Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 08

Craig looked a bit alarmed at the size of the lumbering contraption.

"Are you going to put me in that?" he asked, a little apprehensive.

"Don't be afraid," Zula laughed. "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

The apparatus had four connective arms that extended outward from its central section for the placement of a man's arms and legs. Once the subject was placed in a prone position inside the device, the upper portion of the maw was lowered onto his body, effectively "sandwiching" him in place. There were holes in the upholstery to allow him to keep his face, genitals, and ass exposed so that his trainers could manipulate these areas without any interference from him. Four hydraulic arms, attached to the four metal corners of the machine, allowed the machine to be positioned at various angles, and was operated by remote control.

"What a deliciously devious device!" Janet said, looking at it with a mixture of amusement and awe. "And to think," she said to Craig, "that you have to keep all that nasty sperm inside you while we work you over in this beautiful machine!"

"In effect," Felicia remarked, "you will be prevented from coming until the day of the contest: five entire days of being masturbated without release. I hope you'll be able to hold out."

"He'd better," Joanna observed. "Or we'll be watching from the sidelines."

"Don't worry, ladies," Craig said, trying to look brave. "I won't let you down."

"Zula, do you have today's training schedule with you?" I asked her.

"Right here," she replied, as she pulled a piece of paper from her pants pocket.

"Okay, good. Craig, I want you to get undressed and hang out for a few minutes while I go through the program with the girls."

"Okay, Holly," he said, good-naturedly. 

"The changing screen is right over there."

Janet laughed. "It's kind of silly, isn't it? Why bother using the screen when he's going to be completely naked in front of us for the whole week?"

"And doing things to his body he never dreamed possible!" Felicia added.

"I guess it is foolish," I said. "Craig, feel free to take your clothes off right here in front of us. We'll start in a few minutes."

"Whatever you say."

The girls had a hard time concentrating on my directives with my handsome friend undressing himself not more than a few feet away. When all he had left on was his blue bikini underwear, with his huge, inviting package on display, they started to act like juveniles, inviting him with lewd remarks to remove the last particle of clothing so that they could see what he was hiding underneath.

"Go ahead," Joanna said to him. "Take it off. We need to take a measurement of you anyway in your erect state."

Craig dutifully obeyed her instructions and began to remove the bikini. 

"There should be a tape measure somewhere on that table over there," the doctor said, pointing to a small metal-top table in the corner of the room. "Felicia, do you mind?"

Felicia was too busy watching Craig to pay the doctor much attention. In fact, all of us were having a hard time focusing on anything else. He was already partially hard, and it was obvious this was no ordinary penis that was soon going to make its debut for at least some of the women in the room. All of us had a good laugh as we watched his prick first bend downward and then bounce up again as he pulled down on his underwear.

"Oh, Jesus!" Zula exclaimed, her eyes focusing on his cock. "Did we get you excited already baby?"

"Yes, ma'm," replied Craig, looking a bit bashful.

Janet eyed him like a piece of candy. "I'm going to love working with that!"

Charlotte looked at me with a huge grin and then looked at Craig's slowly rising penis. "Impressive," she said to him, nodding appreciatively. "I like your tan lines, too."

Craig looked down casually at the small triangle of whitish flesh that had been protected by the thong and gave her a big smile.

"Get it nice and hard for the doctor," Felicia said to him.

"Felicia, the tape measure, please," Joanna insisted.

"Oh! "I'm sorry, Joanna," she replied. "It's just that...his cock is so huge!"

Joanna just stared at her, expectantly. "Okay. Okay. I'm getting the tape measure."

Felicia began to search in several of the drawers of a nearby table and came up empty-handed.

"I said on the table, not inside it," Joanna said. "Stop drooling over his cock and listen. It's right there on the table in the glass container."

"Oh, I see it," she said, reaching for the tape. "Sorry!"

"Keep stroking it," I told Craig. "After Joanna measures you we'll begin."

"You got it," he replied, jerking his cock at a steady, leisurely pace.

In just a matter of minutes he was fully erect. Felicia handed the tape measure to Joanna who then sat down on a stool beside Craig and placed the tape measure alongside his penis, extending the tape outward from the base of his shaft to its burgeoning tip.

"Just as you said, Holly," she said. "Twelve and three-quarters inches long."

"What's the circumference?" I asked.

She ran the tape around the middle of his cock and whistled loudly. "Almost three inches around. Wow!"

"That's one fucking big prick!" Janet remarked, moving in closer to inspect it.

"It's a beauty!" Joanna agreed.

"Well, since you're already down there," I said to Joanna, "why don't you start him off?"

"I'll be happy to," she said, laying the tape measure aside.

As she reached for a bottle of lotion, I instructed Craig to relax and let the doctor take control of his cock.

"We're all going to take turns with you tonight," I said. "But you are not to cum under any circumstances."

"I understand," he said, watching as Joanna squirted a generous amount of white cream into her palms.

"I want you to get used to each woman's technique. Once you do, you'll be able to improve your control."

"What about tomorrow? Are you going to be...?"

"Yes, I'm going to jerk you off for the judges. But don't worry about that now. Just let Dr. Monroe stroke you for a while. And then the other girls will jerk you off, too."

Craig sighed heavily as Joanna rubbed the cream into her skin and then placed both her hands on his swollen tool. Her short dress exposed almost all of her long, well-proportioned legs and the view was not wasted on Craig, who tried valiantly to keep his hands from touching those enticing limbs. He had mentioned to me a few days earlier that his own physician was a woman who resembled Joanna in several respects—short, copper-red hair, a turned-up, freckled nose, large blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. He also said that she liked to wear high heels to accentuate her already very long and shapely legs.

"You have a very handsome penis, Craig," the doctor said to him as her hands glided effortlessly up and down his shaft. "I find most guy's penises rather unattractive, and believe me, I've seen a lot."

"Thank you, doctor," he replied, gently rocking his hips back and forth in time with her strokes.

The girls and I stood around Joanna as she worked on his prick, admiring her imperious technique as one would admire the skillful ministrations of a master craftsman.

"Take a good look at his testicles," Joanna said, as she lifted his cock up and out of the way. "I don't think that pygmy has got anything on him, do you Zula?"

"Doesn't look like it," Zula replied, looking over the doctor's shoulder.

"Which is good news for us," Felicia said, smiling.

"Very good news," Joanna noted. "Bigger testicles hold more sperm. More sperm means greater pressure. And greater pressures ensures a more robust cumshot."

Having said this, she gave Craig's prick several quick pulls that made him moan.

"You obeyed my instructions, didn't you Craig?" I asked him. "You said you wouldn't come for three days."

"I...I kept my promise, Holly," he replied, trying to keep his breathing regular thereby forestalling the urge to ejaculate.

"I believe you," I said. "I'll bet you must really want to cum badly."

"Oh, yes, I do!"

"You also realize that if you cum now, your ejaculation won't be nearly as powerful tomorrow."

"I know."

"So you're going to let us know if you feel yourself losing it, right?"

"I...I promise."

Joanna's hands continued to pump him without pause. She licked her lips every now and then as she stroked him, and I think that if his prick was not already slick with lotion, she would have popped him into her mouth.

"Such a lovely penis," she said again.

"I'm going to let Dr. Monroe masturbate you for a few minutes more and then Janet is going to take over," I said to him.

"Yes, mistress," he replied, surprising me by his use of the word.

After Joanna finished with him, I had the other girls continue where she left off, masturbating him for five-minute intervals in quick succession. I had to admit that he displayed exemplary control. When it came time for Charlotte to stroke him, he almost gave in to her handiwork and had to ask her to stop. 

"I'm sorry, Holly," she said. "Masturbating him is making me very horny. I guess I got carried away."

Craig was breathing so hard he looked as through he had just run up a flight of stairs. "It's your technique, ma'm," he said to Charlotte. "Please slow down or I'm going to shoot off."

"You have to adapt yourself to her style of masturbation, Craig," I said. "Just as you did with me and Joanna. The judges want to see a vigorous masturbation technique; otherwise we'll be disqualified. Let Charlotte jerk you off a little more and employ that famous control of yours. You can do it."

With a little encouragement from the girls and me, he did manage to survive her blistering handjob, but I could tell that he was relieved when it was over.

"Charlotte is my second in command," I told him. "If for any reason I can't masturbate you, she will have to take over. That's why it's important that you become accustomed to her style."
"I'll do my best," he said, panting heavily.

"Zula. You're next."

Craig found Zula's hard and fast approach very difficult to withstand, but he managed to endure an intense five minutes of continual masturbation by her. Felicia then took over and brought him to even greater heights of pleasure, but Janet almost brought him over the edge.

"Oh, God," he told her. "I can't take much more of this!"

Janet laughed as she continued to milk him despite his protests. "Thirty more seconds big boy. Don't you dare give in!"

"Oh!" he groaned, as he thrust his hips forward.

And then it was my turn.

I knew that any determined effort on my part would result in an orgasm, so I allowed him a few minutes to rest and take a drink of water. I then had Joanna apply more lotion to his penis.

"Five more minutes, Craig," I said, as I wrapped my fist around his cock. "And then you go on the machine."

Before he had a chance to respond, my hands began flying up and down his greasy pole at top speed.

"Just think, Craig," I said as the other girls watched me tease and coax his shaft with both hands. "Tomorrow I'm going to jerk you off in front of 700 women. Does that turn you on?"

"Yes...I love it when girls watch me cum."

"Not only girls, but older women too. You know, like those older ladies who used to milk you when you used to clean out their pools. They'll be watching as you shoot your thick, creamy-white sperm for them. Isn't that exciting?"

"Oh, yes! Oh, God, yes!"

"That's why we're teasing you so much now. Because tomorrow you're going to show us an amazing cumshot, right?"


"It's going to sail across the fucking room!"

"Ah! Holly!" he screamed. "You're making me crazy!"

He took in several great gulps of air, as if this action would somehow forestall his desire to cum. I then noticed that a tiny bead of pre-cum had formed at the tip of his cock and decided it was time to stop.

"Be careful," Zula said to me. "He's really close."

I gave him two hard and long pulls and then removed my hands and got up. It was time to introduce him to our newest mechanical device.

"Good job," I said to him as he fell onto the stool I had just vacated. "Rest for a while and then we'll get you on the machine."

"I won't survive," he said, out of breath.

"I'll make sure you do," I replied, patting him gently on the head.

While Craig took some time to refresh himself, the girls and I examined the remote control panel that sat on the table next to the "Extractinator." It was, essentially, a computer no larger than a standard laptop, with a keyboard and monitor that displayed a 3D replica of the device and what keys needed to be pressed in order to activate its many functions. Zula, being the most computer-adept among us, figured out its rather sophisticated program in a relatively short time, and then proceeded to give us a demonstration.

"I've seen similar programs but this one is a little more involved," she said, as she pressed a few keys in succession. "Basically, there are about a half dozen functions that we need to concern ourselves with. Here, let me show you."

Upon pressing one of the computer's keys, the top section of the giant maw was slowly lowered down via its hydraulic arms onto the bottom piece. Meanwhile, on the computer's monitor screen the 3D image of the machine faithfully reproduced this action. She then pressed another key that reversed the procedure, and this action, too, was simultaneously performed on the screen before our astonished eyes.

"Look at this," Zula said, pressing a few more keys.

Suddenly, the four hydraulic arms drew inward and then up, so that the entire assembly was hoisted into a vertical position. Another keystroke allowed the arms to further retract, enabling the human-encasing shell to be tilted and paused at any angle before reaching a fully horizontal position. Considering the size of the motor, all these functions were carried out with whisper-quiet operation.

"This is all very well and good," Charlotte said. "But just what does this thing do?"

"Oh, come on, Charlotte," Joanna said. "It does just what its name implies. It extracts sperm."

"You're not going to put me in that thing are you?" Craig asked me, looking worried.

"No harm will come to you baby," Zula said. "It's one hundred percent safe."

Charlotte wasn't impressed. "Why go through all the trouble and expense to use such a machine when you can get the same results from using your hand?"

Zula snickered. "This is why. Watch."

She pressed one key and a series of functions were carried out in succession. They all happened so quickly that I couldn't figure out what exactly was happening.

"Would you care to explain what's going on?" I asked Zula.

"No problem. Do you see that opening there? A robotic arm is going to come out."

We waited a few seconds but nothing happened.

"It should come out," she said, looking a little concerned.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Charlotte complained.

"Just be patient will you?" Zula said, pressing another key.

This last maneuver did the trick. From one side of the apparatus a robotic arm extruded slowly outward and folded itself at the elbow before stopping a few centimeters above the hole where the subject's genitals were to be placed. What startled me was that the entire arm was designed as a human appendage, the hands of which were composed of simulated human skin and shaped like a woman's hand, with anatomically correct and fully functional fingers. After we overcame our astonishment, we broke down and laughed at the sight of the mechanical hand that Zula had set in motion by hitting another key. The hand moved up and down on its metal axis with perfect, machine-like precision. All that was missing was a penis.

"Oh, Craig, you're in for a treat!" Felecia squealed.

He looked at the device with uncertainty, not fully convinced that he wanted to have anything to do with it.

"What if that arm malfunctions?" he said to us. "That thing could rip my cock off!"

"It has several failsafe mechanisms," Zula said. "And the lower arm will not extend beyond 45 degrees. Your cock isn't going anywhere."

"And what's that thing coming out now?" Janet asked.

"It looks like a plastic receptacle," Joanna observed. "For sperm collection I assume."

"How convenient!" Janet laughed.

The plastic container was moved into position near the hole by two small hydraulic arms. It seemed very efficient-looking to me.

"This machine can be programmed for hands-free operation for up to 30 minutes at a stretch. Then it automatically shuts itself off," Zula said.

"So, in essence," I remarked, "the subject is virtually a prisoner inside that thing, with no recourse to the use of his limbs whatsoever."

"That's right," Zula replied. "We can do anything we like to his body. Well, the genitals, ass, and face anyway."

Her eyes lit up as she said this, and I had a feeling she was anxious to get Craig inside it.

"We don't have to use our hands at all," she continued. "Once he's in the machine, the mechanical arm can take care of that chore. And the nice part of it is, the hand can be programmed to act almost like a human one, with all the nuances and subtleties of an experienced masturbatrix."

"Well, we'll have to see about that," I said, doubtful that any mechanical arm could ever accurately simulate the actions of its human counterpart to such a degree.

I had Zula return the assembly to its original position and then ordered Craig to get in.

"Do I have to do this?" he asked me, as the top portion of the mouth came to a silent halt.

"Do you trust me?" I replied.

"Of course," he answered. "But I'm not so sure about this machine."

"I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. If you find you don't like it, we'll stop it immediately and you won't have to go back in. Fair enough?"

"Okay," he said, with some trepidation. "I'll try it."

Using the hand supports that were built onto each side of the machine, Craig lifted his body onto the maw and placed his extremities in the appropriate spots and lied down. Once he was securely fitted into place, I instructed Zula to lower the top lip of the maw down over his body. In less than a minute he was lying comfortably within the confines of the machine, a little nervous but trying to be a good sport about it.

"How does it feel?" I asked him.

"Pretty nice," he replied. "But I can't move a muscle."

"The only muscle we want you to move is that big one between your legs," Joanna kidded. "Are you comfortable?"

"I thought it would be hot inside this thing, but I feel just fine."

"That's because there are ventilating holes running throughout the fabric," Zula said. "You'll be okay."

"I think we should give this machine a try," I told the girls. "Are you ready, Craig?"

"Anytime you are."

"Okay, Zula," I said. "Let's see if this 'Extractinator' gizmo can live up to its name."

Zula once again began keying in numbers on the control pad and within seconds the area around Craig's genitals began to vibrate.

"The vibration mode should help him to produce an erection," Zula informed us. 

"Wow!" Craig exclaimed. "It's like having a dozen hands working on your dick all at once!"

I could feel the vibrations through the floor, but the machine barely made a sound. 

"I can feel it working from here," I said. 

"Me too," Charlotte remarked. "But it's so quiet."

Joanna had told Craig to keep us alerted as to how he was feeling and to report any discomfort immediately. So far, he seemed to be doing fine. 

"It's really tingly," he reported. "God, it feels nice!"

Moments later we gasped as we watched the head of Craig's penis slowly begin to rise up from the center of the hole. 

"It's working!" Janet exclaimed.

Felecia laughed. "Look ma, no hands!"

Craig chuckled at her joke even as his prick continued to expand under the influence of the insistent vibrations. He was fully erect only moments later.

"Instant hard-on," Joanna commented. "What's next?"

"We should put some lube on him now," I said.

"I'll take care of it," Joanna replied.

She took a small bottle of lubrication cream from the table and applied a small portion of it to Craig's penis. He moaned as she rubbed the lotion into his skin.

"Ready for some serious hand work?" Zula said.

"Might as well see what it can do. Go ahead," I told her.

She hit one of the function keys and the familiar robotic arm, which had previously been retracted, once again made its appearance from the angular compartment adjacent to the hole.

"Okay, Craig," I said. "We're going to try the robot hand on you now. Just lie perfectly still and let it do its work."

"You got it, Holly," he replied, with a little hesitancy in his voice.

I could see that he was a little tremulous as he watched the human-like arm flex itself outward toward his genitals on its metal pivot. But being the man he was—so eager to please, and inclined to not show fear in front of those he wanted to impress—he steeled himself for the intrusion of the artificial appliance, trusting in my competence and Zula's efficiency. And, as if in answer to his hopes, the fleshy-looking fingers descended upon his penis and then contracted themselves around the shaft, all in one, deliberately slow and precise motion. Craig, and the rest of us, heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"Any discomfort, Craig?" Joanna asked.

"Nope. It feels great. Keep going."

"Start him off slow, please," I said to Zula. "And keep it that way until I tell you otherwise."

Zula touched one of the keys with her finger, and with barely a sound the mechanical hand began to slowly rise and fall over Craig's glistening penis. As the hand reached its topmost position it would whir gently and then reverse its direction without a pause in its momentum. Once it reached the bottom, it would repeat the process all over again, effortlessly and with the utmost precision. Craig was moaning with delight.

"How does it feel to be totally out of control, Craig?" Zula asked.

"It's wonderful! It's like all these pleasurable sensations are centered...right in my crotch!"

"Do you want to take it up a notch?" I asked him.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"How fast can this thing go?" I asked Zula.

"There are 10 levels of speed with gradations in between. He's at level one now."

"Increase speed to level two," I instructed her.

The increase was almost instantaneous with Zula's pressing of the function key. The hand now moved at a quicker pace and Craig's breathing became more labored.

"Please explain what you're experiencing," Joanna asked him.

"Well, doctor...all I can tell you is that...it feels fucking great!"

"No pain or unpleasantness of any kind?"

"So far, no."

"It seems that the robotic hand has sensors inside it that can detect and compensate for the amount of pressure applied to his penis," Zula said. "As his dick gets closer to ejaculating, the hand grips the shaft more firmly, just as we would normally do when giving a guy a handjob."

"Cold, but efficient," Charlotte observed, laconically.

"Well I think this machine is fantastic!" Felicia said. "We don't have to spend hours and hours tiring our hands out working some huge dick like his."

"I will admit that it does appear to have its advantages, but nothing can take the place of a pair of nice warm, well-lubed hands to get the most out of a man."

"It's a tool, like any other," Joanna said. "I think we can safely increase the speed now, Holly."

"Zula? I said. "Increase speed to level three."

Once more, the motor driving the mechanical hand whirred gently as the up and down motions increased by a factor of one. The speed at which the stroking was being carried out was similar to the speed of a robust, human handjob—the speed at which most men would begin to lose their loads.

"Oh, my God!" Janet said, laughing hard. "I don't think he can take much more of that!"

"Craig, how are you doing?" I asked him.

He took a few seconds to reply. When he did, his speech was halting and his chest was rising and falling quickly as he sought to fight for air.

"Can't...hold on...much...longer..."

Because his prick was all covered with lube, I couldn't tell if he was exuding pre-cum or not. But taking one look at his huge scrotum, I could tell by the way his testicles were climbing up toward the base of his shaft that his orgasm was imminent. Joanna noticed this too.

"Better stop now or he'll explode," she warned.

"Holly!" Craig screamed. "Stop it!"

"Zula, cut the power." I ordered.

With one press of a key the mechanical hand came to a sudden stop. Craig cried out as though he were in pain.

"Craig, are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," he replied, groaning aloud.

"Let's get him out of there," I said.

With the aid of the other girls, I helped my exhausted friend out of the machine and pulled a white, terrycloth robe over him. He was having trouble standing and it took four of us to hold him steady.

"That thing was only on level three and you were ready to cum," I said.

"I know. It's a fucking incredible machine. The feeling is indescribable."

"I think he should rest for a few hours," Joanna said to me. "There's a bed in the room next door."

"Good idea," I replied. "Please do as the doctor says," I told him. "We'll resume your training at 1:00 PM."

"Okay, Holly. I am feeling pretty tired right about now."

Joanna escorted Craig out and returned a few minutes later to tell me that he was so exhausted that he was almost asleep before his head touched the pillow.

"He has a very strong constitution," she said. "Most men that I have tested in my lab would never be able to hold out as long as he did."

"I think it has something to do with those tests he had done on him in Sweden by Dr. Swensen."

"I have no doubt of that," she replied. "He's been conditioned, that's for sure. But I believe that will work in our favor."

"Do you think we should put him through it again later?"

"I don't think so. There are plenty of other masturbatory techniques we can use on him. However, I would suggest that all of us give him a few more handjobs. Especially you, Holly, since you're the Masturbatrix. And you, too, Charlotte."

"I'm ready," Charlotte said.

"Whatever it takes," I added.

"Well, all this jerking off business has made me both horny and hungry," Zula said. "And since I'm not about to get fucked anytime soon, I'm going to get something to eat."

"Good idea," Joanna said. "I'll join you."

As all of us followed Zula out of the room, I stopped to take a moment to look in on Craig. He was sound asleep. I almost hated to have to wake him up later to go through a completely new round of training. But it had to be done if we stood any chance at winning.


We had finished our final training session with Craig around 5:00 PM. The fact that he managed to endure successive rounds of masturbation at our hands and from the various devices we used on him was a testimony to his superior mental and physical control, due in large degree to his previous conditioning during the EJAX-472 experiments the year before. By the time we left the training room I think we were more tired than he was.

The qualifying rounds were to begin tomorrow afternoon at 2:00 PM, allowing contestants to spend the morning hours resting or to engage in further training. I decided that additional training was unnecessary in Craig's case, so I told him to get as much sleep as he could, believing that a well-rested body would be far more likely to prove efficacious than an overworked one. In this all my associates concurred. I said goodbye to him at the south entrance, assuring him that I had been very pleased with the way his training was progressing.

"I'm happy to hear that," he said. "The last thing in world I'd want is to disappoint you."

"Don't worry about that. Just do like you've been doing and we're going to win this contest. I guarantee it."

He put his arms around me and kissed me hard on my mouth. "I wish I could get inside your skin."

"You already have," I said, letting him hold me even when such actions were discouraged between a champion and his trainer. 

"You'd better let go of me now," I said, as I felt he was not about to release me anytime soon.

"There's no one here to see us," he said, rubbing my hand.

"It's not a good idea. If we get caught I'll get reported and there could be problems. Let's just play it cool until after the contest."

"All right," he replied, affably. "Because it's what you want, I'll be cool."

It was decided that we would all meet back at the training room at noon tomorrow to go over the final details related to the tryouts. By 1:00 PM all the teams, and their respective champions, were to assemble in the main hall to attend an address by our keynote speaker and Sisterhood leader, Lenore Marceau. My aunt was to give a little speech as well; a preface of welcome to the entire congregation and an invitation to attend a dinner party to be held on the estate lawn immediately following the tryouts.

When I returned to the main hall I found Charlotte mulling about near the dais, my other teammates had disappeared.

"They took off," she told me. "But I thought I'd take a look around. This place is something else."

"My aunt spent a fortune converting this dungeon. And there are more levels below this one. I've never been to the lowest floors though."

"That's because there is no access to them," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"If I remember correctly, my cousin—your uncle Pierre—told me that there were three levels that could be accessed by this tunnel. But there are a few more levels underneath the third one that are totally inaccessible. The only way you can even reach them is by using the old tunnel, which is now sealed shut."

I was, of course, surprised to hear this news.

"How many levels are there?"

"Pierre told me there were six, but some say there were nine originally."

"Nine?" How can that be possible?"

"Well, you have to remember that the chateau was built in the thirteenth century. Some of those earlier levels may have actually been storerooms with very low ceilings. In those days foodstuffs would have been preserved and stored there. I understand that, sometime during the middle of the fifteenth century, some of these levels actually collapsed due to water damage and were filled in with dirt. New layers of concrete were added to lend support to the foundation, and that is how it has remained to this day." 

"What about the old tunnel?"

"That was built in the 1700s. It runs southward in a parallel line with the new one, but it's unusable, completely non-functional. The bunker is still there, but it's all covered over with trees and bushes—it looks like a little grotto now. I used to play there when I was a child." 

"Did you ever try to get inside?"

"Inside the bunker? Impossible. If you could manage to hack your way through all the vegetation you'd be staring at an iron door about six inches thick and fifteen feet high. You'd need a wrecking ball to break it down. But even if you could open it, what's the point? The tunnel itself doesn't lead anywhere."

I found her tale most interesting, but I wondered why my aunt never mentioned anything about the old tunnel and the ancient dungeon levels now buried under layers of concrete.

"Does my aunt know about this?" I asked.

"Most certainly. Everybody who lives in this province knows the history behind this chateau. Some people say there is treasure buried somewhere in the lower levels, left there by nobles fleeing from the Revolution. But that's just rumor."

"Or maybe it's true. I'm surprised my aunt never thought to excavate the tunnel."

"I'm sure she's considered it, but she might have felt the cost of repairing it prohibitive. I know Pierre did."

"But what if treasure was really buried there? She could be sitting on a fortune."

"Holly, even if there were absolute proof that there was a treasure, the time, money, and effort needed to retrieve it would not be worth whatever money you might find. If the nobility did leave their valuables behind, they'll probably remain there forever."

The idea that buried treasure might lie deep within the castle walls intrigued me to no end. But I had other, more important matters to consider, and for the moment, my flights of fancy would have to wait for another day.

Charlotte and I took a leisurely tour of the vast enclosure, greeting people along the way and trying to take a peek every now and then at what the other contestants were doing behind the sometimes half-opened doors of their training rooms. Lenore had told me that each team was bringing its own equipment with them, although my aunt had graciously provided all contestants with the use of her own machines. I wondered if any of the teams were employing the "Extractinator" device, but our cursory examination of the main hall and a few of the unoccupied training rooms revealed no sign of the contraption. The answer to this mystery came sooner than I expected when Lenore spotted us and came walking over with a big smile on her face.

"Charlotte! Holly! Where are you two off to?"

"No place special," Charlotte replied. "Just looking around."

"So, how did your session go with that handsome champion of yours?" she asked us.

"It went very well," I replied. 

"How did that new machine work out?"

"Do you mean the 'Extractinator'?

"Yes, that's the name of it. I couldn't remember."

"It worked out fine. I think Craig is still in recovery mode."

Lenore looked pleased. "It's an amazing piece of machinery. I'm glad I thought to get it for you."

"You were the one who...?"

"Surprise!" Lenore exclaimed. "After that fiasco at the restaurant I had to make it up to you. Your team is the only one who has it. Put it to good use and win this competition."

"You're rooting for us?" Charlotte asked.

"I love Phoebe, but Angelique...ah well, what can I say about her? You, Holly, are my successor, and you, Charlotte, one of my oldest and dearest friends. Of course I'm going to root for you."

"We won't let you down," I said.

"Just do your best. That's all anyone can ask of another."

Just then another Sister came rushing up to us, all flustered over something taking place in one of the training rooms. She was a very pretty Indian woman dressed in a blue, silk sari. 

"He's going to cum if they can't stop it!" she exclaimed in a broken accent. "Please Sister, help us!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Lenore said, as the woman pulled on her arm.

"You must hurry!"

"Come girls," she said to us. "Let's see what the hell is going on."

Dragging Lenore by the arm, the woman led us to a nearby training room. Inside were a small group of Indian women, all of them futilely trying to remove a cylindrical object from their champion's penis. When they saw us approach, they hastily moved away to give Lenore access to the distressed man. 

"What's the problem here?" Lenore asked the women.

"The 'hot lips,'" the woman said. "We cannot shut it off!"

One of the other team members, a woman who looked to be the oldest of the group, handed Lenore the remote control.

"Try to stand still," she ordered the naked man.

"He doesn't understand English," the woman said.

"Then tell him in your language!"

The woman immediately conveyed Lenore's instructions to the man in his own tongue and he valiantly tried to remain still. He looked petrified as the device continued to whir away, the mechanical lips gliding up and down his shaft at top speed. Lenore pressed several buttons but nothing happened.

"It's not working!" she exclaimed, hurling the remote control across the room.

"We must help him!" cried the woman.

"Holly...Charlotte," Lenore said. "Get on either side of him and hold him steady. I'll have to remove the battery cell from the unit itself. It's not going to be easy, so try to keep him from moving around so much."

Charlotte and I did as we were told. It was difficult trying to keep him still since the device was operating at full speed and his entire body was pretty much vibrating right along in tandem with it. Lenore ordered the Indian woman to grasp the cylinder in her hands in order to keep it from moving.

"Hold it tight," Lenore instructed her. "I have to open the lid from the top. Steady now."

Both Lenore and the woman were now on their knees before the stricken man. He started to cry out something in his native tongue as Lenore worked feverishly to remove the plastic clamp that housed the battery.

"He says he is going to ejaculate very soon!" the woman exclaimed.

"I'm doing the best I can!" Lenore said. 

"But if he comes he won't be able to compete in the contest!"

"Oh, will you shut up!" 

Lenore struggled with the difficult clamp for several more seconds until it finally retracted from the top panel, exposing the battery cell inside. With one flick of her finger the battery popped out and onto the floor. The device came to a dead stop. 

"Undo the strap and take it off him," Lenore told the woman.

Before she could carry out this task, the man, himself, removed the device and let if fall to the floor. With a wild look in his eyes, he stoked his penis a few times and a giant rope of cum sailed out over the heads of my astonished mentor and his shocked trainers. Grunting like a pig, we all watched in awe as he ferociously milked out load after load of pearly, white semen, ranting something in his odd language every time he sent a creamy rope flying into the air.

Surprisingly enough, Lenore barely got scathed, but the Indian woman and her other teammates got soaked with his generous offering. Charlotte and I had instinctively pulled back, anticipating the uncontrolled orgasm. But it was not enough to prevent us from receiving a small portion of his lusty tribute, which rained down upon us when one of his volleys flew up and backwards, impacting with the wall behind us. After forcing out several more sticky loads, he fell down onto the floor in a state of exhaustion, his face wet with tears.

The Indian woman and her team members were beside themselves with grief and anger over the failure of their champion, but no one was more aggrieved than the poor, little man himself, who now looked up at his trainers as though he had committed the most heinous of crimes.

"What are we going to do now?" the Indian woman wailed. "All his sperm is gone! We cannot compete in the contest. We are ruined!"

Suddenly all the team members, including the champion himself, let out an enormous cry of despair. Lenore looked at Charlotte and I as if she were going to join in the grief-stricken choir.

"This is terrible. It wasn't their fault."

"The machine malfunctioned," I said. "They shouldn't be penalized for something like that."

"Is there anything you can do, Lenore?" Charlotte asked.

"Yes, yes!" the Indian woman exclaimed. "Sister Lenore, you must allow us to pick another champion. It was the hot lips that made him do this. He could not help himself. Please let us compete tomorrow!"

"What is your name, Sister?" Lenore asked the woman. "You seem to have lost your nametag."

"I am Pari," she replied, her hand reaching toward the spot on her chest where her nametag should have been.

"And what is your champion's name?"

"He is called 'Atma'."

"Help Atma to his feet, please."

Pari and two other of her teammates lifted the fallen man and helped him into a chair. She then handed him a white robe, which he drew across his naked body.

"I have every intention of letting you compete in tomorrow's tryouts, Pari," Lenore began. "What happened is not your fault. However, it is extremely doubtful that Atma will be able to ejaculate far enough to qualify you for a spot in the contest. You can use him if you want, but I am giving you permission to select another champion."

Pari clasped her hands together and bowed her head. "Thank you, Sister Lenore! Thank you!"

Pari bowed her head several more times, as did her teammates, and Atma just sat there smiling, but dumbfounded, unaware that he might soon to be jettisoned for another more suitable candidate.

"I'm sorry, Atma," Lenore said to the confused man, as we followed her out the door to a thunderous applause.

We made our way back toward the tunnel entrance, and once there Charlotte said goodbye to us.

"You did the right thing, Lenore," she said.

"I did the fair thing," Lenore replied. "One cannot be held responsible for the actions of another, or for a faulty machine."

"I still feel bad for them though," I said.

"I do too," Lenore agreed. "Their chances of finding another champion at this late hour are almost nil."

As much as I was disappointed for the Indian team, in my heart I was glad that there was now one less threat with which to concern myself. 


To her ever-growing list of talents, which included entrepreneur, spy, voyeur, thrill seeker, and dominatrix, Angelique, in her secretive and enterprising way, had recently found a new occupation to add to the mix—that of excavator. Ever since suffering a most humiliating defeat at the hands of her once-beloved cousin during the Villon sessions, she had determined that the "Long Shots" contest would be the means by which she would resurrect herself—like the mystical phoenix reborn from its own ashes—from that of a miserable failure to that of a world-class champion. It would be an act of personal redemption par excellence. 

She had spent much time deliberating over the means by which she would accomplish this task and finally came upon the idea of embarking upon a grand renovation: the excavation of the ancient tunnel leading from the bunker to the lower regions of the castle dungeon by using her own elite corps of recently acquired Sisterhood comrades and their obsequious lackeys. It was an ambitious plan.

Angelique had learned of the existence of the old south tunnel the same day her mother did: when Pierre signed over the deed to the estate to Phoebe. When Phoebe's lawyer, an able and trusted friend of long-standing relation and a local resident, explained to her that the old tunnel was completely unserviceable, she thereafter put it out of her mind, knowing that the more recently built tunnel would be more than sufficient to meet her needs. Angelique, however, her calculating mind always intent upon seeking new and innovative ways of expressing itself, and her innate curiosity fueled by the thought that the native's alluded to underground treasure might possibly exist, continued to give the matter much thought, and secretly entertained the idea that one day she would find a way to breach the metal and concrete barrier that comprised the well-fortified bunker.

These plans, however, took on secondary importance once she became involved with the Sisterhood. Having recently made Lenore's acquaintance, which soon developed into a solid friendship, Phoebe was about to embark on a new journey of her own within the Sisterhood, and she would come to rely on her daughter's industriousness and energy to aid her in her new role as Sister, ultimately appointing Angelique as the second in command of the fledgling "Philanthropic Society." This mother and daughter team proved most efficacious, and Angelique found she had little time for anything else. 

Soon, her involvement in the Society/Sisterhood became an all-consuming passion, and the social/economic landscape thus fashioned, in great part by her own intelligence and diligence, earned her the respect and admiration of her mother, the Sisters, and especially Lenore. In time Lenore would grow less fond of Angelique, seeing in Holly a far more acceptable successor to the Sisterhood throne. Although feeling greatly rebuffed by this decision, Angelique decided to bide her time, hoping that her cousin would eventually display some inevitable weakness that would remove her from her favored status. And if that didn't happen, she would see to it that Holly's inadequacies were eventually revealed by whatever means possible. But the unexpected treachery inflicted upon her by her cousin, which resulted in her recent defeat, now impelled her to take such action that would result in a comparative shift in the once stable landscape: a shift that would hopefully tip the balance of power in her favor; creating a rift in the very fabric of the Sisterhood nation that would pit equal against equal; Sister against Sister. Lenore's disaffection, her cousin's betrayal, and her own mother's lack of sympathy toward her plight, gave impetus to her desire in seeing the Sisterhood brought to heel. But their combined disloyalty did much more than anger her—it incited her to seek revenge against the very people and institutions that had placed her in such an already exalted position. It was a crisis of conscience that now confronted her, and she found in her conscience a willing conspirator.

In her role as chief administrator of the Society, Angelique had performed many favors for certain Sisters over the past year. Now it was time for some of these favors to be called in. Immediately following her humiliating experience during the "test" session, she began to form a coalition of women whom she knew she could count upon to serve her in her hour of need. Many of these women were her friends and acquaintances, others were malcontents who themselves were dissatisfied with Lenore's sovereignty and sought to affiliate themselves with Angelique via commonality of purpose. One of these was Marge Davis, a woman who was a member of this latter group, but who also enjoyed a close friendship with Angelique. 

It was upon Marge's shoulders that Angelique has placed the daunting task of assembling a work force that would transform the once inaccessible tunnel into a viable passageway into the lower depths of the castle. Marge had carried out this injunction with uncommon zeal, using her influence as one of the highest-ranking members within the Sisterhood to enjoin a group of workers that included surveyors, architects, engineers, and laborers who would translate Angelique's directives into action and without question. This group was comprised entirely of Sisterhood members and their confederates.

The day after the "test," Angelique had already had her plan solidified and ready to put in motion. She had barely slept the night before, having spent hours on the phone with Marge and a few other trusted friends explaining the details of her operation. It had always been a matter of contention to the local residents, including Pierre himself, whether or not the tunnel had caved in on itself since the decades it had ceased being used or was still capable of being repaired. In this Angelique was willing to take the chance of finding out one way or the other. 

It was decided that the project would commence immediately and that work would be performed only during the evening hours after all the farm laborers had gone home. The fact that the old tunnel was roughly one mile away from the new one, and obscured by rolling hills and vegetation, aided in keeping the work from being discovered. The fact that this particular tract of land was uncultivated and quite a distance away from the vineyards meant that hardly anyone ever visited the spot, and this, too, worked to their advantage. Electrical generators were used to power lights and to handle the requirements of power tools, but even these were used sparingly in favor of larger teams working with standard equipment like pickaxes, shovels, and wheelbarrows. This was done in order to keep the noise level to a minimum. 

The first order of business was to remove the densely packed vegetation and underbrush that covered the bunker door. This effort alone, even with the help of two- dozen workers, took several hours to accomplish. Once was the door was free of debris, the lead engineer determined that the best way to remove the bunker's huge iron door was to fasten steel cables to the door's iron bolts and then, with the aid of a giant winch, pull the door off its massive hinges. This was achieved after several tries in which the cables kept slipping off the bolts when approaching maximum tension. Ultimately, a way was found to secure the cables so that they would be prevented from slipping off. With a loud and terrifying creak, the bolts reluctantly gave way and were ripped from the supporting concrete structure. The giant iron door fell to the earth with a huge thud.

When the dust had cleared, Angelique, accompanied by Marge and several trusted acolytes, had proceeded with flashlights into the gaping, black hole that stood before them. Despite protests from the engineers, Angelique had insisted that she be the first to pass through the ancient threshold, displaying calm indifference to her own personal safety. 

As she and her group entered the tunnel, a sudden rush of cool, damp air that hinted of stale and putrefying things greeted them. This did not dissuade her progress but seemed to enervate her instead, much to the chagrin of her apprehensive companions. The passage they entered was broad, roughly six feet in width, and the ceiling rose to over eight feet in height, plenty of room to navigate the larger items that would eventually find their way into this underground world. 

The engineers followed close behind Angelique, examining the tunnel's earthen walls and ceilings for any sign of possible danger from collapse. But the men who had designed this tunnel had been exceptional engineers. They had employed huge wooden beams and crossbeams supported by huge iron bolts, which seemed, upon close inspection, to have maintained their structural integrity over the span of almost seventy years. Only in one spot—a distance of about one hundred feet from the entrance to the tunnel—did they discover that several beams had been damaged and now lay strewn upon the floor hindering further passage. This problem could be easily rectified Angelique was told.

Desirous to reach the dungeon, Angelique gave orders to the engineers to remove the debris and reinforce the weakened points with additional steel beams. It took three hours for the work to be completed, upon which she and her team reentered the tunnel and proceeded northward toward the dungeon. 

It seemed that this old tunnel was not in as bad a shape and had been believed, and Angelique was beside herself with joy. The tunnel itself was only a quarter of a mile in length and once the blockage had been removed no other structural anomalies were discovered to hamper their progress. The ground itself was surprisingly dry and firm, making their trek less arduous than it might have been. In a short while she found herself staring into an immense black void—the place where the tunnel ended and the dungeon began. Directing their flashlights into the cavity, Angelique and her accomplices soon realized that they were standing at the entrance to a world long forgotten: a time when men and women paid for their transgressions on the rack or were left to die shackled to enormous iron chains that hung from the ceiling.

After a short and cursory inspection of the dungeon—insisted upon by the engineers who had warned Angelique that the tunnel's stability, though seemingly intact to the naked eye, could not be taken for granted until further stabilization was performed—the team exited the tunnel and began the laborious job of transporting huge steel support beams into the shaft. It took three nights to finish the job working ten-hour shifts that employed over fifty people at one time. 

On the fourth day all work ceased and the equipment and tools were removed from the site. All that remained were a few generators and some prefabricated wooden flooring materials that would be brought in later once the dirt floor of the dungeon had been cleared of whatever debris still remained inside. This Angelique insisted she and her closest associates would attend to. Nobody beyond her own circle of friends cared or asked why. They were paid, sworn to secrecy, and let go, with the understanding that their services may be required again in the not too distant future, and that Angelique would have need of them in the new world order that she would create from the ashes of the old.


The "Long Shots" contest first came into being by accident during one particular Sisterhood party in which two drunk and argumentative Sisters bet against each other to see which of their male slaves could ejaculate the farthest. No one remembers whom it was that first thought of the idea, but it became immediately popular and eventually evolved into a more sophisticated affair over the ensuing years, with Sisterhood covens from all over the world being represented in the annual contest. 

The trainers represented a diverse age group and came from many different backgrounds. But the one thing they all had in common was the coveted "skillful hand" gift—a talent to control men sexually simply by using their hands. Most women could effectively bring a man to orgasm via masturbation, but a masturbatrix—the name given to the most highly accomplished hand artisans—was capable of controlling a man completely, until his very soul became mere putty in her hands. Because the talent was so unique and brought forth such astonishing results, the masturbatrix was regarded as the epitome of sexual wonder workers—superior to the less talented, but more forceful, dominatrix. To most Sisters, the skillful hand gift was something you were born with: an intrinsic talent shared only by prodigies and which training could only refine. Those less stellar aspirants to the title might spend years studying technique, but they would never attain the full potential of those born with the "gift."

I didn't realize that I possessed this specialized ability until Lenore brought it to my attention after she had seen me masturbate Craig during our visit to Sylvie's boutique a week ago. I recall her telling me that I played upon Craig's penis as though it were a musical instrument and I was the maestro. Her description seemed funny to me at the time, but it accurately reflected the manner in which my hands sought to control and dominate his genitals. A masturbatrix she and I might be, but something had to be said for the one being masturbated as well.

Craig had a strong mental and physical attraction to me, as I did to him. In addition, it was in his nature to please women, and he found the highest expression of this proclivity exemplified in his relationship with me. In other words, we were mutually "in tune" with each other, and this made for superb teamwork, whether I was "gifted" or not. We had what Felicia might have described as "simpatico," that quality of being able to read into each other's psyches and translate those impressions into conscious actions. Judging by the way I saw most trainers handle their champions, it was apparent to me that a similar type of symbiosis was involved.

I arrived at the training room at noon and found my champion and team waiting for me looking bright and eager. I had eaten breakfast alone but managed to say good-morning to my aunt who was busily rehearsing her welcoming speech. Angelique was nowhere to be found. All the girls were wearing some combination of sneakers, blouse, and shorts; Craig was wearing the requisite white robe.

"Guess what I have?" Zula said, waving a DVD in front of my face.

"I don't know," I replied. "But it is polite to say 'good afternoon' don't you think?"

"Don't ever accuse her of being polite," Joanna said to me. "You'll only get her mad."

"Well?" I said. "What is it?"

"This is a movie of last year's competition. We can put this to good use."

"Great," I said. "Put it on the table over there and let's get down to business."

Zula seemed a bit miffed at my abruptness, but I was anxious to go over my plans as soon as possible.

"How are you feeling, Craig?" I asked. "You look like you had a good night's rest."

"I did," he replied happily. "Got ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. I feel great."

"I'm not asking you to perform miracles today. I just want you to place in the qualifying rounds."

"No problem, Holly. I'm ready when you are."

I took some time to explain once again the rules pertaining to these tryout sessions with my team. In this particular round there was really nothing my associates could do except stand aside and watch me masturbate Craig. Their involvement with the contest would take on far greater dimensions later on, when the final round would determine the winner. However, I needed their moral support as well as their conscientious attention to make certain that I was giving my team and myself every possible chance for success.

"We're with you, Holly," Charlotte reminded me. 

"Damn right!" Janet exclaimed. 

"Bravo! Fortuna!" Felicia added.

Joanna gave Craig a quick exam and confirmed he was is excellent condition. 

"Four days without an ejaculation, right?" she asked Craig.

"Yes, ma'm."

"Well, Holly, if your skills are up to snuff, you should have him spurting to the moon."

"I'll settle for a good ten feet," I replied, smiling at Craig.

At exactly 12:30 PM the giant doors leading into the Masturbatorium opened wide, allowing the attendees to enter. Like us, some of the teams came in during the morning to train, but most were happy to forego training and simply slept late. These teams now entered along with the rest of the throng while announcements were made over the loudspeaker directing the various delegations and their teams to their designated seats. 

As I led my team into the main concourse, we were joined by masses of people who quickly formed around us, pulling us forward. Thankfully, there were many acolytes who interspersed themselves amongst the crowd, breaking up the momentum of this human chain, creating smaller groups that could be more easily manipulated and directed. I was, frankly, overwhelmed by the size of the crowd, having been informed by Zula that the numbers had now reached well beyond one thousand people.

My aunt had decided that the seating design should take the form of twenty wooden tiers upon which chairs were placed along a 180-degree arc, in the fashion of an ancient Roman amphitheatre. To the right of the amphitheatre and perpendicular to it was the judge's booth; directly across the booth was the podium, which faced the spectators. And several feet beyond the podium stood the lanes where the contest would be held. There were a total of ten lanes in all, and they looked very similar to bowling lanes with the exception that black, plastic markers had been placed every foot along the way to measure the distance of each ejaculation. In addition, there were rubber foot grips installed into the wood where the masturbatrix and her champion were to stand, and a thin, red, plastic carpet covered the area from the start line to the farthest marker—thirty feet away. Sisterhood acolytes, appointed to track the distance of each cumshot, stood at each lane's ten-foot marker with pen and paper in hand, making conversation with each other as they awaited the keynote address to begin. 

At first I thought the idea of a man shooting his sperm 30 feet away quite funny, but quickly recalled that Craig had came near to achieving a 20-foot cumshot only recently at Sylvie's. And Jacques LaSalle had succeeded in passing the 18-foot barrier the year before during this very same contest. The thought that someone's orgasm might actually span the 30-foot limit was something I could not quite comprehend, and I began to wonder just what method of teasing and denial, extended milking by hand and machine, and supplemental oral concoctions might produce such a prodigious feat.

My group was seated in the first few rows in between the delegations from England and Italy. Far to my left I could see Angelique and her team sitting quietly, seemingly unperturbed by all the commotion taking place around them. Sitting directly behind my cousin was Jacques LaSalle, looking as if he wished he were someplace else.

Lenore and my aunt had long since arranged that Angelique should represent France in this contest. And even though Lenore had tried to alter this arrangement in my favor, my aunt reminded her of her promise, and so Lenore could do nothing but accept things as they were. In any event, Angelique was a French citizen, and her claim to superiority could not be denied. This being the case, I was chosen to represent my home country of the United States, as Janet Walsh, a Sisterhood delegate from Boston, had decided not to sponsor a champion this year. Janet, therefore, became a member of my team, and I was glad to have last year's winning masturbatrix on my side.

There was a lot of nervous anticipation in the air, as if this were the Olympics themselves and not some surreptitious Sisterhood event. Several rows behind me sat the attendees, most of which were comprised of non-participating Sisters, their close associates, and friends. 

As I watched the women file by I suddenly heard my name being called out by someone in the upper tiers. It was Sylvie. Julie and Juliette, who sat to her right, and Astrid and Chantal, who sat to her left, accompanied her. We waved to each other and she tried to shout something to me, but the noise prevented me from hearing her. I was happy to see that she had kept her promise by taking the two girls with her. 

Suddenly, a hush came over the audience. The judges, three women dressed in all-black suits, took their seats at the judge's booth. Lenore, my aunt Phoebe, Justine, Estelle, and several other women I did not recognize, followed close behind them and proceeded onto the podium. My aunt quickly took the dais, while the other women took their seats behind her. She tapped the microphone a few times with her finger and, assured that it was working, began to speak.

"Welcome Sisters!" she shouted.

A chorus of cheers greeted her.

"Welcome Sisters, acolytes, and friends to the 21st annual 'Long Shots' contest. Today, thirty-seven countries are being represented in this competition and I, Phoebe Anjou, as the host of this year's contest, want to welcome you and wish each of you the best of luck. The 'Long Shots' contest had a modest, or perhaps I should say, immodest beginning. Essentially, what began as a drunken brawl between two Sisters soon became a competition based upon skill, superior mental and physical conditioning, and yes, even luck. In its first few years of existence, the contest drew only a handful of countries that were willing to compete. Ten years ago I believe we had roughly ten to fifteen countries participating. In the decade since then the number of participants has grown steadily until today we have virtually every Sisterhood chapter represented."

This last statement was greeted with an enthusiastic round of applause. 

"This is due solely to your efforts. And the money we have raised via this competition has gone to fund many worthwhile projects in this country and abroad that promote the fundamental principles of female supremacy—a testimony to the Sisterhood's unceasing efforts to create a better world by elevating women into positions of power."

Even before she had finished her sentence, the crowd gave her another thunderous reception.

"And now it is my great pleasure to present to you a woman of great vision and fortitude. A woman who faithfully, and with great dedication, has stood at the helm of our organization for the past eighteen years, guiding us with a firm and resolute hand into the future. A woman who has been a sister to me in more ways than one, my friend...Sister Lenore Marceau."

By the time my aunt was halfway through her closing speech, the audience abruptly rose from their seats and began to clap and cheer wildly. As I stood there clapping along with them, I couldn't help but feel the tremendous outpouring of affection they were showing for my celebrated mentor. But as I looked toward my cousin's area, I was surprised to see that she and her entire group had remained seated, their hands by their sides. And as my eyes further scanned the amphitheatre, I noticed many other women who had refused to applaud their Sisterhood leader. They simply sat there in their seats looking sullen—an unmistakable sign of their displeasure with her rule.

If Lenore noticed these recalcitrant members, she did not seem to be bothered by them. She rose from her seat smiling broadly, looking every bit like a leader of women. As she crossed the platform to the dais she shook hands with my aunt and waved to the crowd. Once my aunt had taken her seat, Lenore motioned for the audience to sit down.

"Thirty-seven countries!" she exclaimed. "Can you believe that?"

A great cheer arose from the crowd. She waited for this sudden burst of excitement to die down before continuing, but I could tell she was very hyped up and wanted the crowd to share in her enthusiasm.

"I know all of you are biting at the bit and want to get on with the contest, so I promise I won't keep you long. Since the days of our illustrious founder, Yvette Anjou, we of the Sisterhood have worked diligently to create a better world, not only for ourselves, but for all of humankind. Because the reins of power have, for the most part, always been in the hands of men, we have had to work covertly, and with great vigilance, in order to accomplish our goals. Many of our Sisters have been persecuted over the centuries and many have suffered humiliation, degradation, and even death at the hands of the male supremacists and their institutions of war and aggression. And why? Because they sought out the peaceful solution: a means of putting an end to war by learning how to compromise and communicate. But even though the solution was shown to them, the male warmongers would have none of it. And so the world went on its bloody way. Sister Yvette Anjou understood that the only way to ensure peace and happiness in this world was to abolish all forms of discord among people. But such a goal could never be achieved while men were in power, and little could be done to change that—until now."

Lenore paused a moment to take a drink of water. She looked cautiously out at the audience from behind the podium, gauging their reactions to her speech. I know they must have been just as curious as I was to learn what she meant by "until now." The low murmurs continued until she put down her glass and resumed.

"Yes," she said. "Until now. We have, dear Sisters, operatives in almost every country throughout the world. These are either official Sisterhood chapters or organizations of some sort operating under, and subject to, our ruling body. And although we are still forced to function behind the scenes, so to speak, a movement is underway to place our operatives in key positions of power. I cannot divulge the manner in which this is going to be accomplished because of security reasons. But rest assured that a fundamental transition of power is now taking place even as we speak. And these positions of power will be held by our operatives, their associates, and men who have been sympathetic to the cause of female supremacy and who actively support our agenda. We have finally reached a point in our history, dear Sisters, where we will no longer have to bend our knee to some archaic patriarchal system that has never worked in the past, doesn't work now, or ever will. The dawn of a new age is upon us, and it will all happen without one person being killed or tortured or imprisoned. This is the task I have taken upon myself—to foster a new world government based upon the age-old Sisterhood ideals of compassion, communication, and courage. And it is a task that I shall soon pass on to my chosen successor."

She looked up from the podium, allowing her eyes to wander around the room for a few moments before finally resting upon me. The audience applauded enthusiastically, and although I saw my teammates smile and speak approvingly of what they had just heard, I felt alone and exposed under the influence of her stare, hoping that she would look away, knowing intuitively that her next words, although spoken to the crowd, were meant for me.

"Soon I shall be forced to pass the gauntlet to the one I deem worthy to succeed me. She, and those who follow her, will be charged with the highest imperative—to ensure that the new world order we create will thrive and expand under their diligent care. It will require the highest level of commitment and the most fervent devotion. For to shirk this sacred duty would mean the destruction of all that we have worked for, and it would mark the end of the Sisterhood. To her I assign this responsibility. May she prove to be as worthy as I believe her to be."

Not once during her speech did Lenore take her eyes off me. Not only was it disconcerting for me to be the subject of her scrutiny, but I also began to feel many other eyes upon me, some friendly, some not. Officially, she had made no statement announcing her choice of successor, but my aunt, Angelique, and many others were aware that she had chosen me to take her place. And now I felt the full brunt of that decision, mirrored in the motley display of faces surrounding me. As the cheers and applause rose to a deafening pitch, I heard Lenore scream one last thing into the microphone.

"Life is short. Enjoy the moment. Audaces fortuna iuvat!"

And with those words she left the stage, followed by my aunt and the other women.

"Well," Charlotte said to me, clapping loudly. "What do you think of that?"

"I feel like I've just been handed an ultimatum."

She shook her head. "You have."

A voice came over the loudspeaker just then instructing the first of the ten teams to assemble by their respective lanes. These teams were led, in an orderly fashion, by a group of acolytes who seemed intent on making the procedure as quick and painless as possible. As the delegations wound their way down toward the area behind the podium, I could see Lenore and my aunt conferring with the three judges. Meanwhile, the camera crews that were waiting behind the judges' booth were given the signal by my aunt to begin filming. Things were moving quickly.

What had served as a white backdrop behind the podium now became an immense projection screen upon which the images of the contending teams were displayed. Although I could see the action well enough without looking at the screen, the people in the back rows shouted their appreciation at being able to see what was partially obscured by distance and angle of view.

Like a well-oiled drill team, the acolytes ordered each masturbatrix and her champion to take their place at their designated spots. In a relatively short time all the contestants were lined up and ready, the seven-foot-tall man from Nigeria being the first to go. His trainer was a woman no older than me—a proud, fierce-looking creature who looked like she could have been his cousin. She stood about six feet in height, slim but muscular, and with long, wavy brown hair that extended all the way down to her waist. If she hadn't been dressed in a skirt and blouse, I could have easily envisioned her in the garb of a huntress.

She rubbed her hands together briskly and then nodded to the judges that she was ready to begin. Without any further ceremony, the acolyte told her to start masturbating her champion. Immediately, her hands fell about his penis, teasing, prodding, and pulling on his cock and balls with light, almost butterfly-like strokes to get him quickly erect. She knew, as did all the contestants, that she had only five minutes in which to make her champion achieve orgasm. If he failed to ejaculate, the team would be disqualified.

With her teammates cheering her on, the masturbatrix grabbed the long, thin shaft of her champion and started to initiate a series of rapid short strokes with alternating long pulls. This technique seemed to work well, for within less than a minute he was rock hard and jutting out a good ten inches or more. Now she began to work on him in earnest.

Gripping the base of his shaft with her left hand, she pulled on him with hard upward motions that reminded me of someone milking a cow. She halted when she reached the tip of his prick and removed her hand for a split second before returning it to the base, where once again she repeated the same movements. The man stood motionless, his eyes closed, and his body gently rocking from left to right as she pumped him furiously. On the far wall above the lanes, a large LCD counted down the time in minutes and seconds. There were only three minutes left to go. 

"Come on, Latifah!" one of the team members shouted. "Come on Tahir!"

More words of encouragement followed from Latifah's team as she ran her hand up and down her champion's slender pole with ever more insistent motions. Another minute went by and I laughed as I watched Tahir's beautiful, black ass cheeks draw together tightly, signaling the onset of orgasm. The cameras moved in for a close up shot as his slick, turgid penis, and the lovely hand milking it, filled up the screen in front of us. The big, black prick was ready to discharge its sticky load of sperm.

The next thing I knew, the camera suddenly went out of focus, as the object it had caught in its lens was wrenched from view, leaving only a blurred image of someone's hand. A loud sneeze followed and then I saw Latifah forcefully drop her head down, the hand she had been using to masturbate Tahir now covering her mouth. There was a loud, universal exclamation of disappointment from her team members as their eyes shot skyward, following a murky trail of white as it sailed over Tahir's head and toward the judges. Latifah lifted her head seconds later, her horrified expression matched by the look of all those around her, including Tahir.

"That way! That way!" one of Latifah's teammates screamed, pointing toward the distance marker.

Her hand once again became a forceful pumping machine as she tried valiantly to produce a similar cumshot. But it was too late. The second ejaculation only traveled half the distance of the first, which itself was not even ten feet. Disgusted by her failed attempt, she let go of the still erupting prick, which shot out several more weak spurts before rapidly subsiding, and ran out of the room in a burst of anger.

"What a way to lose!" Zula remarked.

"She was kind of snotty anyway," Janet said, laughing at her own unintended pun.

Nigeria was out—and all because of an untimely sneeze.

What followed next was a succession of lackluster performances that if they had not been so eminently amusing in themselves, would have cast great shame upon both trainer and champion. One of these pitiful, but amusing, showcases was put on by a tall German who, apparently unaccustomed to being filmed by a large contingent of women holding cameras, creamed into his trainer's hand after only a few strokes. This brought on a huge roar of laughter from the crowd and earned the champion an energetic round of verbal abuse from his masturbatrix. 

Other countries like Poland, Australia, Russia, and Canada, despite the fact that they were chosen favorites, also failed to qualify. Either the ten-foot mark was not reached or the five-minute time limit came and went without ejaculation. Of the final four remaining countries chosen to compete in the first round, only one—Greece—was victorious: its champion sending a creamy jet of semen hurtling into the 12-foot zone as a result of a ferocious handjob performed with remarkable skill by his masturbatrix. 

Many more countries were weeded out as a result of this process of elimination. The delegation from Spain nearly killed their champion when he—at the very last second before ejaculation, and in defiance of the rules—performed what is technically referred to as a "lower-body thrust," a move in which the hips are thrust forward robustly to add force to the ejaculation. It took no less than a dozen acolytes to pull the enraged women off their terrified champion. 

The champion from Uruguay also had his problems. Just as the first spurt of cum erupted from his prick, his hand reached down to scratch his itchy balls and instead of the sperm shooting outward, it flew up and hit his chin and then ricocheted off the tip of his nose, causing his masturbatrix to give him a spanking right there and then. The crowd howled.

The second group of ten contestants produced no winners whatsoever. But the third group faired a little better. After the first few contestants failed to qualify, the pygmy champion from the Andaman Islands made fools of the previous contenders by showing them what a four-foot, ten-inch man could achieve. Entrusting his cock and extremely oversized balls to the capable ministrations of his masturbatrix—a beautiful, young pygmy woman who stood only a few inches shorter than himself—he became erect in no less than thirty seconds, and a minute later sent his first in a series of ten cumshots careening over the fifteen foot marker with ease. The entire Andamanese team jumped up and down with joy at their champion's remarkable ejaculation, and the audience, too, went wild.

"It's those little guys with the low-hanging balls that you have to watch out for," Janet noted, wryly. 

Both Italy and China succeeded in qualifying, with the Italian champion's cumshot reaching a distance of fourteen and a half feet and the Chinese champion hitting the thirteen-foot mark. Now it was time for the final group to compete. 

At a signal from the acolytes, my team members and I rose from our seats and followed the Brazilian team toward the lanes. My cousin and her group took up the rear of the procession. In a very short time each team was positioned at their respective lanes. Brazil was to go first, followed in order by my team, Syria, Iceland, Romania, New Zealand, and lastly, France. Once the judges determined that everything was in order, they gave us the signal to begin.

It took the Brazilian champion just under four minutes to produce a fabulous ejaculation; one so powerful that it impacted with the red, plastic carpet just before reaching the fifteen-foot marker. His masturbatrix patted him gently on the ass in appreciation as their team shouted praise for her and his achievement. Now it was our turn.

"You know what you have to do," I said to Craig, as I began to apply the lubricant to my hands.

"I'm already halfway there," he chuckled, as he looked down at his prick.

He was already semi-erect.

"Oh, that's a good sign!" Felicia cooed. "Shoot it baby!"

"Stand up straight and don't flinch," Joanna instructed him.

Craig had his legs already positioned inside the rubber indents and I now did the same. Encircling my left arm around his waist for support, I grabbed his penis firmly with the fingers of my right hand at the base of his now hardening shaft. I informed the judges that I was ready and the acolyte gave the word to begin.

As I began to stroke Craig I noticed that Angelique had managed to insinuate herself amongst the front row of spectators to my right. I saw her sneering face from the corner of my eye, but I refused to look directly at her. I knew that this was what she had hoped I would do in order to break my concentration, but I ignored her and focused on the job at hand.

It took about a minute for Craig to get fully erect. The women around me spoke appreciatively about the massive twelve and three-quarter-inch monster penis I was now stroking with all my might. My hands seemed to glide effortlessly over the smooth but taut distance from base to tip and I dug my fingers into his ass cheeks to give myself greater support. However, the massive length and girth of his cock eventually began to tire my tiny hands as we approached the three-minute mark. 

"Look at those balls getting all nice and tight!" Janet exclaimed.

"Come on, Holly!" Joanna urged. "Bring him off! You can do it!"

Under normal circumstances I could have varied my grip upon him, and employed inconsistent tempos to regulate his performance, thus preventing my fingers from cramping. As it was, the tryout rules forbade use of any of these devices and therefore my grip slackened a bit. I knew Craig loved a speedy handjob but this was simply not possible now. Instead, I did the next best thing. I gripped his cock just under the glans with thumb and forefinger and used rapid motions to bring him off. When I heard him groan moments later, I knew I had done the right thing.

It was now four minutes into the handjob and I was getting anxious. Judging by Craig's reactions it seemed my ploy had proved effective, but when another thirty seconds elapsed without an ejaculation, my teammates started to panic. 

"Do it, Craig!" Zula screamed. "Shoot that fucking cum!"

The others then joined in, shouting at him to release his load of jism. Craig, however, remained unperturbed by all the excitement going on around us. Even when Angelique ungraciously hurled a few vulgar remarks at him, he paid them no mind; his eyes remained focused on the large red marker thirty feet away.

"Ten seconds!" the acolyte shouted.

Oh, my God! I thought to myself. We're going to lose this thing!

I fingered him frantically then, teasing the tiny bit of flesh just under the glans where I knew he was most sensitive.

"Craig!" I exclaimed, looking up into his face.

He made no response. To me it seemed as if he were far away somewhere, his face a study in concentration.

"Eight...seven..." the acolyte continued.

Charlotte and Joanna were holding hands as if in prayer. Time was slipping away. And then I saw a slight smile come across Craig's face. 

What the hell are you smiling about? I thought, as I milked him mercilessly.

"Four, three..." 

From somewhere behind me I heard a high-pitched squeal. It was Angelique. Her scornful laugh like a slap across my face.

"No!" I screamed aloud, as my tired hands stroked him in an ever-slower rhythm, my hopes for victory as deflated as I knew his prick soon would be.

And then, suddenly, I felt his penis convulse in my slowly stroking hand. From its tip a thick jet of pearly semen shot out with tremendous speed in an ever-increasing trajectory that caught everyone off-guard. And as it flew skyward, an exclamation of awe issued from the crowd, as if they could not believe what they were seeing. For even though my hand was now milking out rope after rope of sperm, the first jet was still in flight, coasting easily over the twenty-foot marker and landing, finally, a few inches beyond it. Before I knew it, my teammates were hugging both Craig and I in a wild frenzy.

"Awesome!" Felicia screeched. "Fucking awesome!"

The acolyte standing nearby confirmed the distance—twenty feet, two inches. It was indeed an incredible cumshot, and everyone, including Craig himself, had been amazed by it.

"I don't know what you did," he said to me. "But whatever it was, you'd better do it during the competition."

"You scared the shit out of me," I replied, somewhat upset at his cavalier attitude. "What took you so long?"

"I've never been under this kind of pressure before. I had to make some mental adjustments."

"Another few seconds and we would have been disqualified."

"I know. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again."

He looked so hurt that I couldn't stay mad at him.

"I'm sorry too," I said. "How could I be angry with a guy who just shot his load halfway across the room? Look, here they come."

The unprecedented feat had attracted the attention of the judges, who along with Lenore, my aunt, and many others, now went to inspect the carpet in person to confirm with their own eyes that Craig's cum had indeed traveled as far as the acolyte had claimed. One of the judges, an attractive brunette who now found herself on hands and knees in front of the twenty-foot marker, almost stuck her face in the whitish puddle as she tried to confirm with her eyes what her brain told her was highly improbable.

"Twenty feet, two inches," she confirmed with a look of disbelief.

Lenore gave Craig a pat on the back. "That was a splendid cumshot," she observed. "You came in just under the wire."

"Thank you, ma'm," Craig replied. "But it was Holly's hand work that did the trick."

"Credit must go to the both of you," my aunt noted. "Congratulations."

Angelique was standing only a few feet away when her mother spoke these words, and although she seemed annoyed at our victory, she was not as displeased as I thought she might have been. She gave me a weak smile and then turned away and returned to her team. The competition now resumed.

Syria, Iceland, Romania, and New Zealand all failed to qualify. Syria and Romania did not reach the minimum distance required and Iceland surpassed the five-minute time limitation. In New Zealand's case, it was discovered that the champion had a hitherto unknown criminal background. It seemed that during an argument between the champion and one of the team members he was romantically involved with, it was revealed in a moment of anger that he had served time in prison on felony charges. The judges spent over a half hour confirming these allegations and once it was proven that he had indeed been convicted of a felony, he and his team were instantly dismissed.

And then it was France's turn.

Jacques LaSalle seemed uncomfortable in his role as champion, which was odd considering that he had won the previous year. He obeyed Angelique's directives and appeared confident and self-possessed, but there was no enthusiasm in his actions. It seemed as if all the energy had been sapped out of him, and all that was left was a facsimile of the once exuberant and virile man I had met weeks earlier tending the vineyards. At one point he caught me looking at him, and he returned my gaze and smiled briefly before bowing his head. Something in his gesture made me feel sorry for him.

Because the other contestants were now crowding around the French team, I told my group to return to our seats where we could watch the final round on the large projection screen. As we took our former seats, a close up of Angelique's face, all grim and determined, appeared on the white backdrop. After speaking a few words to Jacques, she then informed the judges that she was ready to begin. The acolyte then nodded for her to start and her hand quickly enveloped her champion's limp tool.

I could have sworn that the handsome Frenchman wasn't enjoying her insistent pulling very much, yet his prick seemed to have a mind of its own and swelled to its full girth in less than a minute. Angelique's style was very rough and sloppy, so sloppy in fact that several times her hand completely flew right off his cock, making him wince. Despite this, Jacques' prick responded admirably, and another minute later he was groaning aloud, begging for release.

Angelique never looked at him; never said a word. In fact, none of her teammates cheered her or him on either, which I, and nearly everyone else, thought strange. When another minute went by, her boisterous handjob, so carelessly and savagely applied, finally paid off. As she pulled up on him, his cock erupted, sending a massive wad of hot cream flying out across the room. The sperm jet flew over the ten-foot marker and continued on until it landed precisely at the eighteen-foot zone. It was the second best cumshot of the day, but Angelique took it all in stride. I expected her to be dismayed after coming in second to my team, but she seemed to be happy enough. Another apparent enigma I couldn't account for.

The qualifying rounds were now over and seven teams would now move on to the championship contest that would determine the ultimate winner. As the teams and audience dispersed, an announcement was made over the loudspeaker reminding people that dinner would soon be served on the lawn of the west wing. 

Although my aunt had spared no expense in catering the affair, it surprised me that a great many people decided to remain in the Masturbatorium after the qualifying rounds had ended. Angelique and her teammates were the first to leave for their training rooms, hardly acknowledging anyone in their haste to depart. Of all the teams, only my own and Italy's attended the dinner party. The rest of them either refused to leave the Masturbatorium or exited en masse to their waiting vehicles at the south entrance. It occurred to me that many of them simply wanted to continue training or go home and rest rather than socialize. I knew this would not go down well with my aunt Phoebe. As it was, my suspicions were confirmed when she approached me on the lawn shortly thereafter looking markedly perturbed.

"You'd think I was offering these people dog food by the way they're avoiding my party. Remind in the future me to spare myself the expense."

"I think they'd rather train, aunt Phoebe."

"Oh, I don't care how much they train. But at least show some courtesy."

"They're more concerned with winning than eating."

My aunt shook her head in dismay. "Well, I think it's disrespectful to not at least show your face. I'm going to say something to Lenore about it."

Before I had a chance to make a reply, a strange woman approached my aunt and led her away by the arm. 

My aunt had a point. It was indeed rude for the teams to have not made a least some small attempt to socialize—if only for a short time. She had gone to great trouble and expense to host the contest and their acknowledgment of her efforts would have gone a long way in making her feel appreciated. Thankfully, most of the audience did stay, and I judged that there must have been no fewer than two hundred people in attendance—most of who sat at tables scattered across the lawn.

A huge tent has been set up in the middle of the front lawn from which food was dispensed by a small contingent of waiters. All kinds of meat and fish were available, as were an assortment of fresh fruits, baked goods, and fine chilled wines. I had made conversation with several people before settling down on my lounge chair to enjoy a fruit platter when Craig came to mind. I missed him terribly, but I insisted that he go home and rest for the intense training sessions that were to begin tomorrow morning. I knew that he had a tendency to push himself too hard, often neglecting sleep, to accomplish whatever he set out to do. But sleep was essential if he were to have any chance at winning the contest. He had agreed with my decision, but I knew he was far from happy about it.

A short while later it was announced that some Sisterhood members had just arrived from America. A slew of women rushed to the font gate to greet the visitors, chatting excitedly. Suddenly my aunt came rushing past me, her camera in hand. 

"It's Mary Kate and Ashley!" she said out of breath. "And Drew...and...oh my God! Teri!" 

In a matter of moments she had disappeared into the waiting crowd.

I was not very much enamored of those people the world had christened "celebrities". And my aunt, for the most part, wasn't either. But there were exceptions when it came to certain stars. And the handful of women who were at this very moment making their way across the front lawn were part of that select few: beautiful, intelligent, women possessed of a particular genuineness and warmth that separated them from the common form of popular entertainers. As the exultant nucleus of women advanced toward the huge tent, I laid back in my lounge chair, amused by the enormous amount of attention paid to these famous Sisters. I was hoping that once the commotion had subsided a bit, I would try and speak to some of them—especially Ashley, whom I greatly admired. She was my own age and had already accomplished great things, especially in the realm of humanitarianism. It seemed to me that there was nothing either her—or her sister—could not accomplish.

The sound of a chair being moved toward me got my attention. It was Lenore. 

"I would like to speak with you for a moment," she said smiling faintly.

She took her seat next to me and carefully adjusted her hair. I wondered why she had chosen this moment to strike up a conversation, especially with the arrival of our famous guests.

"You and I are not easily impressed are we?" she began, as the entourage found its way under the tent.

"I'm impressed by a person's character, not by their status."

"As well you should," she readily agreed. "As we all should."

Just then a huge roar of laughter emitted from the crowd and from the center of the group appeared Ashley, looking radiant in her lovely white dress and long blonde hair. One of the more zealous Sisters had taken it upon herself to bestow the twin with a protracted hug and kiss, which sent the surprised girl looking for relief.

"She is so beautiful," I said as I watched her laughingly fend off the excited fan.

"Ashley?" Lenore asked, following my gaze. "Yes, she is. She is also very smart and has a heart as big as the ocean. Mary Kate too. Both exemplary people. You will find them valuable allies once I am gone."

I turned my attention fully upon her, studying her face. "But that won't be for a long time yet."

"Not as long as you may think."

There was a certain finality in her voice that I found disarming.

"What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath and let her gaze sweep over the crowd, who were still congealed in one spot under the tent with the celebrities. Lenore and I seemed to be the only two people who had seemed to avoid getting all caught up in the commotion.

"I'll come straight to the point, Holly. And you will forgive me if I'm blunt. But the truth is, I can no longer continue as leader of the Sisterhood. I am therefore effectively resigning my position as soon as your aunt Phoebe has been installed as interim leader. Her official indoctrination ceremony takes place in a few weeks. It's just a formality, but I need someone I can trust to handle things until you are ready to take over."

This news hit me like a ton of bricks. I had no idea that she was going to hand over the leadership to me so soon. I knew it was coming in due time, but I was not prepared for it to be dumped in my lap, as it were, without any warning whatsoever. For a moment I simply sat there looking at her dumbly, not knowing what to say.

"I don't understand," I finally blurted out. "Why are you resigning?"

"I'm getting on in years, and I just don't have the energy anymore. And I do have plans for my life beyond the Sisterhood."

I thought this strange considering that she had spent the better part of her life in service to the Sisterhood. 

"You see, Holly," she continued, "a rift has been forming in the Sisterhood for some time now. And Angelique is in the center of it. You know this. She will soon make her bid for power, and the Sisterhood will need a leader with youth and energy—someone from the outside who has not been corrupted by Sisterhood politics—to fight her. That person is you."

For the longest time I had never understood why Lenore had chosen me to be her successor, given so many other competent women who were available to take on the job. But now I was beginning to understand. As a relative outsider, I was immune from the petty associations that must inevitably develop over time within such an organization as the Sisterhood. I was not a member of any particular clique, nor was I partial to any subgroup within the organization. I was literally an "unblemished" member who, because of my kinship with my aunt and mentorship by Lenore, was virtually beyond reproach. In this type of "sacrosanct" status I could lead the Sisterhood with a great degree of fairness and impartiality, as I had no allegiance to anything except the Sisterhood itself.

"I told you I would accept the responsibility," I reminded her. "But this is all happening too fast. I need time to make arrangements back home."

"That is why I am handing over power to your aunt. So that you can put your affairs in order. But you can't wait too long. It is imperative that you assume the reigns of power as soon as possible. As much as I love Phoebe, Angelique is still her child."

"Do you think my aunt would betray you?"

"No. The poor woman knows by now that her daughter must never become leader of the Sisterhood, but she may use her power to show favoritism toward Angelique. After all, it's not in any mother's nature to harm their own child. Certainly not in Phoebe's case anyway."

"You're putting her in a very difficult position."

Lenore chuckled softly. "She knows that. But I have the utmost faith in her, as I do you."

She rose from her chair and looked toward the mass of people who were now dispersing out over the lawn, their preoccupation with the stars now somewhat abated.

"One thing more," she said leaning over me. "Your aunt loves you and would never hurt you. But in the event that she cannot be with you, for whatever reason, I have given you a great and powerful ally to assist you."

"Charlotte," I said, almost without thinking.

Lenore gave me a knowing smile. "She is a visionary like us. And she has a deep and abiding dislike for Angelique. That's a plus in my book."

"Mine too," I said. "And I'm glad to have her on my side. But I am going to miss you very much."

Lenore laughed aloud and lowered her hand to gently touch my face. "Oh, I'll be around. Don't think I'm just going to vanish into thin air. I'm still a Sister and I have many powerful friends. And you will need all of them before long."

She was implying, of course, that I was in for a bitter struggle. But despite the air of foreboding I was feeling toward the imminent war with Angelique, her words brought me great reassurance. 

"Just remember," she said, as she leaned over me and planted a gentle kiss on my head. "You are never alone."

With that she turned her back on me and headed toward the direction of the tent.

My aunt was now personally attending to the needs of the small group of celebrities, and although I wanted to be sociable, I was somewhat averse to crowds and the inevitable feeling of claustrophobia that developed from being enclosed within a wall of people—especially overeager women demanding attention from their idols. I decided I would wait a little longer until their fascination with the stars wore off and then I would say hello.

I had met all these celebrities before, so the novelty of merely being in their presence had long since worn off. The Sisters who had not been as fortunate as I gushed and deferred to the celebrities repeatedly, which made me laugh aloud. Some of these Sisters, who had a reputation for being anal-retentive, control freaks, acted like little giggling schoolgirls in the presence of these luminaries. They beamed and blushed just to be near the exalted ones, and some of the more persevering of the group had to be told to back off by my aunt Phoebe and Lenore when it became obvious that such obsequious attention was beginning to annoy the stars.

Teri and Drew, with their many years of experience in handling crowds of fans, withstood the onslaught of devotion admirably; Ashley and Mary Kate, less well. The twin sisters, who were now twenty-one years of age and whom had shed their little girl shyness long ago, were adept at handling themselves perfectly well at orchestrated events where they could address their fans either from a respectable distance or from the safety of a protected environment. But having grown women insinuating themselves upon you in pell-mell fashion was another matter. Ultimately, my aunt demanded that the stars be left in peace to eat and drink and, although disappointed, the devotees soon dispersed.

As the women found their ways to their tables, I noticed a middle-aged man and woman enter the yard from the west entrance, escorted by one of the household servants. The woman was attractive, tall, and dignified; her short black hair streaked with gray. She wore a simple pastel-blue dress and matching shoes. In her hands was a small, black valise. The man was slightly taller than his companion and looked younger than she did. His facial features were sharp but not harsh, and I though he appeared rather handsome. He wore a three-piece, gray business suit but was carrying the jacket over his shoulders, ostensibly because of the heat, which was now hovering near eighty degrees. As soon as my aunt caught sight of them she called them over toward the table where she and Lenore were sitting.

"Oh, here they are!" my aunt exclaimed as she rose from her seat to greet the handsome pair. "Did you encounter traffic? I know you must have. Please sit down with us and have something to drink."

The man and woman exchanged cordial greetings with my aunt and Lenore and were soon engaged in an animated conversation. I could not make out what they were saying from where I was sitting, but I heard shrieks of delight emanate from that direction every so often, which of course drew everyone's attention. Estelle and Justine, who were just now making their way onto the lawn, headed straight for my aunt's table and were quickly drawn into the conversation. Soon the entire table was in an uproar, which succeeded in piquing everyone's curiosity. 

"Okay, Phoebe, now don't be rude!" Felicia exclaimed from a few tables away. "Tell us who your guests are!"

"I was coming to that!" my aunt replied good-naturedly. "Goodness, you are all so impatient!"

My aunt rose from her seat and spoke to the waiting crowd.

"Everyone," she began, "this is my old friend Julia Edgewater and her husband John. Julia is an expert in the art and science of tantric sex. She has come here today at my request to give us all a demonstration of her unique methods. I'm sure you will not want to miss this, right ladies?"

Her question was answered with a round of applause and cheers.

"I thought so. We are going to prepare for the entertainment to begin in about a half hour, so please stay where you are."

She sat down again and resumed her conversation with her guests.

I had heard the term "tantric" sex before, and knew only that it originated in India as a spontaneous and intimate form of lovemaking in which you learn to prolong the sex act through awareness and mediation. That this act was soon going to be demonstrated physically for all of us to see was something I was not going to miss.

"Hi Holly," I heard a sweet, lilting voice say to me.

I looked up into the beautiful face of Ashley, her head silhouetted by the radiant sun behind her.

"Oh, hi!" I responded, surprised to see her. "How are you? Have a seat! Please!"

She quickly drew up the nearest chair and sat beside me. She held a bottle of mineral water in her hands. 

I was happy to see her again. The last time we talked was several months earlier during the first tryouts for the "Long Shots" contest. Since then she had acquired a rich, golden tan, which made her large, gray-blue eyes appear even more stunning. She wore a pair of white tennis shorts and a white blouse. As she crossed her legs I noticed how great they looked.

"You look fantastic!" I said, meaning every word of it. "Mary Kate, too. You both look just...fantastic!"

She gave me a big smile. "So do you! I love your hair. It's so beautiful."

She took her right hand and ran her fingers slowly through my hair. "I'll bet this is your natural color," she said, admiringly.

"It is." I replied, a trifle amused.

"It's like running your fingers through milk chocolate!" she laughed.

"My mom is 42 now and her hair is the exact same color as mine. No gray at all."

"Amazing. It's so silky! I wish my hair were so soft."

She gave my hair one last caress and let her hand fall to her side.

"I think your hair looks great," I said.

"Thanks. I have to spend hours with it sometimes. I think I use too much conditioner."

I had a hard time agreeing with her. Her hair looked lustrous enough to me.

"Where's Mary Kate?"

"Oh, she'll be here in a minute. She wanted to get a few snacks for the show."

"Oh, that." I said, finding it hard to suppress a giggle.

"What's so funny?" she said, taking a sip of water.

"Do you know what tantric sex is?"

"Not really."

I gave her a brief rundown on the subject, informing her in the process that my own knowledge was somewhat limited.

"It sounds nice," she said. "Like taking a sex-ed class."

"You don't know my aunt Phoebe," I chuckled.

"Meaning what?"

For a moment she was silent, contemplating the import of my last words. Suddenly her face brightened.

"You're not telling me we're going to see something lewd are we?"

"Oh come on, Ashley," I chided her. "You were at the 'Long Shots' tryouts. You saw what went on there. Don't be so naïve!"

"I am not naïve," she replied with a sly grin. "The entire world likes to think I am—Mary Kate too. And I'm happy to keep it that way. But really, Holly, I am far from naïve."

"Well, then, I'm giving you fair warning. Anything is possible when my aunt puts on one of her shows."

Ashley smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."

A few moments later Mary Kate came over and joined us. She was a bit more outgoing than her sister but less insightful I thought. However, I liked her no less because of it. As we sat talking, I noticed that John Edgewater had disappeared into the cabana while his wife began removing some things from her valise. My aunt ordered the servants to place one of the banquet tables in front of where she was sitting and it was upon this table that Julia was now placing several unfamiliar objects.

"We will be ready to begin in a few minutes," my aunt told the crowd as the preparations were being made.

"Come on," Mary Kate said. "Let's move up close so we can see better."

The three of us picked up our chairs and walked over to my aunt's table. Teri and Drew were already there, seated next to Lenore and chatting away, oblivious to everything else. Soon, a large circle of women formed around my aunt and her guests, with a small pathway leading from the cabana left available for the return of Mr. Edgewater.

A few minutes later, Mr. Edgewater walked out of the cabana in a plain white terrycloth bathrobe. He strode confidently toward the banquet table where his wife was just then applying a thick coating of some white cream to her hands. They smiled at each other as he casually removed his robe and hoisted himself up onto the table. He had a magnificent body and the women showed their appreciation by serving up a chorus of cheers and catcalls.

"Nice ass," Mary-Kate laughed appreciatively without taking her eyes of his naked body. "What do you think, Ash?"

"Absolutely," Ashley replied, equally mesmerized.

"Now, now ladies," Julia shouted to the crowd. "Let's calm down, shall we? What you are going to witness today is the art of tantric sex: specifically, how to give your man the best orgasm of his life. This is achieved via an age-old tantric tradition that focuses upon particular hand manipulation of the man's genitals. If you are able to acquire this technique, then you will have any man groveling at your feet. Now, watch and learn."

Julia began by applying her cream-coated hands directly to John's flaccid penis. He made no sound as she rigorously rubbed the lubricant over his cock and balls, taking special care to always keep her hands working together in tandem, regardless of where she touched him.

"She works very fast," Mary Kate noted, as Julia's hands became a flurry of activity.

"Yes, but methodically," Ashley replied, her head cocked to one side, observing carefully.

I had to admit that Julia's technique was unlike anything I had ever witnessed before or since. Within the space of thirty seconds John's prick had become fully erect. 

The crowd cheered and complimented Julia on her obvious skill. I just sat there in silent admiration as I watched her caress and tug on the ten-inch specimen, pre-cum now already visible at the tip of the plum-like head.

"Okay," Julia began after standing back to admire her handiwork. "This penis has been denied orgasm for ten straight days, so you can imagine the amount of sperm awaiting release. Now, I advise you ladies not to come too close or you may get soaked. John tends to shoot very far when he ejaculates."
Despite this warning, no one moved an inch. 

"See here," she continued, as she pointed to the thin strip of skin that lay just underneath the glans. "This little piece of flesh is very sensitive. You must be careful not to stimulate it too much or it will become over-sensitized and the ejaculation will not be as forceful." 

"Why is that?" Drew asked, while casually pouring herself a drink.

"Well, because once it becomes over-stimulated, the man can feel nothing but discomfort, and the whole process will be interrupted."

Terry reacted like the proverbial know-it-all. "So, what you're saying is, don't screw around with the little piece of skin too much or the guy won't cum."

"That is correct," Julia said without looking at her. "You can go to the head of the class."

Terry seemed quite satisfied with herself and was about to say something else when John let out a loud moan.

"Now," Julia admonished her husband, "let's not lose our composure too soon. I have to show them everything."

With that she advised the crowd of curious onlookers to pay strict attention to her hand motions, as these were going to produce the amazing cumshot we were all expecting to see.

"What I am doing now is kneading his testicles to help force semen into as small a space as possible. It's like filling an already crowded room with more and more people until the room cannot contain one more person. Something has got to give."

Her hands flew up and down on his slick pole in the most graceful and practiced way, and every now and then she would gently caress his taught sac until I saw it actually grow in size before my eyes.

"We all know what's going to happen, don't we girls?" said Drew excitedly, as she tilted her head to one side to get a better view.

Felicia said something in Italian that none of us understood. But it wasn't hard to figure out her implication by the way Julia's hands were now working their magic on the massive shaft. It was almost as if her hands were moving too fast for the human eye to follow. 

My aunt and Lenore sat bemused, like two satisfied matrons, as they watched Julia perform her incredible handjob with assiduous skill. Lenore looked at me a few times to gauge my reaction to the performance. I could tell she was happy that Mary Kate and Ashley had befriended me, and that all of us were enjoying the show.

John's entire body now began to stiffen and his hands were clenched. With every upward stroke of Julia's hand, his mid-section rose off the table, humping her fist. Her hands were manipulating his entire genital area with the precision of a master craftsman. One second and her hand was pulling ferociously on the long, well-oiled stalk; the next, it was a fist that held the burgeoning head tightly in place as the other hand tickled and teased his full sac until she made him whimper for release.

Ashley stole a quick look at Mary Kate and both girls started to giggle. 

"I think it's so sexy when a guy creams," Mary Kate said to me in a soft voice.

"I love it too," I had to admit. "I hope he shoots a lot."

Ashley laughed aloud. "By the way she's jerking him off, I think you're going to get your wish, Holly."

I think she knew—I think we all knew—that John Edgewater was indeed on the edge. The white lubricant had long since vanished, and now, in it's place, was a torrent of seminal fluid that covered the entire length of his huge dick. Up and down, up and down, went Julia's incessantly stroking hands, showing him no respite, no chance for him to avoid the inevitable. 

"Make it a good one!" Terry screeched, turning herself completely forward to get a better view.

Julia's entire focus was now upon what she was doing and the immense pleasure she was giving her husband.

"See how this finger pushes up inside the anus," she began excitedly. "Massaging the prostate will help produce a very robust ejaculation."

"That's what we want to see Julia!" my aunt Phoebe laughed.

"And this hand must milk the shaft just like this, without ever letting go," she continued. "The constant tactile movement I am providing will help force as much sperm into the penis as possible. In this way, you will be able to control every aspect of the man's orgasm. This is what Tantric sex is all about—giving the recipient the greatest pleasure."

I could not believe how tirelessly she worked on him. She seemed to be possessed of a preternatural energy by the way her entire body—not just her hands—engaged itself in its lascivious task. One of her hands now held his penis at the base while the other hand milked the shaft with wild abandon. John screamed like a savage animal, and the collective heads of every woman in the audience bent forward, anxious to see the result of Julia's efforts.

To my surprise, the energized motions of Julia's hands suddenly came to an abrupt halt, and with her husband's tool now reacting with uncontrolled spasms, she stepped back a few feet to witness the effect of her labors. What we saw at that moment was nothing short of amazing.

The huge cock began jerking back and forth as if it had a mind of its own. With no hand to guide it, and with the intense onrush of sperm literally forcing the blood-engorged tool to succumb to its own inexorable will, the unruly penis danced around from side to side in a series of abrupt spasms.

For a few moments the crowd of women held their breath in expectation of witnessing something spectacular. And then I suddenly found myself rearing back upon my chair as everyone began shrieking with surprise and delight, their collective eyes tracing an imaginary arc through the sky that seemed to terminate in my vicinity.

With the sun directly in my view and being devoid of sunglasses, I did not see the first jet of sticky sperm launch itself from the tip of Mr. Edgewater's bobbing prick. Ashley had seen it, and shifted her petite body to one side as the creamy volley of hot spunk sailed a few feet above her head. All three of us reacted with surprise and laughter as the tail end of the trail of sperm made contact with Ashley's left shoulder, while the bulk of the load made impact with a woman sitting a few rows behind us. 

"He got you!" Mary Kate shrieked, as Ashley stared at the droplets of sperm that hung obscenely from her blouse. 

The women behind us were laughing uncontrollably when they saw Ashley's predicament, but they saved the most ridicule for the recipient of Mr. Edgewater's huge offering: a middle-aged Sister whose French salon coiffure was copiously bathed in the sticky wash.

"Get me a towel or something, for heaven's sake!" the victim screeched as she looked about for something to dry herself off.

A huge roar from the crowd suddenly diverted our attention, as the unattended prick began to release several bursts of semen one after another in quick succession. I literally counted seven distinct volleys, all very voluminous and shot a great distance—one rope actually flying over Julia's head to land on Drew's feet. 

Drew laughed aloud as she inspected her newly christened shoes. "They say it's good for the skin!" she remarked with a big smile.

Mary Kate and Ashley were beside themselves. I actually found their reactions even more entertaining than the wild cumshots themselves. As each new explosion of sperm shot out in whatever direction the pulsating and uncontrollable cock was aimed, the girl's eyes would follow it to see where it would land, responding with unbridled laughter as the creamy spurts made impact with their various targets. One particularly long and stringy shot of cum flew over Mr. Edgewater's head and landed on my aunt's table umbrella, causing her to jump out of her seat. She jokingly reached out her hand beyond the rim of the umbrella to see if it was raining, and this provoked fits of laughter from the twins.

During this spectacle, Julia remained quiet and calm, smiling placidly at the penis she had manipulated into such a series of stupendous ejaculations. It was a testimony to her skills that her husband's prick continued to cum for almost a minute, each ejaculation as powerful as the one before until, at last, the reservoir of sperm was drained dry. Accordingly, she received a thunderous round of applause.

"I never thought it possible that the tantric form of sex could produce such an amazing orgasm as we saw just now," my aunt Phoebe shouted as she attempted to quell the crowd. "Thank you, Julia. You were wonderful."

Julia seemed enormously pleased and thanked everyone for their kindness and attention. She and her husband walked toward the cabana amidst another round of applause and disappeared while Mr. Edgewater got dressed. They emerged a few minutes later and joined my aunt and Lenore at their table.

"Well," I said to Mary Kate and Ashley. "What did you think of that?"

"It was great!" Mary Kate replied, her face all aglow. "Do they have tantric sex for women too?"

"Of course," Ashley frowned. "Well, I hope so anyway."

"I'm sure they do," I said. "I just find it amusing that Julia didn't need drugs or any special prolonged treatment to make her husband cum like that. It's just a simple hand technique."

"I know," Ashley remarked. "But did you see how fast her hands were working on him? I don't think it's as simple as you think."

"Maybe not. But I would like to learn more about it."

"Me too," Mary Kate said with a twinkle in her eye.

As the party progressed into the night I began to feel tired and was forced to take my leave of the twins and the other guests. Tomorrow Craig's training would begin in earnest, and I needed to get my sleep. 

I was happy to learn that all the celebrities were going to be in town for a few weeks and would indeed attend the "Long Shots" contest the following Monday. It would be nice to break up the routine of training by spending time with Mary Kate and Ashley. I felt so comfortable with them. They were both unpretentious, kind, and had a wonderful sense of humor. And, as I drifted off to sleep, I was reminded of Lenore's high praise of the twins, and was grateful for their friendship.

11:29 Gepost door Pé de Cenoura | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

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