

"How can they stand the pain?" I asked.

"Their need to eat is greater than their fear of the lash," Yvette replied.

Before my horrified eyes each man soon began to expand under the watchful eyes of his tormentors. In cartoon fashion, the huge gulps of food soon manifested themselves as increases in bodily dimension until all normal appearance had been lost, and all that remained were three human-looking beach balls.

"How can this be?" I uttered.

"Time is condensing," Yvette said with some alarm. "The vision is dissipating."

"This can't be real," I uttered, willing myself to wake up from this horrible nightmare. I forced myself to turn away.

"No! Don't look away!" she admonished me. "Keep your eyes open!"

Even as she spoke, the scene began to waver. Light, color, dimension...all were blending into each other in kaleidoscopic fashion until all that was visible was one great wash of white. But in that one instant before the final dissolution occurred, I saw someone, no...something jump out from the midst of it. A great golden thing that moved within the miasma, its huge jaws wide open and ready to engulf the naked prey below. And then I suddenly heard myself calling out to the unsuspecting men to flee. But, as they were now nothing more than oversized beach balls, all they could do was roll around on the floor in a mindless display of fear. And as I saw the great jaw close down upon the terrified victims, the whirling vortex began to increase with each second, and my screaming continued until I found myself face to face with the loathsome Beast, its hideous face half human and half something else, reaching out with its many arms toward me.

"No!" I screamed, instinctively raising my arms up to protect my head.

Suddenly my guide's hand swept before my face and the frightful apparition, so close to swallowing me up, withered away. And I heard Yvette's voice—distant, hollow, but still audible, as if the words were being carried on a breath of wind.

"Remember what you have witnessed..."

And then the white backdrop of condensed time exploded into a thousand tiny fragments and my eyes opened to stare into the blaze of the rising sun.

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

All of it had been a dream. As I lay in my bed, half my body straining out of the disheveled covers, I noticed that my pillow was wet with perspiration and my heart was beating rapidly in my chest. My arms had been thrown above my head as if to ward off a blow, and I knew that had I not woken up just then, I might have died in my sleep from the sheer fright of the powerful vision. Every sight, every nuance, every pitiable scream now came back to haunt me in vivid detail. And as I shielded my eyes from the harsh light of the morning sun, I was nonetheless glad for its brilliance, as it provided me with a welcome measure of solace for one who had just awoken from a dark and hellish nightmare.

I rose out of bed and prepared my bath, deciding that I would take my time and enjoy the feel of the water against my skin. As I bathed I thought about the poachers who had been apprehended in my dream. I could not fathom why I had dreamt such a thing until I remembered that my aunt Phoebe had complained to Lenore that she had been having trouble recently with poachers, and that my aunt had found an effective way of dealing with the problem. What solution she arrived at she never mentioned, so in my dream I must have filled in the gaps with my own idea of how to handle the problem. But no. I distinctly remember Angelique making a reference to people she referred to as "hired men" whom she had enlisted to trap these poachers, but this statement was made during the excitement of the night before, when my attention was being constantly diverted. I couldn't be sure if I had heard her correctly or if I had imagined the whole thing.

When I was finished dressing I went downstairs and found my aunt and Lenore sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. My aunt was wearing a pair of white shorts, tennis sneakers, and a simple, blue blouse. Lenore was similarly dressed but she was wearing a pale pink halter-top. Two tennis racquets lay side by side on the counter top, and half-eaten eggs and toast remained on their plates.

"Well, you're up early today!" my aunt proclaimed as I made my entrance into the kitchen. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"What you're having is fine with me," I said, giving my aunt a kiss on the cheek.

My aunt told the cook to prepare breakfast for me as I sat down beside her.

"Good morning, Holly," Lenore said cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"

"I had a nightmare actually. It was very disturbing."

"What was it about?" she asked.

As I poured myself a glass of orange juice, I debated whether or not I wanted to reveal the part about my journey into the Masturbatorium with Yvette and decided against it. The dream, or vision, as Yvette had called it, was still too real to me, and for some reason I could not fully explain, I felt reluctant to share it with anyone. It was something I could not understand logically: it was more of an intuition, a sense that, for the time being, it was in my best interests to keep the startling revelation secret, as much as it killed me to do so.

"Well," I began, "I got lost in the forest and had to sleep there overnight. Then I heard some poachers come by and they were shot with some arrows or something and were taken away by a bunch of men dressed in strange outfits. It was all very weird."

My aunt laughed. "You dreamt that because we were talking about poachers last night."

"That's right," Lenore confirmed. "Your aunt has had problems with those awful men every now and then."

"But my daughter found a way to deal with it," my aunt beamed. "Instead of involving the local police, who are entirely inept at tracking these criminals, Angelique recommended that we use some of the men we already have under our employ. Men who know this countryside and the habits of the poachers very well. Now the animals are safer and we get to see these poachers punished."

"Who are these men?" I asked.

"You met one of them the other day."

"I did?" I asked again, looking at my aunt and then at Lenore.

"Yes, you did. His name is Jacques, my foreman."

"How did you know that?"

"Well, I do talk to my employees now and then, Holly," she said tersely. "And there isn't much that gets by me around here."

It seemed to me that Angelique's suggestion to organize the vineyard's laborers into a makeshift police force had been made to seem as if it were of greater importance than it really was, and my aunt made no attempt to conceal her satisfaction in parading my cousin's stellar achievement before me in such a way that would seem to belittle me in Lenore's eyes. I don't think the Sisterhood leader regarded the incident as one that would tip the balance in favor of my cousin, but she smiled at my aunt nonetheless while she stuffed a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

"Where is Angelique?" I inquired of my aunt.

"She had Jake drive her into Paris very early this morning. She was going to meet some friends for breakfast and then pick up her dress. You do know that we are having dinner tonight at the Le Boeuf sur le Toit?"

Suddenly my thoughts turned to the handsome Swedish boy Craig and what dress I was going to wear.

"Yes, I know. I'm looking forward to seeing Dr. Swensen again."

"Speaking of her, I received a phone call from her secretary this morning. It seems that she and Dr. Hellstrom had to return to Stockholm immediately. She didn't say why. It's a shame too. I really wanted to talk to her about her research."

"Oh," I said, feeling somewhat disappointed. "Do you know if Craig and Barney are leaving too?"

"No, they are going to remain with us for a little while," Lenore said, smiling as she saw my eyes light up. "You like that blonde boy, don't you?"

"He's very handsome," I replied.

"And he enjoys being controlled by a woman."

"So does the big guy," my aunt said. "I think they'll perform well in the 'Long Shots' contest—if they can adapt to our method of training."

Lenore looked at her watch. "Which reminds me, we have a disciplinary session in Training Room 1 in about an hour." 

"Go ahead if you want," my aunt advised. "I'll meet you in about twenty minutes. Angelique knows to meet us there and I want you there too, Holly."

"Why do I have to go?"

"We want you to see how we deal with insubordination," Lenore said firmly. "You can regard it as part of your training."

Having just awoken from a bad dream in which punishment had taken on a major role, I was not happy to have this sprung upon me, and especially without any prior notice. I was certain my aunt could read the displeasure in my face.

"You could have told me, aunt Phoebe. I had other things planned for today."

My aunt slowly raised her eyes up off her plate.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to, Holly. I can't force you. But if you expect to be part of this organization, you must be willing to make sacrifices. If you find that you cannot fulfill your obligations, then..."

"It's all right, Phoebe," Lenore cut in. "I'm sure Holly wants to do whatever is good for the Sisterhood. Isn't that right, Holly?"

Lenore looked at me in a most motherly fashion, making me feel guilty for even entertaining the idea that I should forego the event to pursue my own selfish needs.

"If it's that important to you."

"It is," my aunt said, giving me an uncommonly stern look. "And it's important for you as well. Meet us there in one hour."

I left the room without another word to either of them. I did not appreciate the fact that I had not been informed about this "disciplinary session," nor was I pleased at my aunt's dictatorial attitude toward me, or the way she played up Angelique's suggestion as if to humble me before Lenore. I regarded it as a flimsy attempt to earn her daughter a few extra points in Lenore's eyes, and I felt it unworthy of my aunt to act so callously. 

As I walked out of the kitchen I realized that I hadn't eaten any of my breakfast, but now I didn't care because I was feeling anger in my stomach and to eat would only make me sick. I decided to walk outside onto the lawn and sit by myself on one of the lounge chairs to consider what had just transpired, but I could not get rid of my negative thoughts.

I laid down on the chair and let the warmth of the sun and the soothing, exotic scents of the flowers have their way with me. In such a pastoral environment I could not stay miserable for too long, and I soon felt my anger assuaged by the thought that I had not been told about this "session" because it was probably some kind of test they were going to put me through. A test of what, though? Loyalty? Obedience? These traits were high on the list of qualities a Sisterhood initiate should possess, but maybe I fell short somehow? I had always wondered why Lenore had chosen me to be her successor when I had done barely anything to prove my worth or ability to her or the other Sisters except to invoke some sense of sentimentality in the Sisterhood leader. Maybe now was the time for me to prove myself to them. Maybe that's why Lenore and my aunt were so insistent that I attend. After all, Lenore did say that it was a part of my "training."

I decided to call my parents and say hello. It had been several days since we last spoke and I was beginning to experience a little separation anxiety. The first thing my mother did when she picked up the phone was to inquire whether or not my aunt Phoebe was forcing me to partake in any of her crazy jaunts, as she put it. I assured her that I was being treated perfectly fine and that there was no need to worry that I would succumb to my aunt's questionable lifestyle. Having promised to keep all knowledge of the Sisterhood secret, I could not discuss my recent sojourn into the Masturbatorium, or the disturbing nightmare I had experienced, although I was severely tempted to violate that injunction more than once during our conversation. We spoke for about ten minutes, and once she was assured that I was indeed doing fine, we said goodbye. I asked to her to give a kiss to my dad for me and then hung up the phone feeling a little better that I had talked to her.

The combination of the warm, pleasant air and the welcome fragrance of the flowers had a soothing effect upon me, and I soon closed my eyes. I began to wonder what my Sisterhood leaders were going to do in Training Room 1, and who exactly was going to be the object of their displeasure. 

Every so often my thoughts would wander into the nightmare world Yvette had shown me, and what cryptic, internal thought mechanisms had brought forth such imagery out of my subconscious. And what was that thing that I saw thrashing back and forth in a maddening frenzy just before I woke up? That nondescript but uncompromisingly evil apparition left an indelible impression upon my mind, and the strange feeling of familiarity that I felt toward it troubled me greatly.

"Hey lazy bones! Wake up!"

I opened my eyes to see Angelique staring into my face.

"Oh, shit! I said, rising from my chair. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes, you did!" she laughed. "We're supposed to meet mom in the Training Room remember? Come on, we're late."

She was wearing a very short pink dress and matching pink shoes, a white and pink checkerboard-style blouse, a wide-brimmed sunhat, and sunglasses. The two-inch heels on her shoes made her legs look even longer than they normally did. I surmised that the event about to take place was what might have prompted her to accentuate her already impressive limbs for the sake of whatever males there might be in attendance. Her hair, perfectly straight and hanging all the way down to her waist, glimmered like a shield of bronze across her backside. I had never seen her look more stunning.

"You hit one of the salons didn't you?" I asked, as we both made a hurried entrance into the house.

"Got my nails and toenails done too," she said, waving her newly manicured hand in front of my face. "Wait until you see my new dress!"

I smiled at her but felt no inclination to discuss her latest purchase. I was too worried about what was awaiting me in the Training Room.

"Do you know what's going on with this disciplinary thing?"

"Some kind of test Lenore likes to pull on us every now and then. Don't worry about it. Just be yourself and you'll be fine."

"You don't seem to concerned about it."

"I'm not."

Training Room 1 was located on the third level of the Masturbatorium—a floor I had yet to see. Angelique chuckled at my surprised expression when the elevator door opened and we found ourselves in a very large, circular room containing a long, oval table around which dozens of women sat. A series of doors flanked the walls on either side, some of which were open to reveal the kind of medical equipment one might find in a doctor's office. All of the women were impeccably attired in sleek business suits and seemed to be in the midst of a heated discussion. Upon seeing us, the conversation stopped immediately, and we were greeted with harsh stares. Lenore sat at the head of the table with my aunt Phoebe seated to her immediate right, and Justine and Estelle on Lenore's left. Some of the other women I recognized from previous encounters, others I had never seen before. My cousin and I halted in front of Lenore, who was visibly annoyed by our late arrival.

"You girls should know better than to show up at this time," the Sisterhood leader said to us as she glanced down at her watch. "You're ten minutes late."

"Ten minutes and 33 seconds, actually," Justine chimed in.

"I'm sorry," I said looking around at all the stern faces around me. "I fell asleep out on the patio."

Some of the women grumbled at my explanation, while others merely chuckled. Neither my aunt nor Lenore looked amused.

"I got back as fast as I could, mom," Angelique said in her best apologetic voice.

"I'm not interested in excuses!" Lenore suddenly blurted out. "The both of you have to learn to be responsible. But in the interests of saving time, I will forego any punishment—this time. Now go and sit down over there and listen carefully to what I have to say."

She indicated that we sit on two empty chairs at the back of the room adjacent to one of the open doors. I felt all eyes upon me as my cousin and I made our way around the crowd of women, feeling as though I had committed some heinous crime by being tardy. Angelique seemed undisturbed by Lenore's little tirade, but I felt a twinge of disappointment at seeming, once again, at a distinct disadvantage in the older woman's eyes. We both sat down and tried to look repentant.

"Now the two of you sit there and be quiet," Lenore said gruffly. "For the moment you will observe and say nothing. Am I understood?"

Both Angelique and I shook our heads in acknowledgment.

Lenore turned to Estelle. "All right. Let's get on with it. What's the first order of business today?"

"There is a discipline problem with one of sister Phoebe's new servants," Estelle began, looking down at a pile of papers in front of her. "He refuses to offer a sperm sample for the medical exam all the servants are required to take each year."

"Refusal is not within his rights as a servant to the Sisterhood," Lenore informed Estelle. "Why is he having this problem?"

"It seems," Estelle began, "that he feels it's degrading for him to ejaculate into a cup with a doctor and nurse standing by."

"Indeed," Lenore replied somewhat bemused. "This is our standard procedure and has been for years. The doctor must be present to ensure the pristine quality of the sample. That was explained to him, was it not?"

"Yes, but he can't seem to get over his shyness."

"But his shyness didn't prevent him from telling Dr. Monroe to go fuck herself. Is that not what he said?"

"He did say that, yes."

Lenore turned to my aunt. "Well, it does seem that you have a problem on your hands, Phoebe. Have you given any thought to what might be done to rectify it?"

My aunt stole a glance at Angelique and me. "Yes, I have." She pressed a button on the intercom. "You may come in now, doctor."

In a few moments the door opened and in walked a tall, attractive, red-haired woman who looked to be in her early 30s. She was dressed in a white lab coat and was followed by a young, blonde girl wearing a nurse's outfit. Following them was a tall, good-looking, but rather thin man, perhaps about 20 years old or so, with long brown hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. He was dressed in a hospital gown and was barefoot. He seemed very tense and anxious upon seeing the crowd of women who were now eagerly craning their necks this way and that to get a glimpse of this disobedient upstart. The doctor, nurse, and "patient" were instructed to walk to the end of the room where Angelique and I were sitting. As they passed by us, two of the women in the crowd got up and proceeded to draw back a retractable panel that was connected to the office door nearest me, exposing a smaller area into which the doctor, the nurse, and the patient now entered. The entire room was empty save for a small 12-inch riser upon which the patient was ordered to stand.

"I don't enjoy meting out punishments," Lenore said standing up. "As most of you know, I consider it to be one of the least enjoyable aspects of my work. But disobedience cannot be tolerated." She turned to my aunt. "Phoebe, how are we going to get this man to produce a sperm sample for us?"

"I believe there are two people here right now who can help with this problem," my aunt replied.

"Oh? And who might they be?"

"Angelique and Holly," my aunt replied, looking directly at us.

"Perfect!" Lenore said, smiling at my cousin and I with satisfaction at the premeditated plan. "I leave this man's punishment in your competent hands."

I nearly fell out of my seat when I heard my aunt mention my name. I wasn't prepared to take part in anyone's punishment and didn't have the least idea of how to go about administering it, or to what degree. Angelique saw my trepidation and took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly, wearing a grin on her face that told me she had been through all this before.

"A piece of cake," she said, seemingly non-perturbed by the test we were now about to undertake.

Some of the women in the audience, especially the effervescent Felicia Antonetti and the sultry Janet Walsh, spoke to Angelique and I, wishing us luck. In fact, most of the women appeared very encouraging to us with the exception of a few, most of whom I had never seen before. These few, including the doctor herself, seemed very proud and humorless, and Angelique advised me to ignore their haughty stares and disparaging remarks, spoken amongst themselves in whispers, lest it interfere with my concentrating on the task ahead. My cousin had had limited exposure to these unfriendly women over the course of the past year, and she had nothing good to say about them.

"They're a bunch of jealous bitches," she said, staring straight at the smirking group of self-styled pedigrees. "Especially that one in the middle. She thinks she is the reincarnation of Yvette herself. I hate her guts."

"Yvette?" I asked suddenly.

"Yvette Anjou. You know, our esteemed Sisterhood founder. The one who started this whole thing? She's a distant cousin of my father's, but a real Anjou."

"What's her name?"

"Charlotte," my cousin replied. "That's all you need to know about her."

The woman my cousin described looked eerily familiar to the woman in my vision. She possessed the same penetrating blue eyes—large and liquid and set within an unusually heavy brow and denoting a high level of intelligence, but also a capacity for ruthlessness; high cheekbones; long auburn hair that fell about her shoulders in the most flattering way; an aquiline nose with perfectly symmetric nostrils; and a smile that was at once both charming and disarming. In effect, she was nothing short of beautiful, and like my uncle Pierre, she possessed the same tall, slim stature and forceful nature of all the Anjou line. She was dressed simply in a black skirt and matching blouse, and wore a stunning pearl necklace around her neck. I noticed that her associates seemed to defer to her constantly, as if seeking her approval on every word.

"Doctor Monroe," my aunt said. "Please explain to all the Sisters your recent experience with this man. Keep it short and to the point if you will."

The lovely redhead moved directly in front of the dour-looking patient, who himself had been constantly looking down at the floor without once looking up since taking his place on the platform. She held a clipboard in her left hand that had some papers attached to it, and she quickly glanced at these before speaking.

"The patient's name is 

"Please repeat it, doctor," my aunt said.

"He told me to...to go and fuck myself," she answered with some hesitation.

The women began to murmur amongst themselves upon hearing this story, some casting disparaging glances at the patient.

"This man," my aunt began to the crowd, while looking coldly in Mr. Villon's direction, "has not only disobeyed orders, he has insulted one of our Sisters. Is there any doubt in your minds that he should be punished for his behavior?"

The entire entourage exploded as if in one voice, condemning the young man for his actions. He looked like an escaped prisoner who had been caught and was now awaiting sentencing. Angelique looked at the man with obvious distaste, and I could see her mind was working out some fanciful punishment even through her grimace. Her expression sent a cold shiver up my spine.

"Do you know," my aunt said to the cringing young man, "that two kings of France bore the name of Villon? A most noble name, but you...you have degraded it. Look at you! Standing there like a lost puppy! Take off your gown right now or I'll have it ripped from your body!"

The young man hesitated for a moment, but seeing the anger in my aunt's face, and the disapproving looks of all the women in the audience, he slowly untied the knot in the back of his gown that held it in place and let the garment fall halfway down his body, where he gathered the material up into a ball and held it before his crotch. 

"Let it drop!" my aunt yelled. "Now!"

"Please, madame," the boy pleaded. "I'll do whatever you want, but don't let me be humiliated this way."

"If you don't do as I say you will suffer worse consequences," my aunt warned him.

The boy looked around the room, searching desperately for a sympathetic face. He found it in mine.

"He's afraid aunt Phoebe, can't you see that?" I blurted out.

Suddenly the room was dead quiet, and all eyes were now focused upon me. Angelique looked at me as if I had perpetrated a cardinal offence, but it was Lenore who stood up, her normally placid composure completely lost.

"Did anyone tell you to interfere, Ms. McKenzie?" she said hotly.

"No," I replied in a startled voice.

"You are here to observe. When and if your input is required, you will be duly informed. But for now you will sit there and say nothing. Am I understood?"

"Yes."

Lenore said something to my aunt and then resumed her seat. I saw her break into a quick discussion with Estelle and Justine, both of whom stole glances at me now and then, leaving me with no doubt in my mind that they were greatly displeased by my outburst.

I had never seen Lenore angry before, and it really shocked me to feel the brunt of her displeasure. And what made it worse was that it was I who had been the recipient of her scorn. Angelique, too, seemed at first surprised by the reprimand, but that soon wore off and was replaced with an obviously smug satisfaction that it was better that I, rather than her, who was made to look foolish in front of all these women. Charlotte Anjou, strangely enough, did not seem to take any relish in my apparent discomfort, looking at me with an almost parental concern that reminded me of her ancestor's motherly affection toward me as she guided me through the depths of the futuristic Masturbatorium. I noticed also that none of her close associates took any pleasure in my discomfort, nor did Dr. Monroe, which made me wonder why my cousin was trying to paint these women in a negative light.

During this entire faux pas, Mr. Villon stood exactly in the same spot, the crumpled robe still held at his midsection, protecting his genitals. Dr. Monroe said a few words to him, but he just kept shaking his head from side to side, refusing to give up his robe like a little boy who would not relinquish his toy. My aunt had seen and heard enough.

Rising from her chair, she ordered Dr. Monroe to physically remove the objectionable piece of clothing. As the doctor reached out her hand to grasp the gown from the boy's hands, he clung to it even tighter and pulled away from her, causing her to lose her balance. She fell onto the platform at the boy's feet, apparently uninjured but greatly humiliated. Alicia quickly came to her aid and helped the doctor to her feet, but the damage had been done.

I saw my aunt give Angelique a silent nod, and without warning my cousin dashed up onto the platform and delivered a hard slap across Mr. Villon's face, sending him reeling backward in shock. At the same time she grabbed the gown from his hands, leaving him now completely naked, and held it above her head triumphantly as though she were displaying a trophy.

But nobody in the room was looking at the crumpled clothing she held so proudly above her head. Instead their concentration was focused upon Mr. Villon, or more aptly, upon what Mr. Villon had been hiding beneath his gown.

All at once, every woman in the room gasped.

"Jesus Christ!" my aunt exclaimed, her face registering first surprise and then bemusement at the naked man on display. "You should have said something about that, doctor!"

Doctor Monroe turned to one side and looked down between the patient's legs. She smiled and shook her head, appreciating the shocked and amused responses of the excited women around her, having seen the source of their exuberance only the day before.

"I'm sorry," the doctor laughed. "I thought you knew. He is very well endowed."

"Endowed?" Felicia squealed. "Mama mia! He's enormous! Hung like a fucking horse!"

The entire group, who were now moving in closer to take a look at the patient's gargantuan organ, shared her observations.

"How big is his penis, doctor?" Justine inquired, craning her neck forward to get a better view.

"Alicia," the doctor said to the young nurse. "You measured him yesterday. How long is it?"

The nurse looked like she was going to bust out laughing but valiantly kept her composure. 

"Fourteen and three-eighths inches, doctor," Alicia announced proudly, enjoying the women's astonished reactions at the mention of such an impressive statistic. "And that's flaccid," she added. "We've yet to see him erect."

A chorus of moans emanated throughout the room as the women absorbed the spectacle before them, and I watched as my cousin joined in the ruckus, laughing and gesticulating at the huge piece of flesh dangling between the cowering man's legs. 

"Come here, Holly," she said. "You have to fucking see this!"

Not wanting to further displease my aunt or Lenore, I had remained in my seat in obedience to their orders. But now, with my cousin's approval, and seeing that the entire room was now in an uproar, I rose from my chair and stood next to Angelique. I was curious and wanted to get a better view of this monster penis. What I saw made me gasp.

The shaft itself was not erect, yet it hung almost to his knees. Its girth was probably about three inches around—an unprecedented specimen by any standards. His balls too, were very large and oval shaped, jutting out lewdly from each side of his penis. The thing almost didn't look real, so massive was its appearance. My cousin and I looked at each other in wonderment, and then we both broke out into unbridled laughter. Soon the entire group of women were laughing along with us, and pointing to, and making comments about, the young man's astonishing piece of equipment.

"Will you look at the size of that bloody dork?" Marge Davis shouted. "I wouldn't want it plying my furrow!"

"No wonder he didn't want to give a sperm sample," another woman laughed. "He didn't want anybody to see it!"

Mr. Villon, looking defeated and totally humiliated, hung his head and made no attempt to cover his genitals. It would have been useless anyway; his small hands could never have completely hidden his magnificent tool from view. Amidst all the commotion, his eyes did, at one point, meet mine, and I could almost feel his distress. Even while I was laughing at him, I began to hate myself for ridiculing what was, essentially, an abnormality over which he had no control. I stopped laughing then and moved away from my cousin, who didn't seem to notice or care that she had been responsible for the young man's shattering humiliation. As the tumult began to subside, Lenore ordered everyone to return to their seats, while Dr. Monroe, Alicia, and two other medical assistants stood on the platform and held Mr. Villon fast.

"Well," the Sisterhood leader said, clearing her throat. "That is the biggest schlong I have ever seen in my life!"

This comment sent the faithful into fits of laughter. 

"Whoever thought we had such a treasure in our very midst!" she continued. "Phoebe, you must not keep such knowledge as this to yourself. Some of your Sisters may get jealous!"

The crowd laughed even harder this time, and my aunt Phoebe laughed hardest of all.

"Thank you, Angelique," Lenore said. "You've given your sisters a glimpse of a new and larger world!"

My cousin, who had just now resumed her seat, and was still holding Mr. Villon's gown in her hands, smiled victoriously as the crowd laughed and cheered.

"Doctor Monroe," Lenore said, wiping a joyful tear from her eyes. "I think it's time we got that sperm sample!"

A thunderous round of applause greeted this statement, but there was some discrepancy between Lenore and her associates as to who was going to do what to get Mr. Villon to ejaculate. Doctor Monroe looked perplexed as to what her next move might be, and my aunt, seeing the vacillation in the doctor's face, now saw an opportunity to advance her cause.

"Sister Lenore, if I may," she began. "This young man needs a firm and disciplined hand. I would like to suggest that my daughter Angelique conduct his punishment."

Lenore thought about this for a moment and then turned to Angelique. "Do you feel up to this task?" 

Looking disdainfully at Mr. Villon, Angelique threw the gown back on the stage as if offering him a challenge. 

"I'll take care of him," she said coldly.

"Very well," Lenore said. "He's all yours."

"Remember what I told you," Angelique said to me as she rose from her chair. "All men are shit, and the more you humiliate them, the more you can control them. Just watch."

"You shouldn't have hit him," I said. To which my cousin just smirked and turned her back on me.

There was an air of expectation in the audience now that the responsibility for Mr. Villon's punishment had fallen into Angelique's hands. For my aunt, who was now beaming with pride at her daughter's victory over the hapless man, this had become a defining moment—a moment in which, if Angelique could accomplish her task, would prove to the Sisterhood that Lenore's decision to name me as her successor was premature and ill advised. I knew that my aunt Phoebe loved me and didn't want to see me fail. But I knew that she loved her daughter more, and would do anything to promote Angelique's interests above those of my own. I understood this on an intellectual level, but emotionally it was a drain upon my nerves. I knew that my aunt had been continuously hammering away at Lenore over these past few weeks, using any chance she could to undermine the older woman's confidence in me. And now, seeing the appreciative look on my mentor's face at Angelique's bold, but seemingly necessary, action taken against the recalcitrant Mr. Villon, I began to realize that her negative impression of my cousin's character might have been premature and flawed, and worth reexamining in light of the hitherto lesser candidate's recent achievement.

As Angelique confidently took the stage next to the timorous young man, her arrogant posture seemed indicative of a battle already won. I had not appreciated the fact that she had chosen to resort to physical violence to achieve her ends, although I, myself, had been at a loss as to what to do to retrieve the robe. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I think my solution would have been to calm the boy down somehow, rather than exacerbate his misery. Such an idea would have been foreign to my headstrong cousin, who, after all, regarded most men as nothing more than vermin.

Angelique now stood directly in front of the patient, surrounded and held in check by Dr. Monroe, nurse Alicia, and two other formidable-looking female assistants, both attractive brunettes in their twenties. She stared at his sleek, muscular body with contempt, her eyes finally resting on his outsized penis. The boy, fearing she might strike out at him yet again, took a few steps back, trying unsuccessfully to use his hands to cover the source of her distaste. 

"If I had something like that hanging between my legs, "Angelique said to Mr. Villon, "I wouldn't want anyone to see it either."

Some of the women laughed.

"I guess you don't have sex very often, do you?"

Mr. Villon stared down at the floor and said nothing.

"Of course you don't. What woman in her right mind would want that ugly thing anywhere near her?"

There was no laughter this time, only the sound of shuffling feet and muffled voices. Angelique then let one of her hands fall onto his chest, teasing his nipple. The boy instinctively drew back.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not going to hit you again. Unless you make me angry."

My cousin asked me to bring her a chair, which I dutifully did. So that no one's view was obstructed, she sat down a few feet away and on a diagonal plane to Mr. Villon. She then removed her shoes and crossed her lovely, long legs in a splendid cheesecake-style pose, aiming the toes of her right foot directly underneath his elephantine organ. She let her foot bounce up and down several times, just lightly touching the underside of his shaft, causing him great alarm.

"I want to make this easy for you, Mr. Villon," Angelique began, taking pleasure in letting her toes tease the delicate flesh of his cock. "Give me what I want and you can leave. Resist me and face the consequences."

"What...what consequences?" the boy stammered, as he watched his tormentor's toes move slightly down to play with the loose skin around his huge testicles. 

Angelique grinned. "The consequences are that if you should fail to produce a sperm sample, you will be placed into a machine that will forcibly extract the sperm from you. It's not a pleasant experience, trust me."

Mr. Villon stood there numbly, looking nervous.

"Of course I might decide to kick you in the balls as well if you don't comply."

To emphasize her point, my cousin raised her toes upward into Mr. Villon's sac, making him wince.

"Please, you are hurting me, mademoiselle!" the boy complained.

"Angelique!" the doctor said, reaching out her hand to push the offending foot away.

My cousin let out a sinister laugh. "Don't worry doctor, I'm not going to hurt him—yet."

Doctor Monroe frowned. "Sister Lenore," she began. "I don't think physical abuse is the answer here."

"For the moment you will follow Angelique's orders," Lenore replied. 

My cousin stole a quick glance at me and smiled wickedly.

"And you, Angelique," Lenore continued. "If you damage his balls, it's unlikely he'll be able to give us that sample. Now get to it."

"Yes, Sister," Angelique replied.

"We'll need the specimen jar," Dr. Monroe said to Angelique. "The very large one."

"I should think so," my cousin laughed. "Nurse," she said to Alicia. "Please fetch the jar and bring it here."

Alicia went to retrieve the jar and returned moments later with a glass beaker about two feet in length and wide enough to accommodate the monstrous shaft. She handed it to Angelique.

"Do you see this?" my cousin said to Mr. Villon as she held the beaker aloft. "You are to ejaculate into this. Is that understood?"

Mr. Villon was almost going to reply, but remained silent, letting his eyes dart around from one end of the room to another like a terrified animal seeking shelter.

"Is that understood?" Angelique repeated emphatically.

"Yes," he replied feebly. "But this...this is so humiliating. I don't think I can do it."

"Of course you can do it you foolish man. And do you know why? Because I know about your little secret: your fetish for women's sweaty, smelly feet!"

This surprising revelation made everyone laugh. Even Dr. Monroe couldn't contain herself, laughing heartily along with the rest of her staff as Mr. Villon's face turned crimson with shame.

"Many men have this sick and disgusting fetish," Angelique continued. "Why should you be any different?"

"How do you know about this?" the boy cried, his voice breaking under the weight of this new humiliation.

"Word gets around, Mr. Villon. But I knew you had a foot fetish by the way you constantly kept looking at my feet. Well? Here they are! And here's the specimen jar. How about I rub my feet up and down your cock until you spurt that huge load of cum out of your cock and into this jar? Would you like that? I know Dr. Monroe would like to watch you shoot your hot semen, wouldn't you doctor?"

"Yes, actually," the doctor replied. "I always enjoy watching my patients ejaculate."

"How about you nurse?" Angelique said to Alicia. "Would you like to see my feet bring him to orgasm?"

"I think it would be fun to watch," the nurse replied.

Angelique then turned to face the audience. "How about it Sisters? Would you all love to see my hot, sweaty feet bring this fucking guy off?"

This provoked a tremendous response from the crowd.

"Yes! Yes! Make him shoot it all into the jar!" Janet Walsh screamed as she leaned back on the table and lifted one of her own amazingly long legs over the other.

"

The rest of the audience soon took up this chant. I could tell that although my cousin was enjoying her rapport with the audience, Mr. Villon was clearly becoming more distressed instead of turned on at the prospect of being masturbated in this fashion. It would be interesting to see if his fascination with my cousin's feet would be enough to overcome his inherent shyness.

The patient was instructed by Dr. Monroe to plant his feet firmly on the platform about two feet apart with his hands held behind his back. She stood to his right, her body pulled in close to his to aid in his support, while the two assistants supported him from the opposite side. Nurse Alicia had retrieved a jar of Vaseline at my cousin's request and now handed it to Angelique. Angelique, in turn, handed the pretty nurse the beaker, which she now carried to a spot several feet away to the patient's left and just behind my cousin.

"Are you going to behave yourself or will you have to be restrained?" my cousin asked the wary young man as she dug her fingers into the jar and pulled out a huge glob of grease, which she began to apply sensually to the toes of both feet.

"I...I will behave," he said softly, watching intently as his tormentor lazily applied the lubricating substance to her soles and in between the crevices of her toes.

"I'm glad to hear it. Otherwise I'd have to strap you onto the examination table like Dr. Monroe tried to do."

It was clear that the doctor did not appreciate this last snide comment, as it insinuated that she had somehow failed in her duty. She shot Angelique a cold stare and then looked away; her face registering indignation.

"Oh, you don't have to strap me down, mademoiselle," Mr. Villon said humbly. "I'll give you your sample."

Angelique didn't even look up at him. She simply laughed and continued to apply the Vaseline, now to the top of her feet as well. "Doctor," she said. "We're going to need to lubricate his schlong too. I want you to coat it with this stuff and then get him going for me."

"What do you mean, 'get him going'?" Dr. Monroe asked sullenly, as she took the jar from Angelique.

"I mean I want you to get him hard. You know how to do that I hope?"

This second rather callous remark, a direct reference to the doctor's prior ineptitude, made the sultry redhead visibly angry. It was obvious my cousin didn't like this woman, but to insult her pride in front of all the other Sisters displayed an appalling lack of propriety. The doctor, to her credit, said nothing, and proceeded to put on a pair of surgical gloves. The entire room had fallen silent.

"Okay," Angelique said to the doctor. "Lay it on thick."

"Just give her what she wants okay?" Dr. Monroe whispered into the young man's ear. "I promise I won't hurt you."

Mr. Villon seemed to relax a little bit as she said this, but his main attention was focused on my cousin's glistening feet, now fully prepared to take on their masturbatory duty.

Doctor Monroe dipped her fingers into the jar of Vaseline and drew out a substantial amount of the lubricant, which she then began to apply to the still flaccid shaft of Mr. Villon. As soon as he felt her gloved hands upon his penis he moaned softly, watching her expertly rub the greasy solution all over his penis and balls. She appeared to take pleasure in her work, manipulating his cock in a slow, sensuous way, hopeful that her careful handling of him would prove efficacious in the production of the sperm sample.

"Do you jerk off a lot?" Angelique asked the patient.

"Yes, yes...," he groaned, as Dr. Monroe's right hand glided effortlessly up and down his now well-greased pole.

"How many times a day do you do it?"

"Uh...once...sometimes twice a day," he replied.

"Is that normal?"

"I...I don't know. I guess so."

It was fascinating to watch the doctor at work. Her method of masturbating Mr. Villon was to employ long, carefully timed strokes that began from the base of his shaft and terminated just under the corona. Her hand was clenched tightly around the width of him, the tips of her gloved fingers teasing the sensitive area under the glans as they maintained a steady, clockwork motion along the entire length. As Angelique continued to question him, the doctor kept up her unrelenting pace upon his penis, never once relinquishing her firm grip on him. 

"I guess with a dork that size you must shoot a lot of cum," my cousin laughed.

"That would be my guess too, Angelique," said Estelle from across the room.

Some of the women in the audience let out feeble laughs, but I noticed that my aunt and Lenore, like most of the other women, remained quiet, absorbed as they were in the skillful masturbation of the patient by Dr. Monroe.

For his part, Mr. Villon was beginning to be overcome by the first powerful sensations of the expert milking he was receiving. As the doctor's ministrations became more intense, and Angelique's lewd questioning continued, he began to gently thrust his hips outward to drive his penis in and out of the ever increasing up and down motions of the doctor's hand. And then something wonderful began to happen: his cock began to expand.

I don't think I, nor anyone else, expected to witness a further increase in the growth of Mr. Villon's shaft, much less the amazing elevation of the hefty tube of muscle perpendicular to the floor. But rise and grow it did, to the utter fascination of the audience, and to Dr. Monroe, nurse Alicia, and the two assistants. Angelique, for her part, seemed nonplussed by the doctor's impressive achievement, but I could tell that she would not let the stately redhead enjoy her victory for too long.

Without a word to the doctor, Angelique raised her greasy foot so that her toes just touched the underside of the now fully erect prick. Dr. Monroe quickly withdrew her hand and removed her gloves, looking relieved that she had managed to accomplish a seemingly unlikely feat. It appeared that Mr. Villon was just as surprised as everyone to see the fleshy drawbridge jutting out before him, as much a testament to the doctor's hand skills as his own desire to conquer his rampant inhibitions. I don't think he really expected his penis to react so unexpectedly submissive to the doctor's masterful touch, but there it was—the results of which could not be denied. The massive cock was now at its full length and girth, and like some giant, awe-inspiring behemoth, it demanded to be noticed.

"Nurse Alicia," Angelique said turning to the astonished blonde girl, "do you have a ruler handy?"

"I have one right here," the nurse said, removing a fold-up tape measure from the pocket of her uniform.

"Measure his penis, please."

Angelique briefly removed her foot to allow the girl to take the measurement. Everyone was quiet as Alicia ran the tape from the base of his penis all the way to its tip. The nurse blinked once, then twice, then whistled loudly.

"He's grown two full inches!" she announced excitedly to the audience as she raised the tape in front of her for all to see. "He's now exactly sixteen and three-eighths inches long!"

The entire audience clapped and cheered at this news, and some of the women rushed forward to take a closer look at the marvelous appendage.

"I think that's the biggest one on record, is it not, doctor?" Lenore shouted from across the room.

Dr. Monroe took a few steps back to admire the pulsating slab of flesh she had so expertly coaxed to its full, majestic length and laughed heartily.

"It breaks any record I know of!" she replied. "I'm really at a loss for words!"

"Excellent work, doctor," my aunt chimed in. "Go ahead, Angelique, finish him off!"

Prompted by the cheers of encouragement from the crowd, and her own desire to make the timid Mr. Villon submit to her will, Angelique once again raised her right leg and let her toes make contact with the young man's absurdly outsized organ. She toyed with it for a while, letting her big toe tickle the thin strip of sensitive flesh just under the glans, watching his dumbfounded reactions with glee. 

As I watched her tease and play with his cock, I was reminded of the way she had tormented Delvin the year before when he, too, had fallen in lust with her lovely, long legs and beautifully sculptured feet. But this reticent and shy creature, who had previously displayed an uncommon stubbornness in refusing to submit to Dr. Monroe's orders, now became for her a challenge that had to be met head on: a conquering of a foe by the means of a debasing foot job; her victory over him made even more humiliating when the last sperm-producing strokes of her toes—with their lascivious light pink nail polish—would eke out from him the last of his dignity before a roomful of laughing and jeering women; and the instrument both of his pleasure and debasement, dripping with his hot, white spunk and offered to Angelique as a libation, would be poured out in creamy strands of gooey surrender for all to see.

The patient stood quietly, allowing himself to enjoy the pleasurable sensations of my cousin's unrelenting foot job. Dr. Monroe and the other three women kept him steady and balanced as Angelique's tiny, perfectly shaped toes gripped the loose skin under his prick and gave him several quick tugs that made Mr. Villon moan aloud. 

"You like that, don't you, you pervert!" Angelique said with disdain, as she placed the top of her foot under his prick and lifted it up, exposing the twin orange-sized balls underneath.

"Look everyone!" my cousin shouted to the audience. "What do you think of this?"

It seemed that, along with the increase in the size of his penis, Mr. Villon's testicles had also experienced a growth spurt. The dual orbs of flesh sat tightly in his firm sac, hugging the base of his monstrous tool; my cousin's energetic foot job attempting to provoke an intense release of his pent-up seminal fluids.

"My God!" a Sister I recognized as Selena Montaldo exclaimed. "I have never seen a man's balls that big!"

"He certainly has the bat to go with it!" my aunt observed with a laugh.

Nurse Alicia could not suppress her excitement as she bent forward to see the ripe fruit hanging between Mr. Villon's legs. "They look like they're about to burst. When was the last time you ejaculated anyway?"

"It's...it's been about...a week I think," the young man said between breaths.

Angelique let her foot drop and resumed her assault on the underside of his shaft.

"A week?" she said mockingly. "Christ! Please don't tell me you're going to miss the beaker and shoot your cream way up my legs. I'll kill you if your ruin these shorts!"

Everyone in the audience laughed, but Mr. Villon looked terrified.

"I'll try not...to...mademoiselle!"

"Oh come on, Angelique!" Estelle joked. "It's better than having that thing inside you when it shoots off. It would be coming out of your ears!"

Again, everyone screamed with laughter, but Mr. Villon kept a straight face as he kept his eyes glued to the awesome foot job she was giving him.

Several more minutes went by in which it appeared that the patient was going to ejaculate at any time, but for some reason he would exhale loudly just as I though he was about to cum, and then an exasperated Angelique would resume her foot work more ardently than before, hoping to force him to ejaculate before her feet became too tired to finish the job. Nurse Alicia, too, was growing impatient as she held the large beaker in close proximity to his penis, hoping to catch the semen that refused to spurt out, and then withdrawing it again when it appeared his orgasm was not forthcoming.

Another five minutes elapsed and Angelique was still unable to get him to produce a sperm sample. By now my cousin was visibly upset, once again coating both her foot and the patient's cock with extra Vaseline to make her job easier. She insulted him frequently, using words like "pathetic," "worthless," "freak," and other denigrating terms that she believed a submissive man like Mr. Villon would find irresistible in heightening his sexual pleasure, but the patient was simply not responding. 

I had seen Angelique work her foot magic on Delvin, and he had reacted like most any other man with a foot fetish would have reacted—with utter devotion to her feet and an irrepressible desire to bathe them in hot sperm. It was inconceivable to her that this "pathetic" slave of the Sisterhood should be immune from this apparently immutable law. Yet, Mr. Villon was somehow able to withstand her spectacular efforts, even when she resorted to using both of her soles to caress his cock from above and below, like a giant tube steak caught between two slices of buttered bread. It must have been disconcerting to my cousin to come to terms with the fact that there was at least one man in the world who would not bend to her will.

"I think you scared him when you told him not to come on your shorts, Angelique," one of the women sitting near my cousin remarked. "Better keep that jar ready!"

"The son of a bitch doesn't want to cum," Angelique responded with a grunt, as she dug the toes of one foot into his scrotum while running her other foot up and down the patient's cock at a furious pace.

It seemed that the harder she tried to provoke Mr. Villon to ejaculate, the more he resisted. I watched as his exhalations became more frequent, and the ever-apparent hint of apprehension that played across his features became, finally, a determined reluctance to submit to the cocky girl's demands. At last the erect penis began to slowly descend toward the horizontal, much to my cousin's, and everyone else's, deep dismay. Mr. Villon was panting loudly, as though he had indeed just had an orgasm, but his sperm was nowhere to be found. My cousin, her patience gone and quite angry that he had so valiantly braved her fevered onslaught and won, drew one of her legs inward and then quickly outward, intending to force her heel into his scrotum. But the patient swerved to the right in order to avoid the blow and her foot caught him in the abdomen, knocking the wind out of him and sending the shocked man, Dr. Monroe, and the two brunette assistants hurtling to the floor.

"How dare you make a fool of me you miserable, cock-sucking bastard?" Angelique screamed at the terrified patient. "You fucking wimp! I'll cut that god damn thing right off your body!"

She jumped out of her chair and ran toward the fallen man with the apparent intention of doing him further harm, but the Vaseline on her feet forced her to lose her balance and she shot right past him and skidded across the platform, falling headfirst into a row of chairs.

My aunt Phoebe was the first to run to my cousin's aid, followed by Lenore and several other women, including myself. The entire room was in an uproar and it was not until my aunt had announced that Angelique had not been harmed that everyone resumed their seats and order was restored. As for Mr. Villon, he was helped to his feet by nurse Alicia and the startled doctor, who with her two assistants, then placed the stricken man in a chair and covered him with his robe. 

Angelique was seething. Her outrage at having been outmaneuvered by a man was more than her feminine arrogance could withstand. Even as she was guided past Mr. Villon, she again tried to kick him, but was restrained by her mother and Lenore, who both were quite distraught at her total lack of self-control.

"Sit up front with us," my aunt said to my cousin as she examined her daughter for bruises. "Your actions are totally unbecoming for a Sister. I'm ashamed of you."

"He's the one who's supposed to be punished, not me!" my cousin countered.

"You didn't have to hit him. It wasn't necessary."

"It was necessary!" she exclaimed. "He was defying me!"

I gazed into Angelique's eyes as she was ushered by, and in them I saw a look of infinite contempt. She had been made to look like a fool—and by a man, no less. But not just any man: a "worthless," "pathetic" creature who was as far below her on the evolutionary scale as a Neanderthal to a Goddess.

End of Chapter 4

"That is because there is nothing to be afraid of. I promised you safe passage and so it shall be." She took my hand in hers and led me to the stairwell. "I put my blessing upon you, Holly. For what you shall now see will test the limits of your mind's dimensions. But do not fear. The specters you see cannot harm you."

11:27 Gepost door Pé de Cenoura | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

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