Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 06

Suddenly a high-pitched squeal reached our ears. 

"Let me through you damn fools!"

It was Janet Walsh, dressed in a very short black skirt that showed almost too much of her astoundingly beautiful long legs. She was carrying a dish of ice cream in one of her hands as she forced her way through the growing number of spectators. She was so flustered by the time she finally approached us that she didn't even notice what was going on with the waiter and Dr. Monroe.

"Can you believe it?" she said to us as she held the bowl of ice cream in front of her. "All these wonderful desserts and not one ounce of whipped cream!"

All of us, including the women from the other table, turned to look at the leggy brunette. Even the waiter, annoyed that Dr. Monroe had yet again released his penis, gave her a dour look. 

"What is it?" she asked with a confused look. "What did I say?"

As her eyes darted back and forth between us, the women began to giggle in unison.

"Okay, what the hell is…?"

Suddenly her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened as she beheld the mammoth prick hanging just inches away from the doctor's face.

"Well, fuck me!" she exclaimed. 

Her expression and the way she enunciated the words caused all of us to explode into fits of laughter. 

"I'm sure he would like to fuck you!" my aunt squealed, almost unable to speak because she was so irrepressibly amused.

"Would he indeed?" Janet replied. "Not with that bestial thing!"

"It's not so bad once you get your hands on him," the waiter said to her.

"Him? Me get my hands around him?" she exclaimed. "Not on your life buddy!" 

"Come on," he said teasing her. "Put down that ice cream and give it a few tugs." 

"I'll tug those ornaments off you, that's what I'll do!"

The waiter sized her up and down. "I'll bet you look great in the nude."

Janet let out a long laugh. "That's something you'll never see bucko!" 

"All right, that's enough!" Dr. Monroe warned the waiter. "Another word and…"

She abruptly released his penis.

The waiter just stood there as if in pain.

"Get the picture?" she asked.

He nodded, dumbly.

Without another word, the doctor resumed her manipulation of his genitals while the rest of us continued to watch. It was obvious she was going to get him to ejaculate, but how long it might take I couldn't guess. I took a moment to look around the room and noticed that the other waiters were also engaged in various forms of sexual interplay with their female clientele. On the dance floor, and right underneath Porky's nose, a burly waiter was receiving a vicious blowjob from a tall, buxom Sister. Porky and his band, obviously unused to seeing such outlandish sights, managed to conduct themselves with aplomb, seeming to understand that such events were part of the Sisterhood ritual.

A few tables away two of the waiters were having intercourse with Zula. One of the men was fucking her in her asshole while the other had his cock buried in her mouth. She was entirely dressed, with the exception of her panties, which had been removed and were now draped over one of the waiter's heads. The women at her table looked on with approval at the debauched sight.

"Look at that black bitch go!" Janet exclaimed. "She may not be very talkative, but she sure knows how to make her body perform!"

All around us acts of sexual depravity were taking place—and this all happened in a relatively short span of time. Or so it seemed. With my attention being focused upon the waiter and Dr. Monroe, I was not aware as to what was going on around me. In fact, no one was. It was Janet who had to inform us that the long Viennese dessert tables, from which she had gotten her ice cream, had been wheeled out fifteen minutes ago, and that another table of delicacies—in actuality a floating array of French and Italian pastries—was now on its way onto the floor.

On every side I could hear the sounds of people being brought to orgasm. Sometimes his or her wails of pleasure were long and drawn out; other times a litany of filth might be shouted hurriedly as someone reached climax. All this sexual energy in the air seemed to fuel Dr. Monroe's desire to get the waiter to cum. She stroked him now with purposeful intent, wrapping one of her arms around his waist as she masturbated him with her right hand. The huge tool hung over the edge of the table like a drawbridge, a clear stream of pre-cum clinging from the slit at its tip.

"Oh, look at that!" Lenore said suddenly.

She pointed to the dance floor where a long table—the pastry float—was being wheeled into place. Upon the float were several statues, replicas of ancient Greek gods all dressed up in flowing white robes and adorned with garlands of flowers. The statues were displayed in various reclining positions and surrounded by a mass of fanciful cakes, assorted pastries, and fruit. 

Despite the sexual activities taking place around them, many of the women rushed up to the table to get their hands on these delectable-looking desserts. As the mob of women jostled each other to grab one of the exotic edibles, a loud groan escaped from the waiter's mouth. 

"Oh shit!" he yelled. "You're gonna make me cum!"

"Yes I am," Dr. Monroe sang, as she laughed and increased her tempo.

Janet stood watching the doctor with casual indifference. The ice cream in her bowl was already half melted away.

"I wish I had some fucking whipped cream," she said quietly to herself, her gaze transfixed on the waiter's greasy pole.

Lenore looked at Janet and frowned. "I don't want to hear you complain about whipped cream ever again. Give Joanna your dish."

Janet groaned. "Oh, fuck Lenore. Don't tell me…"

"Give her your dish!"

The foul-mouthed brunette shrugged and gently flung the bowl onto the table.

"I'd prefer 'cool whip' actually," she said, as the doctor placed the dish in front of the waiter's cock.

"How about some 'hot' whip?" Dr. Monroe grinned, pointing the tip of his penis into the bowl.

The waiter looked as stiff as one of the statues on the pastry platform. Holding his ass firmly with one hand, the doctor shook his cock as one might shake a can of whipped cream, her actions building up the inside pressure of the fleshy canister until one light touch of the finger would send the contents flying into the air. 

Knowing that he was on the brink of orgasm, all of us grew quiet, hoping to witness a tremendous release of sperm. Lorraine was sitting on the opposite side of Dr. Monroe, not directly in harm's way, so she thought nothing of craning her head forward to watch the doctor's long fingers tease the thin strip of flesh just under his glans. It was a mistake.

Even as Dr. Monroe grasped the end of his cock just beneath the corona, I knew Lorraine was in trouble. Screaming like a wounded animal, the waiter grimaced, and the great prick, formerly held securely in place by Dr. Monroe's firm grip, was now pointing several inches above the bowl of ice cream and straight at the unsuspecting French girl. The doctor's handjob had been so vigorous that she wasn't paying much attention to where she was pointing the mammoth tool.

I tried to warn Lorraine but it was too late. With her mouth wide open in astonishment at the doctor's amazingly effective but haphazard handjob, and leaning the top part of her body even further in to get a better view, I watched as a sudden eruption of hot and gooey semen flew across the table right into the girl's open mouth, hitting the back of her throat and splashing into her upper palate, exuding in great gobs over her lips and onto her chin. It happened so fast that she didn't even have time to turn her head in order to avoid the disaster. This initial attack was followed by a succession of creamy spurts that seemed to go on forever, all of which found their way into her face, hair, arms, and all over the front of her evening gown.

"Arrête! Arrête!" she screamed, as she finally managed to duck her head under the table.

Needless to say, the roar of laughter was deafening.

Muriel and several other women came to her aid at once, grabbing handfuls of napkins and tissues so that they could help her wipe away the abundant sperm that clung to her body in large clumps.

"Oh, Lorraine!" Lenore cried. "Moment mal choisi!"

She then burst out laughing harder than before.

"Merci beaucoup, docteur!" Lorraine exclaimed, as she raised her head up in time to see the doctor coax yet another gigantic load of sperm out of the waiter's convulsing prick. I watched as the long jet of cream sailed out over a startled Justine's head and into the wall behind her, impacting upon an oil painting of Ella Fitzgerald, hitting her squarely in the eye. This spectacular feat earned the young man a tremendous round of applause, yet only a tiny portion of sperm had actually landed in the bowl.

"Sorry!" Dr. Monroe said to everyone as she laughed and masturbated the waiter furiously, unsuccessfully trying to control the direction of the thick, white stream.

But even as the waiter continued to ejaculate, something else was grabbing our attention.

On the dance floor a mass of women were shrieking with joy as they stood around the pastry float. Their voices were so loud that it caught the attention of the entire room. From what I could see, the statues were no longer on the float but were now on the floor itself, surrounded by these crazed women.

"What the hell is going on over there?" my aunt said, quickly rising from her chair.

Dr. Monroe, having wrung the last few drops of cum from the waiter's now completely drained prick, and her hand dripping with his semen, ordered him to bring us a round of drinks and a bunch of napkins. As he walked away she gave him a hard slap on his ass and looked out toward the dance floor.

"I think they're licking the damned statues!" she exclaimed.

"No, they're not licking them," Lenore said. "They're trying to fuck them!"

Felicia and the women from her table had already run off toward the dance floor to see what was going on. Now it was our turn.

As we rushed up to join in the melee, a man approached my aunt and took her aside. It was her friend 

"Phoebe," he said in the midst of trying to pry one drunken sister off a prostrate man. "You've got to do something about this. They're going to hurt the guys. Call them off!"

Before my aunt could act, Lenore had already assessed the situation and ran up onto the stage and addressed the frenzied mob.

"Hey, you drunken whores!" she yelled at them through the microphone. "Get away from those boys—now!"

The volume and intonation of her voice was enough to grab everyone's attention, but her usage of the term "drunken whores" made some of the women laugh.

"But they're so delicious!" said an elderly Sister, her face smeared with frosting.

"Get back to your seats or I'll take away those awards and every other privilege you own!"

All the women stood completely still for a moment and looked at each other dumbly. Knowing full well that the Sisterhood leader would have no trouble fulfilling her threats, they slowly began to slink off, leaving behind a trail of thick, white frosting that clung to their hair, clothes, and shoes. As they retreated to their respective tables, what remained were two young men: one black, the other white, the others had run out the kitchen door. The black man was a bit larger than the white man, and far more muscular, so it was through his efforts that both men now rose to their feet, the remaining frosting falling of their bodies in big clumps. Both of their faces, however, were covered over with the sticky white substance, making their features indistinguishable.

"Holly," Lenore began. "This was supposed to be a surprise. My gift to you for doing such a wonderful job today and for showing us that results don't necessarily need to be obtained through punishment and humiliation." She paused briefly to wipe some frosting off her arm. "Of course, there's nothing wrong in that either."

Some of the Sisters laughed at her comment, but not all.

"In any event, I hope you will enjoy the rest of the evening. And as for the rest of you unruly bitches, leave those boys alone!"

Lenore turned to say something to Porky, whose exuberant expression indicated that he thought this whole affair more amusing than anyone, and then walked off the stage toward the nearest table of women. Once some sense of order had been restored, Porky began to lead the band in a rendition of "Moonlight Serenade," looking every now and then at the two disheveled statues dripping with frosting and laughing heartily at the ridiculous sight. 

As I began to walk back to my table with my aunt and the rest of our party, I felt a wet and sticky hand reach out to take mine and turned around sharply.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, pulling my hand away from the white boy.

Both he and the black man looked at me through the layers of frosting covering their faces and smiled.

"It's me, Holly," the white man said, stepping forward. "It's Craig."


Marge Davis sat back in her chair and chuckled. She loved the new machine Angelique had purchased recently from a company in Denmark that specialized in such fiendishly erotic devices as the "Chastiser" and the "Sperm Eradicator II". This most recent addition to the company's line of sex machinery was really nothing more than a standard penis-pumping device: a fiberglass cylinder with soft rubber lips at one end that was fitted over the penis and operated by remote control. The contoured lips, mimicking a human mouth, hugged the base of the shaft and could be retracted via a pair of hydraulic arms set inside the cylinder, thus producing the sensation one might experience from an intense blowjob. Angelique had informed Marge that no man who had worn the device had ever left it empty.

But the thing that differentiated this current model from its predecessors was the addition of a specially formulated cream that exuded from the tiny pores in the lips themselves—all at the touch of a button, keeping the penis erect for hours and providing for almost total hands-free operation. No more did the mistress have to spend time removing the device after a certain amount of time to grease her slave's penis. Now she could attend to other more important matters while the victim was relentlessly milked for hours on end. And the best thing about this device was that it contained a built-in sensor that could accurately gauge if a penis was about to ejaculate. Detecting this, the machine could slow itself down or completely shut itself off, depending on the settings chosen, and would sound a simultaneous warning beep to alert the mistress that a rest period was in order.

This particular device, now in quiet operation on the naked man sitting closest to Marge, was called FISTED (Fully Integrated Sucking and Teasing Ejaculation Device), but Angelique lovingly referred to it as "hot lips". She had taught Marge how to use the machine during experiments she had conducted several days earlier on some of the more hopeful candidates for the "Long Shots" contest. Marge had grown so fond of "hot lips" that she and Angelique would sit in the training rooms of the Masturbatorium for hours, holding their own series of private contests to see what man could last the longest under the effects of the wickedly pleasurable device before watching him surrender the creamy contents of his balls into the cylinder. It had almost become a pastime for the brazen blonde girl and her impeccably dressed English lady friend. And now with the contest only a mere two weeks away, their attempts to sponsor a champion was growing more and more remote.

"All over my fucking clothes!" Angelique complained loudly as she entered the room where Marge was busy controlling three separate hot lips devices at once.

"What in bloody hell happened to you?" the Sister remarked with a surprised look.

"What do you think?" Angelique replied, showing the woman her skirt and blouse. "He fucking creamed me!"

Great blotches of sperm dotted her clothes, and she cursed as she made her way gingerly toward the sink. "It's the old hot lips machines. They're useless. In the middle of lubing him up his cock shot off. We've got to get rid of them."

Marge watched the frustrated girl wash her hands and arms, which had also received a sizeable portion of semen.

"I mean it's not as if we can't afford them," Angelique continued. "These new ones are so much better."

"I think so," Marge said, fondling a button on one of the devices, which in turn made one of the men groan. "See that? You don't have move from your chair and there's never any danger of getting splashed."

"That's fine with me!" Angelique noted, as another series of groans emanated from the group of men. 

When she was done washing up, Angelique took one of the devices from Marge and sat down beside her. She played with a few of the buttons, increasing the speed at which the hydraulic arms moved back and forth over the slave's penis.

"How does that feel Jacques? You worthless piece of shit!"

Jacques LaSalle looked at Angelique but could not reply. His mouth had been taped shut and his hands and legs had been locked into restraints that prevented him from moving to any appreciable degree. The other two men had been treated the same way. They were all submissive men, and Angelique knew this. But as it was only she and Marge in the Masturbatorium tonight, with all the Sisterhood attending the dinner party, she felt it incumbent upon her to take precautionary measures to assure their safety. Not that she was overly concerned that the men might get out of hand, but Jacques was a fairly moody guy, and his reactions could not always be guaranteed. 

"As sick as this sounds," the girl began with a sarcastic drawl, "you three are the last ones left. It's pathetic."

"Yes, quite pathetic," Marge agreed.

"And do you assholes know why it's so pathetic?" Angelique asked them, but addressing herself to Jacques in particular. "It's pathetic because right now I know of at least two other guys who can do far better than any of you. So, if you want to compete, you better be the last to cum."

Marge saw the resolution in Angelique's face and knew the moment had come to put these men to the test. "Let's do it," she said, her hands on the controls of both remote devices.

"Okay, let's get these fuckers off. Set it for the highest speed and let's see what happens."

Angelique took her remote control and keyed in a number on the digital interface.

"Ready?" she said to Marge.

"Ready," Marge replied.

"Remember," Angelique said to her nervous and naked victims, "you guys have five minutes. Whoever can last five minutes gets to compete."

With that, she and Marge put all three machines into full-speed mode.

The two women laughed as the hydraulic arms moved up and down at a very rapid pace, causing the men's bodies to jerk back and forth at the intrusion upon their genitals. The tiny motors that were incorporated into these devices whirred softly as they drove the metal arms back and forth, forcing the well-lubricated lips to perform like a human mouth, with all the attendant oral pleasures it provided. One of the men, a small, wiry specimen with curly hair, was finding it difficult not to thrust his hips back and forth in an attempt to fuck the cylinder. This, however, was impossible, since his restraints prevented him from moving his torso in any but the most limited way, increasing his frustration while providing entertainment for the two women.

"I'll bet you'd like to fuck that thing, you fucking pervert!" Angelique laughed.

The man seemed to pay her no attention; all of his focus now being upon his cock and the tremendous need to ejaculate.

"I love to watch these bastards squirm," Marge giggled as she extended her legs out before her. "Look at this guy," she said to Angelique, noting the man next to Jacques who looked like he was in pain. "Oh, he's not going to last much longer, I can tell you that!"

Marge had always had an uncanny notion of being able to predict the exact moment of a man's ejaculation. This fascinated Angelique, who herself could never rightly determine when, or even if, a guy was about to cum or not. She would never admit this to anyone of course because that would be a declaration of weakness. Instead, she would guess when the moment of ejaculation would commence, and she was, incredibly, often right.

"Gee, Jacques, you're holding up pretty well," Angelique said, bending forward to take a closer look. "But you," she said to the man in the middle, "you look like your going to cream any second."

The man in the middle was at least 20 years older than his counterparts. Angelique figured him to be in his early 40s: a married man with six kids who had fallen upon hard times and was looking for a way out of his misery by attempting to become the next "Long Shots" champion. She didn't think it was going to be his year.

"Time?" Angelique asked Marge.

"Going on one minute," the woman replied, looking at her watch.

Angelique watched the man's balls rise upwards to caress the underside of his penis and giggled.

"I don't think you're going to make it Louis," she observed.

"Right now!" Marge concurred.

No sooner had the words escaped her lips than Louis' prick started to shoot out long strands of sticky white sperm. Marge and Angelique reacted with joy as the man's cock ejaculated uncontrollably, sending rope after rope of white-hot sperm careening into the sides of the cylinder. He looked like he was having a heart attack.

"No wonder you have so many fucking kids!" Angelique squealed. "You're a premature ejaculator!"

The two women doubled over with laughter as Louis continued to coat the walls of the device with his sticky spunk.

Now it was between Jacques and the little, curly-haired man.

Bertrand, or "Bernie," as he liked to be called, was a man in his early twenties and had worked alongside Jacques as one of the laborers on the Anjou vineyard. He was a rather cute-looking man but very insecure with women. Of course, Angelique loved to humiliate men like this, and she relished the thought of laying into him.

"You little prick," she said to Bernie as he fought valiantly to prevent his ejaculation. "It's no use trying to fight it. I can see that your balls are full. Shoot it out for me. Shoot out all that nasty semen."

Not wanting to let Jacques off the hook either, Marge held her open fist in front of the sweating man and moved it back and forth, mocking him.

"Wouldn't you rather have my hand pulling on your big schlong?" she teased him. "Come on you bloody bastard! Give me your sperm!"

Jacques closed his eyes and turned his face away, trying to block out the offending vision. He wanted desperately not to ejaculate because he really enjoyed being humiliated in this way: at the hands of two beautiful women whom he knew he could never possess. The very thought that they were forever beyond his reach is what made his humiliation so powerful, and he wanted to keep reliving this experience in whatever myriad forms it took, so that he would be deemed worthy to remain in the wicked women's service: adoring them, serving them, worshipping them. He would continue to work in the vineyards for low pay just so he could be their human footstool. No other kind of existence was possible for him.

"How much time?" Angelique inquired.

"Three minutes left."

The machines continued to move up and down the fleshy terrain of the men's penises while the special lubricant worked its magic. Both men were fighting hard not to cum, their eyes shut tight as if trying to imagine anything else than the image of the incessant milking machine that was working hard to rob them of their vital juices. Another thirty seconds went by and both women took bets on who would be the first to relinquish his load.

"The little shit is going to lose it first," Angelique said confidently as she watched for the telltale rise in the little man's balls.

"I bet you a hundred francs that your foreman cums first," Marge said.

But as she said these words, it was apparent that Angelique had guessed correctly.

Bernie was losing the battle. Unable to withstand the constant stroking of his cock, the semen of which had not been allowed to be released for almost seven days by his giggling tormentors, he surrendered himself to the overwhelming pleasurable sensations of the whirring machine and fell back in his chair.

"Here it comes," Marge said, knowing she had lost the bet.

"Balls up and in," Angelique laughed. "Sperm up and out."

As if in dutiful obeisance to the willful girl's observation, Bernie's body froze as his prick reared back and fired out several salvos of milky semen, the spurts hitting the far end of the cylinder one after the other.

"Ha!" Angelique said clapping her hands. "I won!"

Marge said nothing, but she continued to watch Bernie shoot his cum, delighted that the cylinder was now almost half full.

"What a fucking huge load for such a little man!" she said, almost praising him.

Angelique was happy that she had predicted correctly and asked Marge the time.

"Five minutes…now!"

"Excellent!" Angelique exclaimed. 

She moved in closer to Jacques, who was now on the verge of orgasm himself.

"There may be hope for you yet mother fucker!" she said to him, her voice dripping with disdain.

In response, the handsome young man delivered the most powerful cumshot of his life, the jets of his lust splashing about inside the cylinder as if they had a mind of their own, demanding release from the confines of their artificial prison. 

"You fucking pig! You filthy pervert!" Angelique laughed, as the creamy semen coated the bottom and sides of the cylinder, filling it up to near capacity with his lustful offering.

"I think we may have a winner here," Marge remarked as Jacques' orgasm slowly began to subside.

Angelique turned off the device and sat admiring the almost full cylinder of sperm.

"Maybe," she replied. "But all we did was weed out the best of a bad lot. I think we may need a secret weapon."

Marge turned both her remote control units off and placed them on the counter behind her. "What secret weapon?"

"Not what…who," Angelique smiled as she got up and walked toward the door.

Marge looked at her friend expecting further clarification, but sensing none was forthcoming, she shrugged and got up.

"What about them?" Marge asked.

"Leave them here. We'll come back for them in the morning."

Marge followed her friend out without a word.

"Goodnight, you sick fucks," the hateful blonde girl said as she turned off the lights and closed the door.


What should have been for me a very interesting "entertainment" (or so Lenore had called it) the night before had turned into a fiasco. My mentor had apologized to me profusely during breakfast, claiming that the event had been spoiled by some Sisterhood members who were not wholly appreciative of my so-called "leftist" approach to the treatment of Mr. Villon. With a promise to me that she would make things "right," she and my aunt had Jake drive them to a new, upscale boutique in Paris where I was to meet them later in the afternoon.

After I had recovered from the initial shock of seeing Craig Lundquist and his friend, Barney Cole, appear from behind a patina of cake frosting, I had to fight very hard to keep from laughing in their faces at their unusual predicament. The only two remaining survivors of the frenzied attack upon the pastry float, both men looked completely ridiculous as they tried to appear nonchalant while covered from head to toe in frosting. Barney, despite his Herculean appearance, looked the more ridiculous of the two, as his huge, lumbering frame strode back and forth across the dance floor like a black colossus caked in white mud, his magnificent body the recipient of one too many pies.

Craig, after hastily expressing his regrets that Lenore's little surprise had turned to naught, excused himself and headed to the men's room with Barney to get cleaned up. That was the last I saw of him.

"What is it with Craig anyway?" I had said to my aunt on the way home as she, Lenore, and I stretched out in the back of Jake's limousine. "Why did he just disappear?"

Without a moment's hesitation my aunt replied. "He felt foolish of course."

"Of course," Lenore agreed. "All those men were made to look like a bunch of fools."

"You call them fools?" I retorted. "It's the women who behaved more like fools to me."

Lenore laughed. "That's true. Those idiots ruined my entire presentation. But the men, you're Craig as well, had to suffer the humiliation of looking like a walking piece of cake!"

"You have to admit, Holly, that it was quite funny," my aunt chuckled.

"Funny or not, I just wish he made some attempt to talk to me. I'm beginning to think he doesn't like me much."

"Oh, that's absurd!" Lenore countered. "I think he is just a little shy around you. That's all."

"That's what I think it is, too," my aunt said. "Don't worry. He'll come around if he's interested. And what man in his right mind wouldn't be interested in such a beautiful girl like you?"

For the duration of the ride home the two of them tried to offer me some measure of solace, but I was feeling comfortable in my misery and wouldn't allow anything they said to cheer me up. And so I went to sleep feeling dejected and unlovable, and far more removed from the object of my desire than ever before.

I found out during breakfast that Angelique had taken her car into Paris to meet up with some of her friends. My aunt said nothing more than that; her silence on the subject reflecting her unwillingness to discuss her daughter at all costs. Lenore, too, kept any observations she might have had to herself, sensing that my aunt was not in the mood to broach the issue.

I met my aunt and Lenore at the "Salon de Paris" at 4:00 PM. The small but fashionable shop was located just off the rue du Cologne, several miles away from the Le Boeuf sur le Toit restaurant. Jake had returned to the estate to pick me up, according to my aunt's instructions, and he smiled as he opened the car door for me.

"You know what they're planning for me don't you?" I asked him as I got out of the car.

"I'm not allowed to say, Ms. McKenzie," he replied, taking my hand.

"Not even a hint?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Well, as long as there's no pastry involved…"

He looked at me dully as he escorted me to the door of the shop and then said goodbye and drove off.

The front of the shop consisted of a large main area in which the bulk of the women's apparel was displayed. A small archway at the far end of the room led into another similar-looking area that featured ladies' accessories and jewelry and some novelty items. In the far corners on either side of this room were two smaller archways where I presumed the stock was kept. Two fitting rooms, one in the front and the other in the back of the store, were in use, and a bunch of ladies' garments were draped over each door.

As I walked toward the cashier's counter to my right, an attractive older woman dressed in a black, short-sleeve blouse and matching pants walked over to me and asked me if I needed any help. She was rather thin and smallish, somewhere in her late 50s, whose black hair, streaked with gray, was pulled back into a bun. Her fine, but weathered, features indicated that in her youth she must have been a great beauty. I was at first a bit put off by her stern-looking appearance and almost patronizing attitude, but she warmed up right away once I told her who I was and the reason for my visit.

"It is a pleasure to have you in my shop," she began in fluent English. "Lenore and the others are expecting you." She pointed toward the archway. "Please go in."

I thanked her and walked into the back room where I found some women talking excitedly as they examined the merchandise. Even before they noticed me, I could hear my aunt's voice rising above the others as they picked and prodded their way through the assortment of clothes and accessories. Whatever they were doing, it was providing them with a great deal of amusement.

"Oh, here she comes now!" I heard someone say.

Suddenly their voices dropped to a whisper.

"Okay, Okay," another voice said. "Turn around! Turn around!"

The women turned to face me all at once. 

"Surprise!" they shouted in unison.

At that very moment a handsome, young, blonde boy stepped out from amongst them and bowed as they laughed and applauded.

"I don't believe this!" I exclaimed.

"You want him? You got him!" my aunt laughed. "He's all yours!"

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There in the midst of all those smiling faces, and wearing the biggest grin of all, stood Craig Lundquist, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a blue tee shirt. The women were holding wine glasses in their hands and seemed to have been drinking for quite a while, judging by the inordinate amount of attention they seemed to be paying him. He brushed a long clump of hair away from his face and approached me.

"Hi Holly," he said. "Your aunt said you needed some cheering up. So…here I am."

I was so surprised to see him that all I could do was stare at him with a dumb look on my face. 

"Well say something to him, Holly," my aunt said. "Aren't you glad to see Craig?"

I suddenly felt a hand upon my shoulder and turned around to see the proprietor standing behind me.

"Oh, you two!" the woman said, directing her comment to both my aunt and Lenore. "You are full of surprises aren't you? First you surprise the girl last night and now again here with this young man. It's no wonder she is confused."

The woman placed a glass in my hand, filled halfway with red wine.

"Go ahead and drink," she said to me. "These people will make more sense to you when you are a little under its influence."

"Just that one glass, Sylvie," my aunt warned the woman. "She's like me. Neither of us can hold our liquor very well."

"Oh, never mind about that!" Lenore said. "So, what do you think, Holly? I told you I would make things right."

"Yes, Lenore, you did," I replied, never taking my eyes off Craig. "But why did you leave last night?" I asked him. "You didn't even say goodnight."

He looked down at the floor and gave a little shrug.

"I have to apologize for that," he said. "Barney and I were really embarrassed after what happened so we decided to just go back to our hotel."

"See?" Lenore said to me. "Didn't I tell you that he was embarrassed?"

"And we were all full of frosting," he continued. "I mean it was even in my underwear."

This admission brought a few giggles from the ladies.

"It was very uncomfortable," he said, shifting his weight onto one leg. "All I could think of was getting home to take a shower."

I did not have much difficulty in imaging what his body must have looked like as the layers of frosting were swept away under the spray of water. 

"I hope you don't think less of me for it," he concluded.

"I don't think less of you," I said, "now that I understand how you must have felt. I'm just glad it wasn't something I said or did."

He laughed. "Oh, no way! I think you're really cool, you know. I was hoping we could hang out and do some stuff."

"You two can hang out all you want but not before I give you your gift," Lenore said, taking me by the arm. "Sylvie, I want you to assist Holly with her selections and then I want a modeling session."

"You don't have to buy me anything, Lenore," I said. "Passing the test was reward in itself."

"That may be. But this is my way of saying 'thank you'. Indulge me."

"But it's not necessary," I protested.

"Holly," Justine interrupted. "Indulge her."

I was just about to complain yet again when I was preempted by the two strange women, who now found it expedient to second Lenore's motion. Lenore introduced them to me as Astrid and Chantal, two friends of hers from her college days. Both of them were members of the Sisterhood.

Astrid was a tall, lithe woman with long brown hair and very white skin that almost seemed opaque. She wasn't a very pretty woman but she had a most playful personality, encouraging me to "take Lenore for everything she's got." She had to be at least 40 years old but acted much more like a juvenile than any woman her age I had ever met. Chantal was a different story. Possessed of medium height, smart, sophisticated, and dressed in a navy blue business suit, she radiated confidence, intelligence, and demureness. She seemed to be as old as Astrid in appearance, but there was nothing juvenile in her attitude. Her short, honey blonde hair was styled in an unflattering masculine fashion, which gave her an almost androgynous appearance, despite her attractive features.

"You must never look a gift horse in the mouth," she said to me. "Lenore told me what you did the other day. I'd say you earned it."

Astrid drowned the contents of her wine glass and patted me on the shoulder. "I wish the old woman would offer to buy me an expensive dress like that!"

It was apparent that Astrid had had a little too much to drink, but her statement did not seem to bother Lenore. 

"When you do something equally wonderful," the Sisterhood leader told the tipsy woman, "you'll be similarly rewarded. "Now, come on, Holly. I want you to model some outfits for us. Get going."

My aunt threw me a kiss, telling me to pick out something smart and sexy. 

"Smart and sexy," Estelle agreed. "Go for it, Holly!"

At this point even Craig was encouraging me to accept Lenore's gift.

"Can't beat the price," he sensibly remarked.

Before I had a chance to retort, Sylvie grabbed my arm and whisked me away into the main area, telling me to pick out whatever outfits appealed to my fancy.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Lenore is picking up the tab. Buy whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

"Carte blanche," she smiled, as she pointed to some dresses on one of the racks. "Here are some of my latest creations. Try on whatever appeals to you."

I slowly spun the rack around. "These are yours?" I asked, admiring the selection.

"Everything in this store was designed by me," she replied proudly.

I carefully looked over the inventory, amazed to see that each dress was nothing less than a work of art unto itself. And even more amazing was the price of these original creations.

"But this dress alone," I said, as I pulled a stunning white satin gown off the rack and showed it to her, "is 3,800 Euros. That's what? About $5,000? I can't ask her to pay that kind of money."

"Please mademoiselle. Do not insult your friend or me by making money an issue. It is a gift. Accept it as graciously as the spirit in which it is given."

"I do accept it graciously," I replied. "But I don't want to take advantage."

Sylvie threw her hands up in the air. "Take advantage! When someone offers to buy you such a gift, you take advantage. Now go and model some dresses for them and choose one that appeals to you—but just one. You don't want to take too much advantage after all."

She spent several minutes helping me with my selections and then announced to everyone that I would soon be coming out to model the first in a series of dresses I had chosen.

"The shop is officially closed as of now," I heard her tell them as I was getting dressed in the fitting room. "Holly will be out momentarily to show off some of my latest designs." This announcement was greeted by a round of cheers. "How are we doing with the wine?"
"We could use a few more bottles," my aunt replied.

The first outfit I modeled for them was a lovely black, satin, tube dress with a simple ruffled hem that hugged my body like a leotard. As I walked from the main room into the back room where they were congregated, I was greeted with several catcalls and whistles. Craig just stood there open-mouthed.

"Wow!" was all he could say, as his eyes followed my every move.

"You look simply stunning!" my aunt said.

Everyone seemed to agree.

"I have never seen anyone look so good in this dress," Sylvie said, admiring me. "It was made for you, Holly."

I took a look at myself in the full-length mirror and liked what I saw.

"It makes me look so thin," I noted with pleasure.

"You're already thin," Lenore said. "It makes you look elegant."

"Sexy," my aunt chimed in.

"Thin, elegant, and sexy," Justine added.

"Wow!" Craig said again.

I tried on several more dresses in succession, at one point surrendering my better judgment to Sylvie, who insisted that I should model a pink chiffon dress that made me look more like a prom queen than the sleek, sexy woman I was trying to portray. But it was the dress I had tried on first, the black, satin gown, which got the highest approval rating. 

"Thank you, Lenore," I said when I returned from the fitting room. "You are way too generous."

"Nonsense. You're going to need a new gown to wear to your aunt Phoebe's indoctrination ceremony. It's only three weeks away you know."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot," I said, suddenly remembering that my aunt had imparted this information to me weeks earlier. "But I thought you were already a full-fledged Sister aunt Phoebe." 

"I am," she replied. "But the Sisterhood has certain rituals that everyone must observe. I can't say anymore in mixed company."

She stole a glance at Craig, making it clear that we should drop the subject.

After all the details of the purchase of the dress had been attended to, Sylvie asked us if we would like to go downstairs so that she could show us her workshop, to which we all readily agreed. The tiny, creaking, wooden staircase led down into a cool, almost dank, but well-lit room with a cement floor and overhead florescent lights. Along either side of the room stood two, long, wooden tables that contained a wide array of various fabrics and patterns. In the far corner sat two girls with short, blonde hair busily sewing garments together on their electronic sewing machines. They were twins, about eighteen or nineteen years old and very pretty. When they saw us come down they looked up from their work momentarily but said nothing. For a while, only the buzz of the machines could be heard.

"These are my grandchildren, Julie and Juliette," Sylvie announced with pride. "Everything you see upstairs was made by them. Your dress, too, Holly."

Sylvie ordered the girls to stop sewing and to quit their work for the day. After they had been formally introduced to us, Sylvie asked them to retrieve some items from the refrigerator in an adjoining room.

"Bring out some Brie and fruit and set it up on the table for our guests," she said to the twins. "A few more bottles of wine too. Make one of them white."

Both girls promptly left the room to do her bidding. I noticed that both of them, although friendly and polite, were not very talkative. I thought the handsome young boy standing next to me might be the cause of their shyness and was proven right when I caught the two of them staring at him and giggling intermittently. I could hear their giggles even from the adjoining room. 

The girls returned a few minutes later with a few bottles of wine, a huge bowl of fruit, and a plate of cheese and bread. Chairs were spread out around one of the tables and Sylvie invited all of us to sit down and eat.

A little way into our meal and Sylvie, who had been eyeing Craig now and then, finally struck up a conversation with him.

"You know Craig," she began, "besides my late husband and my son in law, I think you are the only other man I've ever allowed in this workshop."

Craig seemed impressed by this. "Thank you for inviting me, ma'm. It's a…a real nice place. Good cheese too."

Sylvie laughed. "That's a man for you. Always his mind on the food."

"Or sex," Astrid quipped.

"Yes, sex," Sylvie agreed. "Feed them and fuck them, eh?"

All of us laughed at her comment, but I had never gotten used to hearing an older women use such untoward language, and I found it especially odd that she would use such a word in front of Julie and Juliette.

"May I ask how you came to know this group of hedonists?" she asked Craig while looking directly at my aunt and Lenore.

"It's a long story," he replied, biting off a mouthful of bread. "Kind of a weird story, too."

"Oh, that's fine. I love to hear weird stories."

"Well," he began, "this doctor back in Sweden, Dr. Swensen…she created a drug to help men with…well, with erection problems…"

He was interrupted just then by the twins, who seemed to find this information amusing and giggled loudly.

"Now, hold on," he said, defending himself. "I don't have that problem, okay? I got the drug illegally and was using it to enhance my…"

At this point he stopped and shook his head.

"I really don't think this is appropriate," he said, looking at the two young girls sitting across from him who seemed to be hanging on his every word.

"No, please," Sylvie insisted. "My girls are adults. They understand everything about sex. More than you probably. Finish your story."

I could tell that Craig's inherent shyness was going to be somewhat of an obstacle, but he persevered nonetheless.

"See, this drug—it's called 'EJAX-472'—is a drug that increases male fertility. It helps the man to produce more sperm."

"More sperm?" Sylvie asked incredulously. "Don't they produce enough of it already?"

Everyone found this comment amusing.

"Not the men with fertility problems. Without the drug they can't ever hope to have kids."

"But how did you get your hands on it?"

"It was stolen from the doctor's laboratory, and the dude who stole the stuff sold it to the doctor's sister's husband."

"Bonnie Olmstead," my aunt interjected. "She's an acquaintance of mine. My daughter Angelique and I visited her recently at her home in Stockholm."

"So the woman Bonnie…her husband…"

"Philip," Craig said.

"He sold you the drug and you actually took it?"


"And what happened to you?"

Craig hesitated for a moment.

"Please," Sylvie said. "You don't have to be shy around us."

"Well…several things started to occur. My sperm count went through the roof and… I found I could ejaculate really far."

"Really?" Sylvie asked, her interest piqued by this piece of news. "How far?"

"About ten to fifteen feet."

The twins exploded with laughter. I thought Sylvie herself was going to fall off her chair. Having seen both Craig and Barney perform such ejaculatory feats only recently at the Masturbatorium, neither Lenore, my aunt, nor I found this statement particularly difficult to accept. However, Astrid and Chantal, although not laughing, were stupefied at Craig's revelation.

"I've never heard of such a thing in my life!" Chantal exclaimed.

"Ask Ms. Anjou. She was there. She saw it," Craig said.

"Is this true, Phoebe?" Sylvie asked, totally bemused.

"Yes, it's true," my aunt replied flatly. "I was at Bonnie's house when Craig, his friend Barney, and even Bonnie's husband Philip, himself, gave us a demonstration. They were all under the influence of the drug."

Sylvie frowned. "I find this hard to believe. What kind of demonstration did they give?"

"It was something Bonnie cooked up for Dr. Swensen's birthday party. All the men wound up ejaculating in one way or another. It was actually quite enjoyable."

The twins looked at one another and snickered. 

"And you say these incredible ejaculations were all due to the effects of this EJAX drug?"

"Yes," my aunt replied.

"In all my years in the Sisterhood I've never seen a man shoot his sperm more than three of four feet at most." 

Lenore toyed with a piece of fruit on her plate, looking pensive. "But then you haven't been to a meeting in many years have you? We've since developed some methods of our own to increase a man's ejaculatory abilities. In fact, that's how the 'Long Shots' contest got started."

"I've heard of this contest," Sylvie acknowledged. "And this time I am going to attend. And Julie and Juliette are coming too."

Both girl's faces immediately lit up.

"If they have any aspirations of becoming Sisters," Justine said, "now is the time to acquaint them with our practices."

"It was my fault," Sylvie admitted. "My business took over my life. And I've worked these two darlings half to death in the process. But that is going to change."

"I'm glad to hear that," Lenore said. "We've missed you at our meetings."

Estelle seconded her superior's sentiments. "I think you'll be fascinated at how far along the Sisterhood has progressed during your absence," she said to Sylvie. "It will be nice to have you back."

For the next half hour Lenore and the others brought Sylvie up to date on the Sisterhood. She listened attentively to what they had to say, often responding with surprise when she was told of certain programs my aunt had instituted under the banner of the "Philanthropic Society," which acted as a non-profit organization for the benefit of young French people. She also found it immensely amusing to learn that there were many new devices that had been incorporated into the Sisterhood rituals—unusual and prototypical devices that were designed with the specific intention of controlling men.

"It can do that?" she blurted out at one point upon learning what an 'Extractinator' could do.

"It sounds positively diabolical," Chantal commented.

"We have yet to use it," Lenore said. "But we shall soon."

The wine flowed freely throughout our conversation. My aunt, despite her earlier observation to Sylvie that she had to limit her liquor consumption, completely ignored her own prohibition and indulged herself without constraint. Whether she drank because she felt comfortable in the presence of her friends, or whether her impropriety was due to some underlying symptom related to her recent estrangement from Angelique, she paid no heed to my warnings to stop drinking and, in fact, encouraged me to drink along with the rest of them.

Craig was not immune from the friendly, yet insistent, demands of my aunt either. Each time his wine glass was emptied, she would fill it up again. He would protest, but his good-natured attitude would not allow him to refuse her. After several glasses of wine, he was quite giddy, and I had to step in on his behalf, even as my aunt was ready to pour him another glass.

"No more aunt Phoebe," I insisted. "I want to spend some time together with him and I'd prefer he wasn't drunk."

"Nobody's drunk around here," she said, putting down the bottle.

"You are!" I said. "Please stop."

At first she looked offended, but then her face quickly softened when she saw how upset I was.

"I am not drunk, Holly," she said, making certain to pronounce every word succinctly. "I am just feeling…good!"

"But she's right, Phoebe," Lenore said. "You can't hold your liquor. And I don't want you getting sick. Lay off."

I don't know if my concern over her self-indulgence was what prevented her from drinking further, or if it was Lenore's admonition, but my aunt pushed her glass of wine away and didn't touch another drop during the remainder of the time we were there. Sylvie encouraged her to eat some bread, which she did, to help alleviate the effects of the alcohol. However, by this time everyone, including myself, had had enough to drink so that our conversation began to focus upon other, more intimate, subjects. 

It was the twins, whose silence the wine and my persistence had finally managed to conquer, who suddenly began dominating the conversation, the lascivious context of which was avidly pursued by these two unlikely candidates. I expected Sylvie to be surprised by their casual sexual banter and uncharacteristic loquaciousness, but she obviously was accustomed to such behavior because she didn't seem in the least bit bothered by it. In fact, it was Sylvie who encouraged them to talk openly about the outrageous experiences that took place in their store. The girls related several stories to us, one more ribald than the next, and I found myself both amused and enthralled by what they had to tell. 

"You would be surprised how many famous people have come walking into our boutique," Julie announced. "They come from all over the world. Celebrities, movie stars, musicians… We even get men sometimes."

"I thought this store only sold women's clothes," Craig said.

"Yes, it's true that we sell mainly women's apparel, but we get the occasional order for men's clothing too."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Well, like business suits, shirts, and some novelty items."

"Novelty items?" 

"Yes, we supply some of our Parisian distributors with a special line of men's bikini briefs, thongs…"

"Thongs?" Craig interrupted her. "You make men's thongs here?"

"Once in a while, yes. But they are usually ordered as a specialty item. We don't make a lot of money on such things."

"Would you like to see some?" Juliette asked him.

"Yes, miss, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all," she said cheerily.

As Juliette went to retrieve the items of clothing, Julie related a very lewd story to us involving one famous American actor who had come into the store looking for a dress for his equally famous American mistress who had accompanied him on his quest.

"He was very handsome," Julie recalled. "Better looking in person than on the movie screen. He had the woman try on about a dozen…"

"Twenty one," Sylvie said, correcting her.

"Yes, that's right. Twenty-one different dresses, and he bought every one of them for her. Finally she sees this black negligee and tries it on and she looks…beautiful. She's so happy that she takes him by the hand and leads him into the fitting room. And there they proceed to have sex. How do you like that?"

"And how do you know they were having sex?" Justine asked. "Maybe they were just kissing and being playful."

"No, they were having sex. I know because we have a tiny camera placed in each stall to make sure no one steals anything. And after they left, we found some semen stains on the bench."

Astrid paused in the midst of biting into a slice of cheese. "You mean he fucked here right there in the stall?" 

"Yes," Julie replied. "First he fucked her and then she sucked his penis."

"A slut like her probably has a lot of experience giving blowjobs. Are you sure she blew him?"

"Yes. That's how his semen got all over everything."

Lenore seemed titillated by this little vignette. 

"And where were you when all this was going on?" she asked Sylvie.

"I was in the back room watching the whole thing on television."

"And you did nothing about it?" I asked her.

"What was I to do? The man already spent over $70,000 on her dresses. Was I going to tell him to get out?"

"If that happened in America, and he was found out, it would make the front pages in all the celebrity tabloids," I said.

Sylvie dismissed the whole idea with a wave of her hand.

"Your country is very backward when it comes to sex," she said. "Almost primitive…and hypocritical. It is the nature of mankind to behave so. It has always been that way and so it shall remain. Bon sang ne saurait mentir."

Lenore smiled. "I haven't heard that one in a long time."

"What does it mean?" I asked Sylvie.

"It means that: whatever is bred in the bone comes out in the flesh."

"Meaning that we can't help but act according to our nature?"

"It is the fundamental rule of all life. But you Americans are slow to learn it."

"Well, not all of us," my aunt laughed, as she took a mouthful of bread.

Juliette returned just then with a large cardboard box full of clothing. She put the box down on the table and began to remove items from it, describing each one as she held them up for all to see. I was amazed at the variety of men's bikini briefs she passed around to us. The array of colors and styles was vast. 

"We sold a pair of these black bikinis to that guy who models for Calvin Klein. He's very popular now."

She passed the bikini brief to Craig and waited expectantly for his reaction.

"These are really nice," he said, running his hands over the satiny fabric.

Juliette smiled. "And what do you think of these?"

She handed Craig an emerald-green thong that looked like it was made to fit a young girl. The tiny bit of fabric seemed incapable of covering his ample equipment, yet he was quite enamored of it.

"I could definitely see myself in this," he said, excitedly. 

"Do you like it?" she asked him.

"Oh yeah, they're all great. How much do you want for the green one?"

Juliette looked at Sylvie, unsure of how to answer him.

"Take it," Sylvie said to him. "It's a gift."

"I appreciate that ma'm but I don't feel right not giving you something for it."

"No, no, I insist. Enjoy it."

Craig grinned from ear to ear. "Thank you ma'm. I appreciate this very much. "I'm going to wear it on the beach tomorrow."

"I'll bet you will look very handsome in it," Juliette said.

Julie suddenly looked disappointed. "Yes, but we won't be able to see how it looks on him."

"My friend Barney and I will be spending some time in Ville-Lumière tomorrow. Then we're going to hang out at the Paris-Plage. Why don't you both come by and I'll model it for you?"

Juliette looked forlornly at Sylvie.

"You can't go to the beach," Sylvie said. "We have several rush orders going out tomorrow. I need both of you girls here all day."

The disgruntled twins heaved a heavy sigh and began to debate the issue with Sylvie, reminding her that she had recently promised them some time off.

"I need you here tomorrow," she said emphatically. "You can go to the beach the day after."

"I won't be in Paris the day after tomorrow," Craig said. 

"I'm sorry girls," Sylvie told them. "There is nothing I can do."

I could see that both Julie and Juliette were greatly disappointed at being deprived of seeing Craig in a thong. I, myself, was anxious to see him in it, especially after getting a good glimpse of his magnificent body during the sessions attended by Dr. Swensen and her associate, Dr. Hellstrom, the latter of whom had so masterfully brought his huge penis to a thrilling climax.

I could still see the startled look on Angelique's face as the incredible burst of sperm, launched from Craig's tool with amazing force, flew out and over the heads of several rows of women, only to make contact with my cousin and I, soaking us both with its creamy effluence. The sight of Angelique spitting out huge globs of sticky semen from her mouth filled me with great pleasure, even while I, myself, was being similarly christened. She had always been averse to allowing any part of her body to come in contact with sperm, so much so that it had almost become an obsession. So, when it finally did happen, I had felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction. 

As I recalled these events, I started to feel quite horny. Maybe it was my recollections, or maybe the wine, or both, but I had a strong desire to see Craig model his new thong, and I thought it would be nice to provide a thrill for the twins, who would otherwise not be able to enjoy seeing the outline of his giant prick trapped within the confines of the miniscule piece of fabric.
"Craig?" I said. "Maybe you could model the thong for us right here. If Sylvie doesn't mind of course."

"That's a great idea!" Julie said. "Please!"

"I have no objection to a handsome young man modeling for me," the older woman replied. "And I'm sure the rest of you don't either."

"What about it, Craig?" my aunt laughed. "How about giving us a show?" 

Craig thought it over for a moment and then smiled. "I don't mind. I have to try it on before I get to the beach anyway and I'd appreciate a woman's point of view."

"Splendid!" Juliette said. "You can change in that room over there."

She escorted Craig to the room where she had retrieved the box full of clothing. As she closed the door behind him, she let out a giggle. "This is going to be so cool!"

It was obvious that, by this time, all of us were under the effects of the alcohol, and if not outright drunk, were at various points toward getting there. I was feeling especially randy, and I remembered experiencing a similar sensation when I had gotten high on marijuana during my sexual escapade with Delvin Wade and my trio of like-minded vixens. 

Lenore and her friends were big wine drinkers, and therefore despite the large quantities consumed, they could tolerate its effects far better than most anyone else, with the exception of Sylvie. My aunt, like me, had to indulge herself slowly and over a long period of time to avoid drunkenness. I had already drunk three glasses and I was already way past my limit. I think that had I retained my complete sobriety, I probably would not have suggested to Craig that he model the thong. In fact, I'm sure I wouldn't have. Juliette's obvious interest in him would have compelled me to have abandoned my suggestion simply because I had felt a slight tinge of jealousy. In any case, the liquor had succeeded in suppressing my inhibitions to the point where all I could think of was how nice it was going to be to see that handsome boy in his brand-new, emerald-green thong.

"How are we doing in there, Craig?" Estelle called out.

Instead of receiving an answer, we heard the door open halfway, followed by the appearance of Craig's head.

"Is everybody ready?" he asked in a teasing tone of voice.

To the tumultuous applause and cheers of the group, he strolled out of the room with a big smile on his face, his spectacular body completely naked except for the small piece of cloth around his midsection. He walked slowly, almost lazily, toward us, as though he were a model on a runway, supremely confident that our attentions were directed solely on him.

Sylvie looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. As he passed by her she muttered something in French that sounded like a vulgar exclamation, but she could not take her eyes off him. He indeed looked like a god who had just stepped down from Mount Olympus—the "Apollo" of my recent dreams.

It was a particular thrill for me to watch the faces of the women at the table as he paraded around in front of them. I had seen him completely naked, as had my aunt, Lenore, Justine, and Estelle only recently at the Masturbatorium. For us, the image of the god-like Craig was familiar. But to see the open-mouthed and shocked expressions of Sylvie, Julie, and Juliette, as well as the wide-eyed stares of Astrid and Chantal, made me wish I had a video camera to record the event.

As Craig presented his body to each woman, hands would reach out to touch and admire the hard, unyielding muscles beneath the suntanned flesh. The twins more than anyone else, took great delight in running their fingers all over his chest and rippled abdomen, even assaulting his firm bottom with playful slaps as they laughed and teased him. At one point my aunt ran her hand under his thong to caress his ass while Lenore did the same on the opposite side. Everyone got a chance to fondle his body, including Sylvie, who, noticing that all the feminine attention he was receiving was causing the bulge in his thong to grow considerably, reached out and began to stroke his cock through the fabric. Now it was Craig's turn to be shocked.

"Oh, wow!" he exclaimed as he gently drew her hand away and headed toward me.

If he thought he was expecting safe harbor, he was wrong.

As he approached me, I immediately got up and threw my arms around him and kissed him passionately. This took him somewhat by surprise, but he yielded to my unexpected advances and we kissed for quite a long time while the women cheered around us. My mind and body were on fire, as were his, and as we continued to kiss, I could feel his penis become hard and erect. The most lascivious thoughts came rushing into my head; the first of which was to get him out of that flimsy thong as soon as possible.

"Take it off," I whispered hotly into his ear. "Let everybody see your big, fucking cock."

I know this surprised him, as my usual demure nature was now sublimated to the overwhelming influence of the wine and my increased libido. He pulled back from me a little and stared down into my eyes.

"Are you sure this is cool?" he asked, as I began to play with the strings of his thong.

"They'll love it, and so will I."

The other women saw what I was doing to him and began to encourage me in removing his thong.

"Go ahead," Lenore said to him. "Show the girls what's hanging between your legs."

Everyone laughed at her comment. She then told me to turn him around so they could watch me undress him.

"Take them off!" they chanted as Craig allowed me to remove the thong.

With a few deft hand movements, I had untied the strings holding his thong up and gently released my grip. The green cloth fell to the floor at his feet, exposing his proudly erect penis—all twelve and three quarters' inches of it—for all to see. As I have mentioned earlier, my aunt, Lenore, and their immediate Sisterhood friends had already seen Craig nude, so although they were delighted to once again make visual acquaintance with his impressive member, they didn't register nearly as much amazement upon seeing it as the other women. Between the gasps and moans, I heard a great deal of French spoken as the women tried to comprehend the size of the cock that was now pointing straight at them in all its obscene glory.

The first to utter something was Juliette, who, without taking her eyes of the monstrous penis, gave out a loud shriek followed by a hearty laugh.

"Tu parles!" she exclaimed.

Julie was just as mesmerized by the unyielding organ as her sister.

"Sauve qui peut!" the girl said aloud. 

"Tu te rends compte?" I heard Chantal tell her friend.

Astrid was so astonished that she couldn't say a word. She just shook her head and laughed: her reaction to being confronted with something apparently beyond her experience.

Sylvie, surprisingly enough, managed to maintain her composure amidst the ruckus going on. She seemed mildly amused by the giant prick that bobbed in front of her with a gentle throbbing motion, as if it had a life of its own. She nodded in approval of the magnificent specimen, commenting favorably on its length, thickness, and its apparent beauty.

"It's a lovely penis," the gray-haired woman said, admiring it. "Vous nous feriez très plaisir si vous pouviez nous consacrer une soirée."

"What does that mean, ma'm?" Craig asked.

"It means 'we would be delighted if you could spend an evening with us.'"

My aunt laughed hysterically. "Oh, we're not letting him and that monstrosity out of our sight Sylvie. He's ours for the rest of the night!"

Sylvie nodded in agreement and moved her head in a bit closer to get a better look at Craig's penis. 

"You trim your pubic hair," she said.

"Yes, ma'm, I do."

"In the shape of a triangle."

"Yes, ma'm."

She bent her head down further to look under his testicles. "I see you shave your balls too."

He smiled. "I guess I'm a little fastidious about my appearance down there."

"Why?" she asked with a smirk. "Are you expecting a lot of company?"

All of us howled at her jibe.

She then reached out her hand and cupped his balls, letting her fingers play with the smooth, taut flesh. Craig's penis twitched involuntarily.

"They're heavy," she remarked casually. 

"Oh, Sylvie, stop torturing the boy," Lenore said.

Sylvie pulled her hand away and took a drink. I could tell she was extremely turned on by Craig's enormous equipment, but she managed to keep her composure.

"Come on, Craig," Justine said. "Get on the table and do a catwalk for us!"

Her suggestion was approved immediately. Now that the shock of seeing his penis had somewhat subsided, the women wanted him to put on a show for them.

"Go ahead," I said to him. "You're used to this stuff. Go for it."

Without hesitation he stepped up onto the long table where the women were seated and began to walk slowly, sensually, from one end to the other, every now and then rocking his hips back and forth to make his cock swing from side to side or up and down. Sometimes the women would try to grab his cock or balls as they came into proximity of these fleshy wonders, but even when they did manage to make contact, his erection never subsided.

Craig was having a ball. He danced, struck a few obscene poses, and even broke out singing, all to the lurid accompaniment of our out-of-control ranting. As I watched him dance, I realized that his performance was strictly motivated by a desire to please us and not because he felt he had to repay Sylvie for the gift of clothing. He was, like Mr. Villon, a shy creature, though not as shy as the recalcitrant Frenchmen, and possessed a similar craving to find acceptance in the service of women. It might seem incongruous to call him shy when he had, after all, taken an active part in the EJAX-472 experiments and the latest tryouts for the "Long Shots" contest. But as he danced and sang for us in all his naked splendor, it was clear that he possessed a burning motivation to win us over: a motivation so strong that it could conquer anything, even his shyness.

At the end of one particularly ribald song, Craig, now sweating and panting heavily, decided to call it quits and sat down at the head of the table, accompanied by an enthusiastic round of applause. He was seated far enough away so that all of us could see his genitals clearly. His penis, now flaccid, was no less impressive because of its lack of tumidity: its long, serpentine appearance compensating for the loss of his erection.

He asked for a glass of water and a towel, which Juliette hurriedly provided for him. I rubbed his body down with the towel as he took a long drink.

"God, you're hot!" I said, wiping his backside.

"It's those florescent lights," he said, looking up toward the ceiling. 

"I wasn't referring to the lights."

He laughed. "Oh, thank you."

"Craig, that was marvelous," my aunt said. "You should have been a dancer."

"Thanks, Ms. Anjou. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"You don't think anyone in this room didn't enjoy it, did you?" Lenore asked him. "You'd make a fortune as a male model, that's for damn sure."

"Yes," Julie agreed. "A fortune."

Craig was the center of attention for quite a while afterwards. And when the ladies had been satisfied as to the details of his personal background, the conversation turned to the subject of his wonderful penis and how it got to be so big.

"So you're saying it was the EJAX drug that enhanced your size?" Chantal asked him.

"That's right, miss," he replied. "It added about two inches to the length of my penis."

"And how long is it again? Twelve and…?"

"Twelve and three quarters," he stated proudly.

Astrid whistled loudly. "No offense, Craig, but I wouldn't want that thing inside of me!"

The women laughed. I could tell he was a little embarrassed, but he made light of it.

"I don't blame you," he said. "My ex-wife Cheryl and I got divorced because of it."

"She divorced you because of the size of your penis?" I asked him.

"She wouldn't let me make love to her. She always complained that it hurt too much."

Justine sighed heavily. "I can't say that I blame her. You are, after all, quite huge."

"Or maybe she was too small," I offered. 

"Oh, come on, Holly!" she retorted. "Too small for that? You've got to be kidding!"

"No, no, wait a minute," Sylvie interjected. "Holly has a point. Most women's vaginas are capable of accepting a very big penis. It is possible that his ex-wife was very small, as she implies."

"I'm sorry," Astrid jumped in. "I think that even a normal vagina would have a problem with a cock that big. It can only stretch so much."

Sylvie found this humorous. "It can stretch enough to allow a baby to go through, so why not a penis?"

"That's right," Lenore agreed. "Have any of you ever heard of women having sex with horses? They manage to get the horse's penis inside of them, and Craig is not as big as a horse. Well…close to it maybe."

"But I should think it would hurt like hell," my aunt said with a grimace.

"Maybe at first of course," Sylvie said. "But then it would start to feel good after a little while. And then the woman would be begging for more, even after he was all the way inside her."

Estelle, studying Craig's cock from across the table, drew our attention to another fact.

"But then there's the matter of length isn't there?" she remarked. "Girth is one thing, but can a woman accommodate a foot-long dick in her vagina? I don't think I could."

Julie thought this statement very funny, and as she and her sister had a good laugh over it, I noticed that Craig was once more beginning to get hard.

"Look who's poking his head up again," I said, staring down at his partial erection.

"It's getting big all by itself!" Julie giggled.

"That's because of all this sex talk," Juliette observed.

Craig looked down at his steadily growing erection and chuckled. "It does tend to have a mind of its own." 

We all watched in fascination as his cock slowly, inexorably, continued its ascent, combating the force of gravity to reach an elevation of roughly forty-five degrees, a noteworthy achievement considering the weight and mass of his penis. After the high he had experienced during his dance, simply sitting around naked in front of us was beginning to make him feel a bit self-conscious. And now with his penis once again insinuating itself upon us, he was clearly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry ladies," he said to us. "I think I'd better go and put my clothes on now."

Just as he was about to rise, Lenore suddenly spoke up.

"You stay right there, Mr. Lundquist," she said good-naturedly, "and let us girls admire that gorgeous dick of yours!"

Everyone seemed to share her view because we all began talking at once, urging him to remain naked so that we could enjoy looking at the tumescent marvel between his legs. The twins were especially vociferous about wanting to keep his naked body in full view, and Julie, in particular, seemed anxious to ask him some questions.

"I'll be happy to tell you anything you want," he said, looking especially cheerful now that he was acting in accordance with the wishes of the women with whom he sought to please. 

"I just wanted to know if it hurts sometimes," Julie said. "You know, like when you walk."

"You mean when my cock rubs against my clothes?"

"Yes. Does if feel uncomfortable because it's so big?"

"No, not at all," Craig replied. "In fact I often get aroused because of the friction. But it never hurts."

"Do you get aroused in public too?" Juliette asked.

"All the time. It can be really inconvenient, but there's not much I can do about it unless I happen to be near a bathroom, or I'm at home."

"Why's that?"

"Well, I can take care of it…you know."

The twins looked at each other as if trying to fathom the meaning of his implication.

"Take care of it?" Julie asked.

"You girls are so obtuse," Lenore laughed. "He means he can relieve himself. 

"Oh, yes, yes," Juliette said, with a snicker. "We understand."

"But what if you are not near a bathroom or at home?" Julie persisted. "What do you do then?"

"I try to hide it as best I can, I guess!" he replied.

Astrid found this statement problematical. "How on earth could you hide a thing like that? Look at it. It's almost touching your chin!"

She stopped picking at her food long enough to howl at her own joke.

She was not completely exaggerating. In defiance of the laws of physics, Craig's penis had somehow managed to elevate itself to the point where it was only a mere four inches from the tip of his chin. I found it disconcerting to see his penis in such close proximity to his face, but it didn't seem to concern him at all. Sylvie, however, was now studying it closely, her head cocked to one side.

"I am sitting here looking at this wonderful piece of flesh that keeps bobbing back and forth in front of our faces and I'm wondering if, being so close to your mouth, you have ever used your tongue to pleasure yourself?"

Craig laughed aloud. "Do you mean have I ever given myself a blowjob? No, I haven't, ma'm."

"I ask because many men would certainly try it, if they had such a penis as yours."

"It really never occurred to me to try it."

"Really?" Sylvie asked, not quite convinced he was telling the truth. "Do you think you could reach your penis with your tongue?"

"I don't know, ma'm," he replied, somewhat abashed.

"Do you think you could try it?"

"I suppose I could. If it makes you happy."

"Yes, it would. Go ahead and show us."

"This I have to see!" Astrid said, as she got up from her chair and walked toward our end of the table.

Knowing that his actions would hopefully produce a positive reaction from his audience, Craig bent his head down toward his penis and raised his midsection up at the same time, forcing his mouth to come into contact with his erection. We all gasped with delight as he opened his mouth wide to allow just the corona to disappear behind his lips. He held the tip of his penis in his mouth for a few seconds and then repeated the process quickly a few times, as if trying to give himself a blowjob. We cheered him on each time he went down on himself, finally receiving a round of applause for his efforts when his continued attempts proved too uncomfortable.

Astrid was beside herself. "If you kept going," she told him, "you would have creamed in your own mouth!"

"He would have indeed!" my aunt squealed. "Forget modeling. You're ready for a career in porn!"

He had made us all laugh. But the nice thing about it was that we were laughing with him, not at him, and this pleased him to no end.

"Always willing to oblige," he said with a smile.

But the effect of Craig's self-pleasuring left him with an aching hard-on that demanded attention. His balls, too, looked as if they were about to burst. Something had to be done.

"Ladies," he said, resting one hand under his balls. "All this attention has got me really worked up. I need to go and take care of this."

"Don't you dare leave this room!" Lenore shouted. "You sit down and stay where you are young man."

"But ma'm…"

"No buts. If you have to relieve yourself you can do it right here. I'm sure Sylvie would like to watch it, wouldn't you Sylvie?"

"Yes, yes, I would like to see if he can really shoot it as far as he claims," she said excitedly.

"And you twins want to watch it too, don't you girls?"

"Yes!" they answered simultaneously, their eyes twinkling.

"Oh, what the hell, Craig!" Lenore laughed. "We all want to see you shoot your load for us. Go ahead. Jerk it off!"

"Do it, Craig!" my aunt added.

Craig looked at me with a resigned look on his face, but I could tell he was anxious to fulfill Lenore's request. The way his prick was throbbing, I knew it wouldn't take long for him to cum. But I wanted to be the one to masturbate him.
"I'm so horny," he said to me.

"I can see that!" I said, as I leaned in next to him. "Would you like me to take care of it for you?"

"Oh, God, yes!" he said, trying to contain himself. "I want your beautiful hands all over me."

"Just tell the women to get out of the line of fire."

Craig told everyone to avoid sitting or standing directly in front of him, otherwise they might get hit with his ejaculation.

"Oh, come on!" Chantal said. "I'm perfectly safe here. Don't worry about me."

I calculated she was probably about twenty or so feet away from where Craig was sitting—a relatively safe distance, but then again, nothing could be taken for granted. She stubbornly chose to remain where she was, at the end of the table and directly opposite Craig. Everyone else, however, had heeded his advice and wisely moved their chairs towards him but to the side, thus avoiding any possible accidents.

As I took Craig's cock in my hands, he immediately let out a soft moan and closed his eyes. The women hadn't expected me to do this, and they reacted with a mixture of delight and surprise.

"You've been dying to get your hands on his big tool for days," my aunt said to me. "How does it feel?"

"Hard as a rock and very hot!" I noted with pleasure.

"I love the way his balls bounce up and down," Julie remarked with a giggle. "They're so big too!"

"Big penis, big balls," Sylvie said dryly. "They go hand in hand."

Craig opened his eyes to see my right hand casually skim up and down his shaft, enjoying the feel of my loose grip upon his cum-swollen organ.

"How would you like me to do you?" I asked him, wanting to make it as enjoyable for him as possible.

"Fast and hard, please. And if you could play with my balls…"

"It's a little awkward for me, Craig," I said, finding it difficult to make the adjustment.

"I'll do it!" Juliette offered.

Without another word she brought her chair around to Craig's right and sat down beside him. She looked at me and smiled, but there was no indication that she was trying to compete with me. Craig was too preoccupied with his handjob to raise any objections, and even if he had considered doing so, I doubt he would have refused the offer from such a pretty and willing girl. She quickly went to work on his sac, playfully pinching the taut skin and then gently lifting the sperm-laden balls in her palm as if she were trying to calculate its weight.

"It feels like there's a lot of semen in these things," she laughed.

"I want to feel them too!" Julie suddenly declared.

"Later," Sylvie said. "Watch for now."

I attempted to fulfill Craig's request as best I could, maintaining a firm grip on his penis while stroking him up and down very quickly. Juliette tried valiantly to keep pace with me, increasing the speed at which she rubbed his massive testicles until his entire lower body was rocking back and forth in unison with our combined efforts.

"Juliette," Justine said. "Hold the base of his cock steady with your left hand, that way Holly will have an easier time of it."

The girl did as she was told, grasping Craig's penis with one hand while continuing to rub his balls with the other.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Perfect." Justine replied. "Better for you, Holly?"

"Much better," I said, as my hand seemed to suddenly glide effortlessly over the huge prick.

Juliette's hand, now securely planted at the base of Craig's cock, prevented it from shifting back and forth so much, stabilizing it so that I didn't have to work as hard to masturbate him. I was grateful for this because my hand was beginning to tire quickly as I fought to maintain my grip on his oversized penis, and I didn't want to disappoint my handsome friend by quitting before the job was done.

"How are you doing, Craig?" I asked, as he kept his eyes focused on my ever-moving hand.

"I'm getting close," he said hoarsely.

"I can tell that from here," Astrid observed. "You know, that thing seems alive!"

My aunt was tickled by her remark. "You're in for a treat," she said. "I've seen this boy cum several times before and he produces a prodigious amount of sperm. It's really incredible."

"You should know, Holly," Lenore added. "He christened you quite well at the tryouts."

"Oh, she got it good!" Estelle affirmed. "She was soaked."

"Better be careful, Estelle," I said, momentarily pointing the massive cock in her direction. "It could happen to you!"

She reacted by letting out a big laugh and then crouched down in her chair.

"No! Not on my new suit!" she said, jokingly.

All during the time we spent conversing, Craig's focus never seemed to deviate from his cock and balls, and the insistent hands that were working him over so assiduously. The women kept making remarks about one thing sexual or another, sometimes directing their questions right at him, knowing that he was too far absorbed in his masturbation to pay any heed to what they were saying, let alone expecting a response. It finally became apparent to all of us that he simply could not respond to any questions, so the banter continued between the women as Juliette and I relentlessly manipulated him toward orgasm.

"Do I see something happening there?" Sylvie said, indicating with her forefinger the tiny slip atop Craig's penis.

"Oh!" I replied, suddenly noticing the small, clear drop of pre-cum. "Somebody's getting really excited!"

To emphasize my point, I jerked his penis very fast and concentrated my efforts at the very tip just underneath the corona.

"Oh, God!" Craig cried out.

This made Juliette squeeze and pull on his sack even harder.

"I want to watch it spurt out of you!" she exclaimed, as she violently tugged at his shaft with her left hand.

Sylvie laughed and turned to Lenore. "She's like me isn't she?"

"You always did enjoy a good cum shot," Lenore replied, whimsically.

"I think that's one thing we all share in common," I said, feeling Craig's body stiffen under my increased assault.

The exhilaration I derived from giving him pleasure was only surmounted by the look of sublime bliss that came over his face as he neared orgasm. He was breathing very heavily now and his entire body was hot and flushed. I was so turned on from jerking him off that I found myself sticking my hot tongue in his ear. Juliette, as involved as I was in his masturbation, paid no further attention to his balls and instead grabbed the bottom half of his shaft with both hands and pulled on him for all she was worth. Her face was no less flushed than Craig's, and I could have sworn that she was close to coming herself, but trying to time her orgasm to coincide with his own eruption, which wouldn't be long judging by the enormous amounts of pre-cum that were now flooding our hands.

"I'm almost there!" he said, spitting out the words as though in pain. 

Sensing that he was about to cum, the women suddenly grew quiet. The only sound that could be heard was Craig's belabored breathing and the creaking of the chair he was sitting on as our two pairs of hands flew up and down over the silky terrain of his engorged cock. I could feel my fingers beginning to cramp up, but I pulled on him savagely, determined to drain him of every drop of his hot sperm.

"Look at his balls!" Julie exclaimed, as the huge, twin spheres suddenly retracted up toward the base of his shaft. "They look so funny!"

No one else seemed to think it was funny, certainly not Craig, who now lifted his lower torso to drive his cock in and out of our hands.

"Oh, shit!" he cried, as I felt the sperm rise up into his shaft.

Within seconds, a thick rope of pearly semen shot out of his cock and rose upward in a straight trajectory, impacting with the lighting fixture directly above his head. It happened so fast that all I saw was a whitish blur. The women laughed at the sight of his cum hanging from the florescent light above, but their eyes immediately returned to his penis, which was now ready to discharge more of the creamy fluid.

It was the second volley of sperm that made all of us gasp.

Juliette, who was now climaxing herself, forced his cock downwards so that its tip was pointing out toward the table. As I pulled up, a long, creamy jet of goo sailed upwards and toward the ceiling, but failed to make contact with it and flew completely over the table, hitting the unsuspecting Chantal right in her hair. The distance his cum had traveled, startling as it was to all of us, did not amuse the soiled woman.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" she screeched as she ran from her chair to the back of the room, grabbing a stray piece of cloth to help her clean the sperm from her hair.

All of us screamed with laughter.

"Nice shot, Craig!" my aunt hollered, nearly falling out of her seat because she was laughing so hard.

Even through our laughter, both Juliette and I never stopped stroking him. As such, his orgasm was very powerful, sending load after load of cum flying into the air or careening with anything in its immediate path, including Julie and Sylvie.

Julie shrieked when she saw the sticky jet of white paste make contact with her blouse. But, to her credit, she did not get upset. Sylvie remained calm too, even when multiple shots of sperm found their way onto her dress and legs. My own hands were completely bathed in semen, as were Juliette's, and the slick cum acted almost like a lotion that helped us to coax even more sperm out of him.

I felt so sexy and powerful controlling that giant cock that I kept hoping his orgasm would last for a while more. I got my wish when, just at the moment his ejaculations seemed to be over, a series of violent penile contractions sent several white wads shooting out—Pop! Pop! Pop!—right over our heads. The first jet hit Juliette's bangs and then flew out of sight behind her. The second jet struck Craig right under his chin, which made everyone laugh. The final sticky offering found its way across my right cheek, where I felt it splash into my earrings and continue onward toward the nearby wall. This was followed by a gradual series of ever-weakening spurts that finally became nothing more than a tiny dribble. The great prick had been completely milked dry.

"What a fucking orgasm!" Astrid exclaimed, as she looked down at her own dress to see it covered with a residue of sperm.

All of us, including the now semi-revived Craig, were laughing and commenting about the event that had just transpired. For those who had never witnessed one of Craig's voluminous cumshots, it was nothing short of a revelation. He was congratulated, applauded, and was even lavished with kisses by some of the women who found his performance mesmerizing. The only one who didn't take part in the celebration was Chantal, who was still trying to remove his semen from her hair.

"I don't know what you're all so happy about," she said, annoyed. "I'm the one who got the worst of it."

"Oh, don't be a cry baby!" Lenore said. "Sperm makes good conditioner!"

Chantal didn't reply. She just mumbled something and kept rubbing the towel over her hair in an energetic fashion, determined to eradicate all traces of the sticky substance.

Sylvie proved to be a most gracious hostess, providing everyone with wet and dry towels to help remove the aftermath of Craig's lust from our bodies. After we had cleaned up, and the final vestiges of sperm removed from the floor and furniture, my aunt announced that she, Lenore, and the rest of their friends were going to dinner.

"We can drop you off on the way," she told me. "Or you can stay. But if you do, you'll have to get your own ride back. Jake is busy tonight."

"I can take her home Ms. Anjou," Craig said. 

My aunt looked at me, awaiting an answer. 

"You go ahead," I told her. "I'll go back with Craig."

My aunt said goodbye to Sylvie and the twins, thanking them profusely for their hospitality. Lenore and the others paid their respects as well, and then Sylvie got up to escort them out. As my aunt walked past Craig, she bent down and took his flaccid penis in her hand and gave it a few jerks. Craig gave out a little yelp.

"Two more weeks until the 'Long Shots' contest," she reminded me. "Better train him well!"

"You are definitely quite a milkable young man!" Lenore joked.

"Ha! I like that!" my aunt responded. "But he is though, isn't he?"

She lifted his penis up into his abdomen and then abruptly let it go, laughing as she watched it bounce up and down a few times before settling between his legs.

"See you in the Masturbatorium, Mr. Milkable!" she sang, as she and Lenore walked out arm in arm.

After Sylvie returned, she, the twins, and I asked Craig if he would model more of the men's swimwear for us, to which he readily agreed. I really wanted to buy him a few bikinis as a way of thanking him for the marvelous show he had put on for us, and I also wanted to see more of his wonderful cock. Julie and Juliette brought out a few dozen pairs of bikinis for him to try on and I told him to choose a few for his own. After modeling several that appealed to him, he finally settled upon the emerald-green thong and a royal-blue bikini, both of which fit him perfectly. He thanked me for the gifts and decided to keep the blue bikini on while Sylvie called to order some food from the shop next door. 

"I just ordered some roast chicken," she said to Craig and I as she stood admiring him. Stay and eat with us."

"Thank you. I'd love to," I said, cheerily.

"Me too," he replied.

Julie and Juliette were thrilled to hear Craig and I were staying for dinner. I knew they were anxious for the opportunity to learn more about the Swedish boy, as was I, and they spared no effort in making him feel at home.

"You can sit at the head of the table," Julie said to him. "Do you prefer wine or soda?"

"I've had enough wine for one day," he replied. "A soda will be fine."

She smiled at him and went into the next room, which acted as a sort of makeshift kitchen. I assumed Sylvie and the girls took many of their meals here, as it was both convenient and practical when they often had to work straight through the day and sometimes well into the evening to complete a special order. During dinner I asked Sylvie why she had not chosen to expand her operation by hiring more workers.

"No, that would ruin everything," she said. "Right now we enjoy the luxury of having a very eclectic clientele. To expand the business is to destroy our uniqueness. It would be like homogenized milk."

"That makes sense, ma'm," Craig agreed. "You have a very special way of doing things and going big time wouldn't make it so special anymore."

"Precisely. We are a niche market. We do not pretend to be anything else."

Craig, I found, was very adept at fielding questions from both the twins and Sylvie herself. He answered all their inquiries in a friendly and courteous way, always self-effacing, never patronizing or boorish, his intent to please them being paramount. 

Sylvie tried to push more wine upon him, but he insisted that he must remain sober for our drive home. I knew he had enjoyed the wine, and would have sampled more of it if the responsibility for getting me home safely were not up to him. His consideration was not wasted upon me.

"You are a true gentleman," I said, digging into my food. 

"I don't want anything to happen to my precious cargo," he replied, looking at me straight in the eye.

As the evening wore on, our discussion took on many forms. At one point I found myself debating the usefulness of mosquitoes, the infallibility of the Pope, and the imponderable question of how the current President of the United States managed to get himself elected to a second term.

"That is easily explained," Sylvie offered, as if the solution was readily apparent. "You are a nation of primitives governed by an imbecile."

Taken aback by what I considered to be her very insensitive comment, I stopped eating and stared directly at her.

"You don't seem to like Americans very much do you?" I asked, feeling slighted.

"No, that's not true. I like some Americans."

"Which ones?" 
"Oh, I don't know," she replied between mouthfuls. "There are a few."

I looked around the table. Julie and Juliette refused to meet my gaze. Craig shrugged and shoved a chicken leg in his mouth.

"Name one person," I said, determined to get her to answer my question. "I know the French people don't like Americans very much but name me one person."

She took a sip of wine and wiped her mouth, then turned to me as if she were appraising a piece of jewelry.

"The only person I can think of right now is…you. You are the only American I like."

She immediately went back to eating her dinner.

"Me?" I said. "I'm the only one?"

"Right now, yes."

I stopped eating and put my fork down in my plate.

"Well," I said, "I guess I should feel honored. But if I may ask, why do you hold my country in such low regard?"

"I hold it in such low regard because its people elect a man who believes it is his divine mission to democratize the world. What right has he to interfere with the destiny of other countries? It is shameless arrogance."

"Not all Americans think like him. Some of us feel as you do."

She kept eating and said nothing.

"There are things about your country I don't particularly like either, but I don't condemn all of you."

She laughed. "I am not as selective as you are, Holly. I am universal in my damnation of America because it is easier for me to hate all of you at once rather than to pick and choose whom I like and whom I don't like. It's too time consuming."

I couldn't tell if she was telling the truth, mocking me, making a joke, or doing all these things at the same time. As I sat there trying to discern the meaning of her statement, Craig let out a howl.

"It's too time consuming!" he roared. "That's a good one, ma'm!"

Julie and Juliette couldn't help succumbing to Craig's infectious laugh, and soon both Sylvie and I were laughing too. It certainly helped to dispel some of the tension.

"I am teasing you, my dear girl," Sylvie admitted. "But your country is sick in its soul, and I hope you will all come to your senses before it's too late."

From politics we then moved on to sex. I don't know who was the first of us to raise the topic, but I seem to recall Julie making a remark about Craig's prodigious cumshot, saying that she wished she had a video of his performance. From then on, with the wine flowing freely between Sylvie and the twins, the discussion centered upon handjobs, blowjobs, the virtues of virginity, and of course, Craig, who soon found himself preparing for another tour de force. 

"Yes, I was amazed by it too," Sylvie said. "How do you manage to ejaculate like that?" 

"It was all because of the drug," he replied. "Although I have none of it left in my system."

"A fringe benefit?" Sylvie asked.

"Yes, ma'm. It would appear so."

Julie giggled. "I loved it when you came in that woman's hair!"

"I didn't mean to," Craig replied, frankly. "But I wasn't the one controlling things."

The girl gave her sister an accusatory look. "Juliette did it on purpose!"

"No, I didn't," Juliette countered. "I lost my grip, that's all."

Sylvie chuckled. "With a penis like that it is easy to lose one's grip."

"And how did I know he was going to shoot that far?" Juliette added. "But is was funny just the same!"

"Right across the table and into her hair," Julie snickered. "I laughed so hard!"

"I never even saw it," Craig said. "All I was aware of was Holly and Juliette's hands on me, and this incredible sensation in my cock. You girls really milked me like crazy."

As he said this I saw him place one hand onto his crotch and he squeezed himself hard.

"I wanted to make you happy," I said to him, watching him stroke his cock through the bikini fabric.

"You did," he confessed. "It was the best handjob I've ever had. Thanks to you, too, Juliette."

Juliette smiled at him and for a moment I actually saw her blush. This provided her sister with some new ammunition.

"She gives her boyfriends handjobs all the time," Julie said. "She won't let them have sex with her so she uses her hands."

"Shut up, Julie!" Juliette said, angrily.

"Stop!" Sylvie yelled. "No fighting at the dinner table. You both know better than that."

"Well, it's true," Julie said.

"I don't care if it's true or not," Sylvie replied. "I want no fighting."

Both girls reluctantly complied with Sylvie's request, though they still exchanged spiteful glances. As they ate, Juliette made an obscene hand gesture at her sister—a warning not to reveal anything further about her sexual proclivities. 

"And by the way," Sylvie said to Julie, "there is nothing wrong with pleasuring a boy with a handjob if you are not ready for sex."

"But what about a blowjob?" the girl asked.

"There's nothing wrong with that either, if you really like him."

Juliette pondered that statement over for a moment as she thought of an appropriate retort. "Handjobs and blowjobs are fine, but I find that most guys want to screw you sooner or later."

"Yes, there is a lot of pressure to have intercourse," I said. "I deal with that all the time."

"I assume you are a virgin then?" Sylvie asked me.

Familiar as I now was with her tendency toward bluntness, I wasn't as put off by her remark as I might have been. I answered her without hesitation.

"Yes, I am," I honestly admitted.

"So are these two," she said, waving a fork at the twins. 

I think I expected both girls to be embarrassed by this sudden disclosure, but they seemed to accept it with equanimity, even pride.

"Some of the boys insult us because we don't want to have sex with them," Julie said.

"Some girls make fun of us too," Juliette added.

"But we don't care what they say. And you shouldn't care what they say either, Holly."

"Believe me, Julie, I don't," I assured her.

"That's good," she said. "There's nothing wrong with saving yourself for the man you love."

I almost laughed aloud. "You sound so old-fashioned! Not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, I feel the same way. I just wouldn't have said it quite like that."

Julie seemed to take no offense. "Well, there's nothing wrong with it. If these boys aren't satisfied with handjobs, they can go elsewhere."

Juliette guffawed. "This, coming from a girl who has never even touched a penis!" 

"Are you kidding?" I asked, surprised.

"Don't listen to my stupid sister," Julie said, casting a mean glance at Juliette. "I'm not an accomplished handjob and blowjob artist like Juliette, but I have seen and touched and jerked off a few guys to orgasm."

She said this proudly, without taking her eyes off her sister.

I saw Craig squirm in his chair, her words seeming to excite him enough that he now moved his hand underneath the fabric to directly stimulate his penis.

"I don't believe you," Juliette said.

"It's the truth whether you believe it or not."

"Oh, you're all talk," Juliette replied dismissively.

"Maybe your sister is telling the truth," I said to Juliette. "I mean have you ever thought that some men may actually enjoy getting a handjob rather than having intercourse?"

Craig was now actually stroking his cock under the table. Our discussion was obviously turning him on, and I had to suppress a giggle as I watched his hand glide up and down over the familiar terrain. He remained unobtrusive about it, but I think Sylvie suspected something was up when she momentarily looked down and caught a glimpse of his penis poking its head above his napkin. She smiled and looked him right in the eye.

"Do you think that is true?" she asked him.

"What?" he replied, looking confused. "What did you say, ma'm?"

"Holly said that some men prefer handjobs to fucking. Do you think that is true?"

Her directness appeared to put him at a disadvantage. He quickly stopped stroking himself and sat upright in his seat. 

"I don't know," he said. "I guess some men prefer them."

"Do you?" 

"Well, for a long while a handjob was all I got from a girl. And I really grew to like them."

"More than sex?"

"There were times when I thought a handjob was actually better than sex."

"When was that?"

Craig smiled as his mind recalled some previous incident. "When Mrs. Barber and Mrs. Terry got their hands on me."

"And who were these women?" Sylvie asked, intrigued.

"Two attractive, middle-aged, married women who lived in my neighborhood," he began. "I used to cut their lawns. One day Mrs. Barber and Mrs. Terry were sitting by the pool and they invited me in for a swim. Somehow I lost my bathing suit in the pool. Things got out of hand after that."

Sylvie smiled. "You mean your thing got in their hands."

"Something like that."

"And they gave you handjobs?"


"Blowjobs too?"


"But no fucking."

"No. No fucking."

"And you say these were married women?"

"Yes, ma'm."

Sylvie looked down at his lap. "You like older women, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Craig replied, suddenly aware that his cock was now visible to Sylvie.

"These older women taught you a lot about sex?"

"They taught me very much, yes."

"But what they taught you most was to love handjobs more than anything else," she said, reaching under the table. "They trained you and conditioned you by making your penis a slave to their hands. Is that not so?"

I watched in fascination as her fingers suddenly closed over his turgid prick. Craig gasped and tried to appear as though nothing was amiss, but he was fighting a losing battle.

"Oh, yes…they taught me how to submit myself to a woman," he said, fighting to maintain his composure.

"Just like you're going to do for me?"

"Yes!" he said, biting his lower lip.

"And Holly…"


"And my beautiful twins?" 

Sylvie ran her hand quickly up and down his shaft, causing him to pull his chair back from the table. As he did so, the napkin fell away, revealing his hard-on to all of us.

"I can't take this anymore," he cried. "You ladies have got me so distracted with all this sex talk that I can't think straight!"

The twins, seeing his huge prick bounce up and down, immediately burst out laughing. I started laughing myself, but Sylvie casually sipped on her wine as she calmly observed Craig's erect penis for the second time that evening.

"You can't think straight because all the blood has gone into that big prick of yours!" the lascivious Frenchwoman observed.

Julie and Juliette squealed with laughter. 

"Look what you did to him!" Julie said to Sylvie. "It's all your fault!"

"It is not my fault!" Sylvie replied. "He was hard ten minutes ago but the two of you never knew it! But you did, didn't you Holly?"

"Yes, Sylvie, I knew," I replied, feeling embarrassed for Craig.

"I'm sorry ladies," Craig said, futilely trying to force the bikini up and over his obstinate erection. "Hearing all that talk about handjobs and blowjobs really got me excited."

"There's no need to apologize," Sylvie said. "After all, you are a man. And sometimes men need to be taken in hand. You know what I'm talking about?"

As she said this she reached into her purse and pulled out a small bottle of hand lotion and began to apply some to her palms. I knew what she was up to.

"Sylvie, there's no need to do this," I said, suddenly feeling a little possessive. 

"No need? I think there is a great need. Look at him!"

The twins looked at each other and shrugged.

"What are you doing?" Julie asked Sylvie. "Why are you putting on hand lotion now?"

Sylvie casually rubbed the fragrant liquid into her skin and smiled.

"So naïve," she said as she put the bottle on the table. "The power to control a man is virtually in your hands and you don't know it. Holly knows it, but you two do not." She rose from her chair and pulled Craig's hands away from his cock. "You know it too," she said to Craig whose penis was now standing at full mast and aching to be touched. 

Even before he had a chance to speak, Sylvie knelt down beside him and took his swollen organ in both hands. He leaned back and moaned gently, completely subservient to her will, as she slowly stroked his prick. He was going to speak but Sylvie placed her hand over his mouth, and that was enough to compel him to silence.

"Now, Julie," she began. "You have never done this to a man, have you?"

"I told you…"

"Tell the truth," Sylvie said, cutting her off.

"Okay, okay. I touched a guy once, that's all."

"And did you bring him to orgasm?"

"No, we never got that far."

Juliette laughed. "I was right! See, Holly, I told you!"

"Shut up, Juliette," Sylvie said without missing a stroke. "It is vulgar for a woman to gloat."

Craig's penis was now slick with Sylvie's hand lotion and the twins and I stopped talking for a moment to simply admire her smooth and masterful technique.

"Now, Julie," Sylvie said. "I want you to come over here and learn how to give a man a proper handjob. This is something every woman should know whether or not she becomes a Sister. Juliette and Holly, you both sit and watch and maybe you will learn a few things too."

Outspoken as she was, I never once felt that she was patronizing me. She was just brutally honest. As Julie dutifully obeyed Sylvie's command and knelt next to Craig, I realized how pervasive the influence of the Sisterhood really was. Here was a future Sister in the making, being instructed by a woman who was once instructed in a similar manner by a Sisterhood mentor, and made to appreciate the power a simple handjob had over a man. In her teaching style, and in the ways she conducted her business dealings, Sylvie seemed to always place emphasis upon complete honesty, and I respected her for that.

As I watched Julie take Craig's massive tool in her tiny hands, I became a little jealous. But when Sylvie showed the girl how to use her fingers to stimulate the sensitive area under the corona, as well as teaching her other methods of penile stimulation that I had never seen, I began to appreciate the willingness the older woman exhibited in sharing these esoteric tricks of the trade with us, and gradually forgot about any jealous feelings I may have had.

Craig was in heaven. All of us kept him entertained with the most lewd and vulgar comments we could think of as Sylvie and Julie masturbated him. He laughed at our jokes a few times until it was apparent that his ejaculation was getting near. Seeing that his prick was now oozing drops of pre-cum, Sylvie removed her hands and let Julie continue stroking him, which she did with great relish.

"Do you see what I mean?" Sylvie asked her new protégé. "Do you feel the power you have in your hands to control this man?"

"I love it!" Julie exclaimed, as her confidence increased with each stroke. 

"Do you see the little drops of fluid coming out of his slit? That means that he is going to cum soon. But you can control it. Don't let him cum until you want him to."

"Should I stop?" Julie said, suddenly unsure of her next move.

"No, no, keep stroking, but do it more slowly."

Julie obeyed Sylvie's instructions and slowed her pace. Craig groaned.

"He is dying to cum now, but you have prevented it. See how easy it is to control a man?"

Julie didn't need to reply. Her smile said it all.

For the next ten minutes, Julie was taught how to bring Craig to the brink of orgasm, and then deny him that pleasure simply by the manner in which she controlled his penis. After experiencing so much teasing and denial, Craig was begging for release.

"Please, ma'm," he said as his eyes rested upon his sperm-swollen prick, slick with lotion and his own cock juice. "Let me cum!"

"Yes," she replied, "I think it is time."

Sylvie told Juliette and I to each take an empty wine glass and hold it in our hands while she did the same. She then ordered Julie to finish Craig off with very fast strokes so that his orgasm would be "violent."

"This is so much fun!" Julie laughed, as her fist flew up and down Craig's prick in a quick, machine-like motion.

"This is a game I played when I first became a Sister," Sylvie said, as she watched Julie tug away on the monstrous shaft. "It's called 'catch the cum.'"

I couldn't help but laugh. "What a funny name for a game!"

"It's not so funny when you see how hard it is to do," she replied. 

She then told us to hold our glasses aloft and wait for Craig to start spurting. We then would have a chance to try and catch as much cum as we could.

"The one who gets the most sperm in her glass wins," she said. "In the old days we used to force the man to drink it, but I could not do that to this lovely boy."

I could see by the look on Craig's face that he was enormously glad to hear this news. In any case, I could not imagine her being able to force him to do anything he truly found reprehensible, unlike a true submissive. He derived pleasure from pleasing women, but he had his limits.

"Craig," Sylvie said, as he was approaching orgasm. "Let us know when you're about to cum."

"Yes…yes, ma'm!" he replied, barely able to speak.

Sylvie, Juliette, and I stared intently at Craig's prick, holding our glasses high in front of us, patiently awaiting his imminent eruption.

"Hold his prick up," Sylvie instructed Julie. "Otherwise we won't be able to catch any of his cum."

"Like this?" Julie asked, positioning his cock at an angle.

"Perfect!" Sylvie said, as she extended her wine glass to within a few feet of Craig's penis.

"His balls are bouncing all around again!" Julie squealed. 

"Never mind about his balls," Sylvie said. "Pay attention to what you're doing!"

Sensing Craig was now on the verge of coming, Julie let her thumb tease the little strip of skin under the glans, following exactly what Sylvie had told her.

"That's it!" Sylvie exclaimed. "You've got him now!"

Julie's hand was now moving so fast that Craig had to hold onto the chair with both hands for fear of falling off. 

"Go for it, Julie!" I exclaimed.

"Make it squirt!" Juliette laughed.

Craig screamed. "Oh, fuck! I'm coming!"

End of Chapter 6


11:28 Gepost door Pé de Cenoura | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

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