Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 09

Craig Lundquist was finding it difficult to go to sleep. He wasn't thinking about the "Long Shots" training he was about to undergo the next morning and all that it entailed. Nor was he thinking so much about his tremendous attraction for Holly McKenzie, although he did try, but in vain, to dispel the images crowding his troubled mind with thoughts of her. What was bothering him was the inexplicable behavior of his erstwhile friend, Barney Cole.

Although Barney was almost 15 years older than Craig, the two men had forged an almost instant friendship. Craig looked up to Barney as a sort of ad hoc mentor and Barney thought of Craig as just one hell of a nice kid—someone who reminded him of the kind of man he was at a younger age. They found that they had much in common, despite the age gap, and they wound up spending an inordinate amount of time together as best friends are wont to do. So when Barney had called that night a few weeks ago and told Craig he was going back home to Canada, and Craig having received no satisfactory explanation for Barney's quick and mysterious departure, the blonde boy was dumbfounded. Enigmas were something that Craig could never abide. And this one had hit too close to home.

Craig recalled the wild sexual adventures he and Barney were made to undergo back in Stockholm under the expert guidance of the beautiful Dr. Swensen and her equally beautiful colleague, Dr. Hellstrom. He remembered how Barney helped break the ice between him and Dr. Swensen's assistant, Cheryl. And how Barney acted as best man during his wedding to the girl who eventually left him after only a few months because she realized that she really didn't love him. Even after she left him, Barney was still there—a friend as constant as the Northern Star.

In time he and Barney decided to join a popular men's strip show revue and made a fairly decent living singing and dancing in the nude for crowds of women who would enthusiastically cheer them four or five nights a week at various venues in and around Stockholm. Not only were he and Barney paid well, but both men were the lucky recipients of sexual favors lavished upon them by the clubs' female clientele. It was the kind of life that most men only dream of. But when Dr. Swensen offered to take both men with her on her visit to Paris, Craig and Barney couldn't refuse. The good doctor had made the trip a gift to both men, in gratitude for all the help they had given her during the infamous "EJAX-472" experiments, and they both were looking forward to the journey abroad.

Now, the mystery surrounding his friend's hasty exit from the country preyed upon his mind. It was unlike Barney to be so disingenuous. He wondered if it was something he had said or did that drove the handsome black man away. But what? Craig and Barney had always spoken their minds plainly and openly, never holding back anything that might get in the way of their mutual understanding. It simply made no sense. And so he could not sleep.

He looked at the clock on his night table. It was almost midnight. In seven hours he would have to get up and get ready for his first day of training at the Masturbatorium. He simply had to get to sleep or he would be useless. He tried to put thoughts of Barney out of his head. He would force himself to think of something else—anything else but his friend's unexplained desertion. Presently he found himself recalling his recent past, just a few years before he had become involved in the EJAX-472 experiment. He laughed into his pillow when his mind recalled the two attractive, middle-aged women who first introduced him to the exuberant joy and privilege of being naked in the presence a dominant, clothed woman.

They were both good friends and nurses by trade. Irene Terry was the one that had introduced him to the term "milking," a process by which she eventually trained him in such a refined and methodical manner that his conception of fulfilling sex was to be forced onto his hands and knees and milked like a cow. Craig had been cutting her lawn one hot July afternoon just days after his eighteenth birthday and she had been sunning herself on a lounge chair watching his every move. Her husband was in South America on business and she was desperately randy—a state her taciturn spouse had been failing to recognize for some years. The painfully handsome young man in his cut-off jeans, who looked every inch a god, was just too tempting a treat for the 40-year-old vixen to disregard.

Craig remembered how she had blatantly seduced him right there in her kitchen, forcing him up on the kitchen counter where she administered a blistering blow job that made his young prick dance for joy. When he came, she had kept her lips tightly sealed around the tip of his shaft while he pumped her mouth full of hot, creamy spunk. He had never received such a blowjob before or since. But it was the milkings that soon came to dominate his sexual life. And it was during these "sessions" that he learned how to surrender himself to a woman and abide by her will.

Irene Terry was of average height and had a voluptuous figure, although she was not nearly as busty as her friend Kimberly Barber. She was pretty, but not beautiful. Most of the time she liked to wear her luxuriant brown hair in a ponytail because it made her look younger. It was at her house that the milkings, outdoor nude sunbathing, and other fun things happened to Craig during that splendid summer he spent working for her. Irene's younger sister, Kelly, who was in her late thirties, was a divorced woman with two young children, and often dropped by her sister's house while her kids were at school to enjoy swimming in the backyard pool. It wasn't long before she, too, became enamored of Craig, and took part, along with her sister, in his nascent sexual education. Craig laughed aloud when he recalled the sisters telling him that they had learned the "art of milking" from watching their mother milk their father on top of the bed way back when they were still both in college. This thought amused him greatly.

Kimberly was a few years older than Irene. She was tall and slim, and had enormous breasts. Her long black hair matched her dark eyes, and gave her a very striking appearance. Her husband had died a few years earlier, leaving her with a small fortune but no children. She was justifiably proud of her legs, which she took every opportunity to display. Like Irene, she too was a very skilled milker, and could make Craig moan uncontrollably with her talented hands. It was she who first shaved his cock and balls, telling him that it would add to his pleasure when they masturbated him.

The fact that she and Irene were older and more mature than he was had added greatly to the eroticism of their sexual encounters. Before the summer was over, he had experienced no fewer than a hundred separate milking sessions, and he eventually came to long for the feeling of their hands on his genitals. Their intimate handling and teasing of his cock and balls was performed with such skill and grace that he soon became a slave to their will, doing almost anything they asked of him with humble submission.

What Craig enjoyed most about these milking sessions, beyond the actual physical contact, was that both women enjoyed talking dirty to him. As they stroked his cock they would frequently say something wickedly erotic to him or to each other. Things like, "Oh, Irene! Look at how big you've made his cock get!" Or, "That's the way Craig! Yes, baby, keep shoving that big dick back and forth in my hands. I want you to shoot that hot cream all over my fingers!" And a million other myriad phrases designed to increase the eroticism of his masturbatory experience. Craig loved all the sexy, lewd, and suggestive comments that they would shower upon him. He reveled in the power these women had over his young and splendid body, and he did all he could to please them.

Many of the milking sessions had gone on for hours, with intervals for conversation or eating. The two mature vixens teased and denied the young boy repeatedly, knowing that this technique would produce the most robust cumshots. Sometimes the women would allow him to masturbate them or perform oral sex on them, but they forbade sexual intercourse. He never understood why, but it was something they had made clear to him from the beginning and he never questioned their decision after that, grateful instead to be their boy toy and enjoy the pleasure of their combined hands as they treated his body as if it were their own private playground.

Of all the sessions he had enjoyed, it was the very first and final encounters with Irene, Kimberly, and Kelly that would forever remain etched in his mind. He remembered how utterly excited he had become when he watched Irene and Kimberly lay a blanket upon the dining room table and had him climb on top of it, positioning himself on all fours. He remained in that position for several hours as their hands and mouths hungrily explored every inch of his taught young body. They would masturbate him relentlessly until he was begging them to let him cum, and then they would abruptly stop and wait for him to beg them to let them continue. It was this tease and denial process that partly explained the great staying power he was able to maintain in his future sexual encounters. He smiled when he recalled seeing Kimberly produce a large white plastic pail from her kitchen pantry to place directly underneath his swollen cock and balls. She referred to it as her "milking pail," and it was into this receptacle that he would shoot gallons of sperm for the women's delight over and over again all summer long. 

The final time he spent with the three women was to leave an indelible impression upon his mind, and epitomize for him what a true CFNM experience should be.

Craig had come to learn that his mistresses were members of a group of women who called themselves the "Purple Hats"—the color purple signifying their founder's penchant for wearing this particular hue. Anywhere from fifty to a hundred women attended these regular monthly "meetings" at an upscale country club on the outskirts of Stockholm. On the surface this group seemed hardly more exotic than a ladies social tea, but in reality it provided an opportunity for its members to enjoy some ribald fun. This "fun" took the shape of male burlesque shows. Ostensibly, the men who performed in these shows never went completely nude, but that was not always the case. Depending upon the level of drunkenness, one could expect to see more than one penis on display before the night was over. And many times those penises were brought to impressive orgasms for all the women to enjoy. This is where Kimberly and Irene had perfected their hand skills. And the coup de grace that was to cap off his summertime frolicking was his being ordered to perform, with the blessing of all three of his mistresses, for this demanding group of debauchees. 

Craig felt a slight twinge in his balls as he recalled the leather cock ring that Kelly had expertly attached to his genital area during many of his milking sessions, and which she had used on that final night as she paraded him around the dance floor for all the women to see. He was exhibited like a piece of horseflesh and he loved it. His huge, stiff penis, made even more pronounced by its forced encasement within the cock ring, amazed the lecherous group, and Kelly had to fight off the more aggressive types who sought to claim his penis for her own.

The cock ring had enabled Craig's teachers to both masturbate and perform fellatio on him without having worry about him ejaculating in their hands or mouths. The ring prevented that from happening, yet it also provided him with unrelenting, exquisite pleasure. He laughed when he remembered the funny looking contraption called a "ball stretcher," which was nothing more than a leather-type sack that could be stretched to accommodate his very large testicles. The ball stretcher could be snapped into place, allowing his sperm-laden spheres to remain about four inches away from his body. It sensitized his testicles to the point that he could feel every deft movement of their fingers no matter how gently they rubbed him. Hours later, when they finally removed the sack, his balls would hang even lower than normal, swollen to twice their size with a heavy amount of semen waiting to be coaxed out by their expert hands.

He could never forget when Irene had allowed all 98 women in attendance at the country club that night to come up to the dais and take turns masturbating his magnificent prick. And all of them gladly did so, some with the ulterior motive of getting him to cum, but all with the sense of utter enjoyment. One woman, who had to be in her early 60s, fisted him with hard, rapid strokes, in an attempt to provoke a cumshot. But even though Craig was immensely turned on by the attractive older woman, the cock ring was persistent in doing its job, and after a full two minutes of fierce stroking, the frustrated woman gave up and returned to her seat clutching her tired arm.

This ribald show went on for over two hours until at last the young man could stand no more. Sensing his need to ejaculate, Irene removed the cock ring and ordered him to masturbate himself to completion before the expectant crowd. Having seated themselves in the front row of chairs next to their screaming comrades, Irene, Kimberly, and Kelly encouraged their protégé to give the ladies what they so desperately wanted to see. As Craig looked around him he saw a sea of faces—some pretty, some plain—but all concentrated on his prick and the huge load of sperm that was demanding to be released.

Directly in front of him sat Irene, her cute face all aglow, proud of the man-boy she had educated in the ways of female dominance. To her left sat Kimberly, her long sexy legs crossed in cheesecake fashion, which she knew drove Craig wild with lust. She had taken off her shoes so that she could wiggle her lovely feet back and forth as if she were masturbating his turgid prick from a distance. Kelly sat a few seats away, laughing as she followed each frantic movement of Craig's pumping fist. 

Craig felt his heart beat loudly in his chest as he remembered the women's good-natured laughter and cheers while he steadily brought himself to orgasm before their eyes. Thanks to the training he had received, he felt no sense of embarrassment as he masturbated himself. The only thing he felt was a tremendous sense of excitement and an overwhelming desire to please—the same feelings he had experienced during all of his earlier milking sessions. The only difference now was that he was performing to a crowd, and he, to his own surprise, was proving to be nothing less than a consummate showman.

He sighed with pleasure as he remembered how the sperm rose up in his shaft, compelling his hand to bring him to orgasm. He knew he was going to ejaculate soon. The women seemed to know it too and had cheered him on incessantly. During the final moments when he was just about to cum, he noticed that some women left their seats and came close to the dais to better observe him. This thrilled him greatly, as he always loved the type of woman who was somewhat, but not overly, aggressive. He looked at their legs and their hands, two areas of the female body that greatly enticed him, and imagined shooting ropes of sperm all over them. He watched their expectant faces, how they laughed and made teasing remarks with one another as they encouraged him to jerk off for them. He remembered seeing one very raunchy woman pumping her fist up and down over an imaginary prick as she licked her upper lip and grinned lewdly. But most of all, he remembered one very attractive middle-aged woman with huge breasts who sat to his immediate left and who kept a big glob of whipped cream on the edge of her tongue, treating it as it were sperm, playing with it unashamedly as she sucked it in and out of her mouth several times while trying to keep from laughing. Unaccountably, it was this simple lascivious act that had finally served to push him over the edge.

All at once the room became completely silent, and then suddenly exploded with a huge roar as the first jet of sticky spunk was violently expelled from his excited tool. Higher and higher went the creamy salvo, careening over the heads of every woman in the first several rows, finally finding its mark on the tiffany chandelier about a dozen feet away. Craig remembered the look on Irene's face as she struggled to comprehend the significance of this great feat, and how she buried her face in Kimberly's arm as she was overtaken by a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Kimberly was still looking at the chandelier, her mouth agape, amused at the sight of the thick strands of sperm that hung obscenely from the crystal spears. She turned her head just in time to see Craig's rapidly stroking hand bring forth an awesome double-decker rope of creamy white spunk that splashed head on into the torsos of several women sitting just behind his incredulous teachers. The outburst of laughter was like a tidal wave of sound that beat down upon his naked body, enervating him, charging him. He saw faces covered in sperm, women spitting out thick streams of slimy paste, hands reaching for anything to wipe off the offending liquid. A few women ran straight for the toilets. And over all this commotion, a thick wash of sound in the form of deafening laughter and clapping hands.

And then, something unexpected happened: something that he never could have imagined. To this day it has remained a point of contention between himself and his three former mistresses, but it nevertheless did occur, much to everyone's surprise and delight.

Even as the second volley of cum had succeeded in drenching those closest to the errant spray, another thicker and more substantial eruption was soon to follow. Craig likened the feeling to a volcano that spits forth a few relatively mild rivulets of lava, and then erupts suddenly with intense force, spilling its hot contents over the entire landscape in a spectacularly hellish show. And this is exactly what he did.

From somewhere in the pit of his low-hanging balls, his wildly pumping fist coaxed out a succession of white bursts: long, stringy ropes of cum that followed one upon the other without pause, flying high into the air like a fireworks display and coming down upon the heads of the amazed and amused audience like a shower of lava. The crowd roared. The first few rows were bathed in spunk, which fell down upon them as if they had been caught in a brief, but intense, summer rain shower. Irene, Kimberly, and Kelly had been among those who were so christened, but instead of trying to escape from the cum shower, they laughed and let themselves be bathed in its creamy effluence.

After two or three more explosive bursts of cum sailed out into the audience, Craig's ponderous weapon finally grew silent. It had been an unprecedented display of male virility, and the women stood up and applauded him enthusiastically. Craig had stood there in front of them, his prick and hands covered in sperm, smiling broadly. But most significant of all, he had pleased his mistresses beyond their highest expectations, and this satisfied him to no end. The culmination of months of training had paid off handsomely. His adventures with Irene, Kimberly, and Kelly were now over, but unbeknownst to him, he was getting ready to embark on a brand new adventure that would take him to places he had never been. And Paris was just the beginning.

These prurient thoughts had managed to get Barney out his mind for a short time. But now, as he felt himself drifting off to sleep at last, the far away sound of girlish laughter that he had heard while talking to Barney on the phone came back to him. Barney's unexpected departure still troubled him greatly, but sleep finally, mercifully, overtook him.


The weeklong training period for the "Long Shots" contest was ready to commence. I awoke early, about 6:00 AM, dressed, and had a quick breakfast of cold cereal. It seemed everyone was still asleep, and for that I was grateful. I really didn't want to run into my cousin. I could not bring myself to look into those malignant, hypnotic blue eyes of hers this early in the morning or have to endure any of her casually indifferent remarks. It was bad enough that I might encounter her during the training sessions, and I didn't want to compound the experience if I could help it. Once back in my bedroom, I felt secure knowing that she was beyond my reach for the present. I sighed with relief as I looked over the training schedule, making adjustments here and there as I deemed necessary. 

The training week would run from Monday through Friday, 9:00 AM to 3:00 PM, with a one-hour rest period. Saturday was the day of the contest, which would be held at 2:00 PM in the main hall of the Masturbatorium. Even now my mind was envisioning a great victory for my team. I saw myself holding the "Antoinette" award in my hands, acknowledging the thunderous applause that greeted my victory with silent and dignified grace. But most of all, I relished the look of utter defeat on Angelique's face, the sanguine, hypnotic blue eyes no longer reflecting the malice within but replaced with a vacant incomprehensibility, as she and her team made their ignominious exit from the great hall, the procession of unhappy, cowering figures casting evil glances at me and my associates as the deafening applause followed them out. It was a moment I savored in my mind for quite some time before coming back down to earth.

It was now down to seven teams: United States, Italy, France, Brazil, China, Greece, and the Andaman Islands. In truth, any champion could win. Nothing in these contests was ever a given. However, I was fortunate in that I had on my team several women who had previously won the coveted award—women like Felicia and Zula and Janet. Our team could only benefit from their combined expertise, and I was grateful for their support.

I got to the training room about 8:30 AM, surprised to see my entire team, including Craig, already there waiting for me. Most of the other rooms were still dark, but there were a few, including Angelique's, that were already bustling with activity. I greeted everyone and gave Craig a big hug. He was already completely naked and was being masturbated by Felicia in order to prepare him for the Extractinator.

"Isn't this the finest dork you've ever seen?" she said to me with a grin, as her delicate fingers skimmed over the length of his hardening prick with ease.

"I think it is," I replied, admiring Craig's equipment. "You girls are here early."

"We wanted you to know that we are serious about winning this competition, Holly," Charlotte said, as her eyes shifted from the Extractinator control panel to meet mine.

She was wearing a pair of faded jeans, sneakers, and a white blouse with no bra—a far cry from the exquisitely dressed woman I had seen the last time we were together.

"I have no doubts about that," I replied. "Is the machine ready to go?"

"Almost," Zula said, as she fidgeted with some of the controls on the panel. "Manual override enabled. We're good."

Joanna and Janet were staring at Felicia all during this time, watching her pull ever harder on Craig's now fully erect cock.

"I'd say you've got him as hard as he's going to get," Joanna chuckled.

"Yeah, cut it out Felicia," Janet warned. "You might make him cum."

"Are you ready, Craig?" I asked him.

"Whenever you are," he replied, seemingly anxious to get started.

"Okay, ladies," I said. "Put him in the machine."

As I watched them help him into the imposing device I was again reminded of how friendly and willing to please he was. He obeyed every one of their orders speedily and without question, sometimes looking at me for reassurance but never showing the slightest hint of unwillingness to perform as instructed. They, in turn, treated him almost as if he were a fragile and priceless piece of artwork. Even Zula found it difficult to remain taciturn for very long in his presence, his easy manner and affable disposition seeming to have a quelling effect upon her. 

Once he had been secured within the machine I had Zula start the program and we all sat down and watched as his cock and balls were fondled, prodded, and stroked for the next hour. He showed remarkable restraint, even when the mechanical hand was set to its highest position. We watched astonished as the hand flew up and down his greasy pole at speeds no human hand could match, and yet his concentration could not be broken. For a full five minutes this tortuous handjob continued, and at one point I saw him look at me with a sense of pride at his accomplishment. I knew, as we all did, that this could not continue for much longer without causing an ejaculation, so I ordered Zula to end the training session and let Craig rest for a short while before beginning again.

After Zula and the others had helped him out of the device, he staggered over to me—his legs wobbly and his face flushed—and sat down. 

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

"Fine. It's just that my body…it feels like one big piece of jello!"

"Your face is all red."

"And I feel tingly all over. That machine is something else."

"Do you think you would have cum if we kept going?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but I'm glad you ended it when you did."

For the rest of the day we had Craig alternate between being serviced by the machine and our own expert hands, and at 3:00 PM I ended the training session and ordered him to go home. At first he seemed reluctant to go, but I was forced to remind him that fraternization between a mistress and her champion during training sessions was strictly forbidden. In truth, I wanted to be with him, but I had to be firm. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with Lenore.

The remainder of the week went by pretty quickly; each day almost like a replay of the day before, with minor variations. Zula had become an expert at handling the machine, knowing precisely when to stop the device before sending Craig into orgasmic oblivion. For his part, Craig performed superbly, managing to maintain control over his penis to the degree that neither any of us, or the Extractinator, could force him to give up his sperm. I had never seen such self-control exhibited in a man before, and it made me feel confident that he would perform well in the contest.

On Friday, the day before the contest, I decided not to push things too far, as I felt that Craig needed rest more than another rigorous training session. At noon the other girls and I went for lunch while Craig rested on the bed in the adjoining room. I felt bad for him lying there looking up at me with those large blue eyes, unable to eat a morsel until training had commenced. He took it stoically, knowing that his sacrifice would not be in vain.

Zula had had a rather large breakfast, so she decided to stay behind and continue to work with the machine. She had always been a sullen person, but today she seemed even more so. I could see that something was bothering her, but she went about her business as usual, barely speaking to anyone. At one point, Charlotte inquired if she was feeling all right, to which Zula responded with a scowl. I decided not to interrogate the big black woman, fearing she might lash out at one us. So I left her alone and let her do as she wished. The image of her smashing in her late boyfriend's skull with a hammer simply because he did not like her dress, made me err on the side of caution.

My aunt Phoebe, Lenore, Justine, and Estelle met my colleagues and me for lunch. We sat at a long table in the main hall, which had been outfitted to serve as a cafeteria until the training sessions had ended. During this time I saw Angelique and Marge Davis at another table not far away, laughing and joking as if they already knew the outcome of the contest. She wore a pair of white shorts, sneakers, and a black halter-top, and her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail. She looked at me a few times, but I paid her no attention. At one point my aunt had called to her to join us at our table but she acted as if she didn't even recognize us.

Marge Davis looked her usual sinister self. She was dressed in a pair of black leather jeans and black blouse, over which she wore and half-length black leather jacket. To compliment her attire she wore a pair of black leather riding boots, to which were attached a pair of jodhpurs. The only thing she was missing was a whip. Like Angelique, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but on her its effect was much less flattering, giving her appearance a particularly severe quality. She sat next to her confederate; listening to everything my cousin had to say but saying nothing herself. All she did was sit there and laugh, sometimes loudly, and with a frightening maliciousness that gave me a cold feeling down my spine. Charlotte glanced now and then at the source of this malignancy and I saw her face turn dark. After one particularly loud outburst of laughter she cursed to herself in French and I saw her knuckles turn white as they firmly clutched the knife she was holding.

"English pig!" she said into my ear.

"Don't let them get to you," I replied as quietly as I could. "They'd love nothing more than to ruffle our feathers. Ignore them."

The laughing from the other table continued unabated, but Charlotte retained her composure. However, it was my aunt who finally lost her temper.

"What could possibly be so funny that the two of you must continue to act like a bunch of hyenas?"

"Since when is it against the rules to laugh?" Angelique retorted in her impudent way.

"Since it is most disturbing to the rest of us who are trying to enjoy our lunch. Take it elsewhere or shut up."

Without a word both my cousin and Marge Davis quickly got up and marched out of the room without giving any of us another look.

Lenore shook her head in disgust. "Forgive me Phoebe for saying this, but I hope that Holly and her girls make mincemeat out of the French team."

My aunt looked dismayed. "I don't understand why she must be so obnoxious. There is no excuse for it. I must apologize for her behavior."

"I passed her in the outer hall this morning and she didn't say a word to me," Justine commented.

"And why should she?" Estelle replied forlornly. "If she treats her own mother like this, how can we expect any better?" 

"I don't know what to do about it," my aunt said. "I think something in her mind has snapped."

Lenore swallowed a morsel of food and then took a leisurely sip of wine. "I am sorry to say it but I think you are right."

My aunt looked directly into her superior's eyes. "And what am I going to do about it? Can you—can anyone here help me?"

"I don't think you should do anything about it," Felicia interrupted. "At least not now."

Janet removed the fork from her mouth in one quick motion. "But if she's sick—I'm sorry Phoebe—if she's sick then she needs professional help. I don't think it is a good idea to wait."

"Thank you for your professional opinion," my aunt replied dourly. "What about you Joanna? You're a doctor. What do you suggest?"

The beautiful redhead raised her napkin to her mouth to wipe away a crumb and smiled faintly. "I'm a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist. But if you really want my advice, I would wait until the contest is over before making any plans. And your inauguration is coming up in a few weeks. I'm sure you're going to want your daughter there."

"Oh, I don't care about that," my aunt said dismissively. "I just want her to be healthy again. I can't bear to see her acting so recklessly."

"I still would advise you to wait until the contest is over. It's only another day. If you want, I will speak to some of my colleagues and we will work something out. You know I will help you in any way I can."

"I will defer to your judgment because you are the professional here. For now we will let it rest."

No one said another word about Angelique. But during the rest of our conversation my aunt said very little. Even though she laughed at a few of our jokes, I could tell that inside she was sad. Lately her eyes had lost some of their sparkling luster. That inner radiance that bespoke of a love of life and the energy to live it to the fullest extent was now partly hidden behind an impenetrable veil of gloom. These days she seemed distant and often taciturn, as if her concern for her daughter occupied her mind to the exclusion of all else. And for this, I despised Angelique even more.

"What the hell is going on there?" Justine remarked, rising abruptly from the table to look over my head.

Suddenly, I heard several women screaming and turned around to see the entire Brazilian team running toward us.

"Come quickly!" one of the women shouted at us. "The machine is blowing up and the man is still inside!"

"Jesus Christ!" I heard my aunt swear aloud as she and our entire table quickly rose and dashed toward the training room.

The acrid smell of an electrical fire reached my nostrils several seconds before I actually saw the smoke emanating from the door of our training room. As we approached the door, I could hear Craig's voice screaming from inside. He was trapped in the machine!

My aunt tried to open the door but it was locked.

"Holly, get this door open or otherwise he's going to die in there!" my aunt shouted as she fumbled with the doorknob.

As I inserted the key into the lock Lenore ordered some of the women to fetch a fire extinguisher. I quickly got the door open and was greeted by a thick cloud of black smoke. Craig was coughing loudly and shouting for someone to help him. I heard the loud screeching sound of metal upon metal—the Extractinator was still on, and seemed to be operating at top speed.

I knew that I didn't have much time. Crawling on hands and knees, with my eyes tearing and my throat dry with smoke, I made my way to the power switch and pulled the plug. The machine stopped abruptly. Looking up I could see the dim outline of Craig still locked into the device. He moaned a few times and started coughing again.

"Craig, it's me." I shouted to him. "We're going to get you out of there. Hang tight."

He moaned a few more times and continued coughing, this time more violently.

"We need help!" I cried. "Aunt Phoebe!"

From behind me I heard a loud commotion and turned around to see my aunt, Lenore, and several other women come rushing into the room. One was carrying a fire extinguisher and was using it on the power console, which was aflame.

"Work quickly!" I heard my aunt tell the women as she and Lenore lifted me to my feet.

By this time everyone was coughing uncontrollably as a result of the thick, pervasive smoke that filled our lungs. 

"Hurry," Lenore cried through choking gasps as my team and I worked feverishly to extricate Craig from the broken machine.

It was difficult to work as the smoke made the room very opaque. But under my direction we managed to free Craig in less than a minute. It took seven of us to carry his body out into the hall and away from the smoke. He appeared semiconscious. 

We laid him down on the floor outside one of the training rooms and I put a small pillow under his head. He was breathing heavily and still coughing. One of the girls offered me cup of water, which I put to his lips. He took a sip but could not seem to swallow it. The coughing continued.

"Auntie," I said, as I looked at my aunt with tear-filled eyes. 

Immediately my aunt kneeled beside me, her eyes welling up too. "Oh, child," she said stroking my hair. "He'll be okay. He'll be okay."

"I don't understand," Lenore said to Justine. "How could this have happened?"

"I don't know," Justine replied. "The machines have been in use for quite some time. I've never heard of any problems with them. Certainly nothing like this."

"That's because there was nothing wrong with the machine," I said. "The fault was with the person who programmed it."

"Are you saying somebody sabotaged the machine?" Joanna said.

"Yes," I replied. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Lenore swore under her breath. "But who would do such and thing? And why?"

"Someone who wanted to hurt us, obviously," Felicia said.

"Yes," I said. "Someone who knew how to program the machine. Someone in our group who's not with us right now."

Craig opened his eyes slowly and smiled at me. He indicated he wanted some water so I put the cup to his mouth and he took a little sip. He put his right hand on my arm and let it rest there.

"Thank you," he said between coughs.

Lenore ordered all training sessions ended for the day and had our training room shut down. A few hours later Craig was feeling much better and my aunt had Jake drive him home. Before he left, he had explained to us exactly what happened, and it served to corroborate my own intuitions about the woman who had once been part of my team.

It had been an eventful day, and as I said goodbye to my teammates I knew they were feeling the same sense of anger and disillusionment as I was at having been betrayed. It wasn't enough that Lenore had excommunicated the saboteur from the Sisterhood when it was found she had left the country the following day. I would find a way to make her pay for her crime that almost destroyed the life of the boy I loved. Somehow I would find a way to make that big, black woman pay.


Phoebe was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming because she was happy. It was the second night of her honeymoon and she and Pierre were staying at his villa in Tuscany, which sat on a high promontory overlooking the Mediterranean. They sat on the veranda drinking wine of the local variety and the sun was just beginning to set. She luxuriated in the cooling breeze that swept off the crystal clear aquamarine sea and sighed longingly.

Pierre looked so handsome in the waning light of the nascent sun. His eyes were strikingly blue, like the waters of the ocean itself. And behind those penetrating eyes was a keen mind, full of love and devotion to none other but her. She knew this not because he had so often reminded her of it, but because of the way he treated her: as if she were a priceless gem without equal. They had already made love twice before during the day, and she was ready for another round.

"I don't want you to think I was spying on you, my love," she began in dulcet tones, "but I came across some of your pornography the other day."

"What pornography?" he inquired, feigning innocence.

"Those magazines you keep in your second drawer. You know, the ones from America. I found them when you asked me to pack your underwear."

"Oh, those!" he laughed. "I've had them for years. I hope you weren't offended by them."

"I'm not offended. I know that men like to jerk off to the pictures. It's normal."

He sat back in his chair and admired her for a few moments before speaking. "You know, I'm glad you feel that way, Phoebe. Many women see such things as a threat. But the truth is, most men need these outlets for their overactive libidos."

"You mean most men need to release those billions of sperm that you guys produce every day."

"Oui," he replied sheepishly.

She threw her head back and laughed. "I totally understand. Why don't we go inside and I'll help you get rid of the rest of that sticky spunk you've got left in your balls."

Pierre's eyes lit up. "Again? Really? Oh, I love when you talk to me with that filthy American mouth of yours my cheri. Sacre bleu!" 

He threw himself upon her just then and kissed her savagely.

"Not here," she insisted. "Let's go indoors."

Leading him by the hand, she dragged him into the bedroom and methodically removed his shirt, slippers, pants and underwear. In no time at all he was standing in front of her completely naked, while she remained fully clothed. When he made a motion to remove her dress, she moved his hands away.

"No," she said firmly. "I want to keep my clothes on this time. You know. Like the women in those films you like to watch do."

Pierre smiled. "You mean like in the CFNM movies?"

She nodded and gently pushed him down onto the bed.

During the course of their lovemaking, Phoebe stopped to remove something from her night table. It was a thin, plastic dildo.

"What are you doing," he asked her.

"I want to try something."

"Like what?" he inquired further, eying the plastic cylinder with suspicion.

She sucked the top of the dildo as if she were administering a blowjob to it. "I want to stick this thing up your ass while I jerk off your big, swollen prick."

His eyes widened. "You want to stick that thing in me?"

"Oh, come on, my love. I've seen the pictures you masturbate to. Most of them show a guy getting fucked with a strap-on dildo. I know you like it so let's try it."

Unlike Pierre, Phoebe was always willing to try new and different things. She was spontaneous where he was calculating. She was adventurous where he was reserved. And in the sexual arena, she was dominant where he was submissive. In contrast to his aggressive tendencies in the business world, it was always she who took the lead in the bedroom.

"I must admit that I have often thought about being penetrated but I was afraid to tell you," he confessed.


"Because I thought you might think less of me."

She shook her head. "Oh, Pierre, that's ridiculous. People who love each other should not be afraid to experiment in sexual matters. If you don't like it, we don't have to do it again. Now put your legs up on my shoulders so I can play with your asshole."

Without a word he did as she asked. Placing a small amount of lubricant on the end of the dildo she gently inserted the tip into his rectum, guiding it slowly in and out in a steady but slow rhythmical fashion. Pierre groaned.

"How does it feel?" she asked him.

"Very…nice…" he replied with eyes closed.

After only a few minutes of working the dildo in and out of his asshole, Phoebe noticed that his cock was now fully erect.

"Look at you!" she laughed. "I guess you do like it after all."

Pierre barely replied. He just looked down at his turgid prick and closed his eyes again while his wife continued to fuck him with the dildo.

"I really want to watch you cum," she said as she wrapped her long fingers around his pulsing shaft.

It took her exactly three minutes of concentrated pulling on his organ to coax out his hot sperm. She seemed to have both hands working in synchronous motion: when her right hand inserted the dildo, her left hand pulled up hard on his cock, forcing him to force his lower body upwards off the mattress. Her machine-like cadence seemed to propel him into new heights of ecstasy. She found this delightful.

"Shoot it really hard, Pierre," she demanded. "I want to see it get into my hair."

As she spoke those words he looked up into her beautiful face, so reminiscent of a famous movie actress of the 1950s who became the real life princess of a ruler of a foreign country. Like her, Phoebe possessed the same perfectly symmetrical facial features, the high cheekbones, the delicate mouth and small aquiline nose, the steely gray-blue eyes, and the long, resplendent blonde hair pulled up high off her face, revealing her exquisitely shaped ears upon which hung the diamond and emerald earrings he had bought her for her last birthday. 

Now, as he watched her pull on him, his balls preparing to launch his third load of semen for the day, all he could think of was granting her request to send his hot cum flying up into the air and splashing into her face and hair. If some landed in her lovely mouth—so much the better. He wanted to soak her in his sperm, to completely drench her in the hot aftermath of his raging lust.

Suddenly, his body tensed. Seeing his balls rise up towards the base of his shaft, Phoebe knew he was about to ejaculate. Both hands now worked his anus and prick with great speed, as they sought to provoke an intense orgasm.

Pierre screamed and thrust his body upward as far as it would go. The first jet of cream sailed straight up into the air in front of Phoebe's face and flew over her head and into the wall behind her. The next volley splashed across her left cheek and settled into her hair, leaving a trail of sperm from her forehead to her ear. As she laughed at this, the third and fourth ropes of cum flew into her now open mouth, and she laughed even harder as she stuck out her tongue to play with the fresh sperm, a portion of which now formed a thick glaze on her lips. Pierre opened his eyes just long enough to see the next three giant ejaculations meet head on with his lovely wife's upper body, coating her chest, neck, and both arms with his sticky warm fluid. His final few spurts dribbled down onto her hand as she gently withdrew the dildo from his anus. Pierre sighed heavily.

"That was the greatest orgasm I have ever had in my life!" he finally managed to say.

"I'm glad, my love," she said. "Let me get this stuff off my face and then I would like you to eat my pussy until I cum in your mouth. Would you do that for me?"

"With pleasure," he assured her.

In gratitude, Pierre employed his tongue on her clit in such a way that he forced her to cum several times, each time more violent than the one before. Phoebe was happy—very happy. And then she awoke.

She found herself sitting in her study, with piles of paperwork surrounding her. She ordered the maid to bring her some tea and resumed her work. It was well past dinnertime and she had slept right through it. Although hungry, she continued to attend to the matters at hand, which she knew could not be put off.

She thought about Pierre and how far he had fallen in little over twenty years' time, and how different a man he had become. She, too, had changed, but she had not become corrupted, as he had, flaunting the law and abusing his family when times got tough. Over the years he had become impatient and surly, often threatening her and Angelique with physical abuse. In time, he would eventually take out his rage on his wife, and to a lesser degree, his daughter, causing them to live in ever-increasing fear of provoking his wrath.

Phoebe did what she could to maintain some sense of normalcy in the emotional maelstrom that enveloped her family, but even her love for him, powerful and steadfast as it was—had its limits. Eventually she was forced to file for divorce. The material possessions she received as part of the settlement were little recompense for the loss of his love. She had always believed that somehow he would find himself on the right path again, and try once more to make their marriage work. But this did not happen. Pierre had succumbed to whatever demons were forever plaguing him, and his star had grown dim and was now finally extinguished.

She was just finishing the last of her tea when Jacques LaSalle, proceeded by one of her maids, came walking into the study. The maid introduced him and walked away quietly as Phoebe motioned him to take a seat next to her. It was 6:30 PM and the setting sun cast long, amber streaks of light across the expansive room in which they sat silently contemplating each other.

Phoebe liked Jacques. The fact that he was invariably prompt for all their meetings made her like him even more. Unlike her recalcitrant daughter, Jacques adhered to the conventions of polite society and was both cordial and respectful. Normally, warm and forthcoming, the young foreman, who so meticulously and diligently cared for her bounteous vineyards, seemed a trifle ill at ease. His eyes darted to and fro, as if he expected someone to come running at him from some concealed corner of the room. She wondered if he could possibly have discovered the reason for being summoned. Not that the visit was unusual in itself, for Jacques regularly reported to her frequently during the harvesting season. But those visits always took place during the morning or early afternoon hours—never at night. She scrutinized him closely, as if trying to ascertain information simply from his bodily motions.

"Would you care for a drink?" she asked him politely.

"No, Madame. No thank you."

"Are you sure? You look a little distraught."

He smiled faintly. "It's been a very long day and I am quite tired."

Something in his voice did not quite ring true, but Phoebe decided to let it go. "I promise not to keep you long. Do you know why you are here, Jacques?"

"No, Madame. I hope it is not because I did something to displease you."

"Not in and of itself. But your answers to my questions may displease me if I find that you are lying."

The young man seemed offended at the implication that he could be anything but truthful to the woman who had been so generous in providing him with a good job and a quality education. He was going to protest when Phoebe cut him short.

"I am not accusing you of anything, I assure you," she said calmly. "I just want the truth."

"About what, Madame?" 

His tone of voice remained constant, but his eyes refused to meet hers.

"About my daughter."

"What is it you wish to know?"

"You are her champion, are you not?"


"That means that you spend a lot of time with her."

"Yes, Madame."

Phoebe leaned in closer to him. "I'll get right to the point. My daughter has changed quite a bit over the last several months. She has become hostile and distant—to me and everyone else. I worry about her night and day, but there is apparently nothing I can do or say that will make her confide in me. Do you have any idea what could have caused such a drastic change in her behavior?"

"I only know what I see."

"And what is that?"

"I am afraid to tell you," he replied nervously.

She sensed an internal struggle going on within the boy and let her hand rest on his.

"You know that I am fond of you, don't you?" she asked him.

"Yes, Madame."

"Then let me assure you that nothing that is said between us will ever leave this room. Is that assurance enough for you?"

Jacques was slow to respond, but he finally answered in the affirmative.

"Tell me what you know," Phoebe asked again, this time more forcefully.

Jacques began by telling her how cold and manipulative her daughter had become since Holly's arrival. But this change of attitude was only an ancillary result, indicative of a more problematic mental condition brought on by Lenore's refusal to name Angelique her successor.

"You aren't telling me anything new," Phoebe said, quickly rising from her chair. She walked over to the sideboard and poured herself a drink from one of the decanters. After taking a sip, she turned to face him. "Although it hurt me greatly when Lenore told me her reasons for not choosing Angelique to succeed her, I had to abide by her decision. I can see now that she was right, as much as I hate to admit it."

"And that is why Angelique is angry with you," Jacques said. "Because you have put your niece above her."

"My daughter understood why Lenore made that decision. She didn't like it of course, but she seemed to accept it nonetheless."

"She never accepted it, Madame. She may have played along for a time in the hopes of diverting you from her real motives, but she no more accepts Lenore's judgment than she would mine."

"And what are her real motives?"

The young man lowered his head and sighed aloud. "Forgive me, Madame, but I am amazed that you do not see it."

"See what?"

Jacques drew in a deep breath. "You are blinded by a mother's love perhaps. Or maybe it is something you do not want to acknowledge within yourself. But I can tell you from what I have observed with my own eyes, and from what I have heard from her own mouth and those closest to her, that your daughter means to overthrow the Sisterhood as it now exists and to supplant it with one of her own making."

Phoebe said nothing for a few moments, unwilling to believe so outrageous a claim. And then she burst out laughing.

"The whole idea of it is preposterous! There is no way she could accomplish such a thing. She is playing you for a fool."

"I only speak the truth."

"And what else have you heard?"
At first Jacques was going to reply, but then suddenly threw his hands up in the air and let them fall soundly upon his knees. "I don't know…"

"I promise I won't laugh."

"I am not certain…"

"Tell me what you know."

"I could be wrong, Madame…"

Phoebe was growing impatient with his fumbling. "Just tell me, damn it!"

Jacques cast his eyes downward and forcefully cleared his throat. "I have heard it said, though I cannot attest to it, that mademoiselle has constructed an inner chamber somewhere within the lower levels of the chateau."

"That's impossible," Phoebe said, dismissively. "Those levels have been closed off for hundreds of years. Those girls are toying with you."

"As I said, I cannot attest to it," Jacques continued. "But it is said that she conducts strange experiments on men within its chambers."

Phoebe laughed heartily, despite her promise. "You make her sound like a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein! I had no idea you were so naïve. Who told you such nonsense?"

"No one told me directly, Madame. I overheard her colleagues speaking about it."

"Those girls are messing with your mind. How could you be so gullible?"

Phoebe saw that the inquiry was leading nowhere. Jacques might indeed have some insight into Angelique's present state of mind, but this foolishness he was espousing was only making her annoyed. "Is that all you know?" 

"Yes, Madame."

"Well, Jacques, you have managed to be of absolutely no help to me." She shook her head disapprovingly and sneered. "Strange experiments indeed!"

And with a sharp wave of her hand she dismissed him.

As if on cue, a maid, who seemingly appeared as if from nowhere, conducted him quickly out of the room. 

Jacques had performed very well. When he had learned earlier in the day that Phoebe wanted to see him, he immediately told Angelique. The young girl, suspecting that her mother might question him about her, prepped him thoroughly on what and what not to say. Angelique, it seems, knew her mother better than her mother knew herself. For in that perverse yet highly intelligent and intuitive mind there lurked a master manipulator. Having recently won Jacques over to her side, and knowing that her mother would never believe such an absurd story, had given here a tremendous advantage. And she had calculated her mother's reaction perfectly. What better way than to tell the truth in order to get her mother off her back? Unfortunately for Phoebe, her greatest weakness was that she saw life only in terms of black and white, being oblivious to all the subtle shades of gray that lay in between. Her daughter knew this, and therein laid her strength.

As for Jacques, he was too intelligent to believe that Angelique was doing anything other than manipulating him. But strangely enough, he did not care. As he made his way to his cottage that lay just beyond the stables, he wondered what had happened to him that he should find so much pleasure in being controlled by a girl—and not just any girl, but an Anjou: a willful, cunning, and yet beautiful creature whose maltreatment of him and other men provided him with a sexual thrill that he had never experienced before. And for this he forsook his integrity and lied to Phoebe. Or rather, he told the truth, but told it in such a way as to appear to be playing the fool. He knew that Angelique would be greatly pleased with his well-acted charade. And when he stood tall and proud before the marker in tomorrow's games, he would further reward her with such an ejaculation of sperm that she would never let him out of her service. To please his mistress had become his raison d'être. 

Phoebe knew she was grasping at straws when she conceived of the idea to interrogate Jacques, but she felt it was worth a try—anything to shed some light on the enigma that was her daughter. The interview with him had proved to be a disappointment. If he did know anything worth revealing about Angelique, he was not going to tell her. Maybe he was afraid of his being found out, despite Phoebe's assurances. He would not want to be on the receiving end of Angelique's anger if that were the case. Or maybe he had shifted allegiances. It was possible. But even so, why tell such idiotic tales about extinct dungeons and crazy experiments taking place right under the chateau? She had never known Jacques to be furtive until now and it bothered her.

She had been working less than an hour when the maid announced that Angelique had arrived. With a great deal of commotion, the young girl put down the bag she was carrying and threw herself onto the couch next to her mother. She flung her arms around her mother's neck and kissed both her cheeks. Her face seemed flushed, as if she had just run a marathon.

"Well, you look very happy I must say!" Phoebe remarked, returning her daughter's affection.

"I am mom. I am very happy." Her face seemed to glow with some strange inner light. 

"And may I ask why you are so happy?"

"Oh, I really can't tell you that just now. You'll have to wait until tomorrow."


"Yes, after the contest."

"Oh, I see. This has something to do with the contest."

Angelique laughed gaily. "Don't try to weasel it out of me mom. I know your ways!"

Phoebe smiled. "All right. I promise I won't try to weasel it out of you. But you know it's not polite to keep your mother in the dark."


"Okay, okay. Have you had dinner yet?"

"No, have you?"

"Nope. Would you care to join me?"

"Actually, yes. I'm quite starved."

Angelique's unexplained exuberance was a welcome change from the girl's recent display of surliness and indifference. To Phoebe, she seemed like her old self again, and this made her very happy. They sat in the kitchen and ate dinner together, as was their usual custom before Holly had so innocently, yet dramatically, interrupted their lives. They talked freely about this and that, and laughed as they used to do before the obligations of the Sisterhood had changed their lives forever. What had occurred to produce this change in Angelique's attitude Phoebe could not account for, but she was glad to see her daughter once more behave like a demure and respectable lady.

After they had finished eating, they adjourned to the courtyard to sit under the stars, which were now only just beginning to become visible through a partly cloudy sky. 

"So," Phoebe began, "what have you done with all that negative stuff?"

"What negative stuff, mom?" Angelique replied, somewhat puzzled.

"You know. All that anger, the coldness…what became of it?"

It appeared as if Angelique was going to answer her with another question, but it came out as a statement. "Oh, you mean…" She laughed merrily. "No. I'm not mad at Holly or anyone else anymore. It's over. Done."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, mom. Just like that."

Phoebe detected no coyness in her daughter's reaction, but yet there was something in the tone of her voice that belied the seemingly truthful response.

"You know, Angelique, I have been very worried about you. For the past month you have avoided me. You treated me as if I didn't exist. And I'm not even going to bring Holly into this. God knows that you both have issues that must be dealt with. But I'm your mother. And while you are living with me under my roof, I expect you to treat me with respect. I don't care what you do in your private life. You are a woman now and you have to accept responsibility for your actions. But if there is something you need to tell me, then please, get it off our chest. I love you and I want to help you. Do you understand?"

Several seconds elapsed in which Angelique had to fight to formulate a response. The truth was that she both loved and hated her mother, as she both loved and hated herself. She thought that maybe she should show her dark face just out of spite for the drivel her mother was speaking. That would be fun. But this would not serve her purpose of keeping her mother at bay. So, she smiled instead and employed the full force of her hypnotic gaze to assuage any trepidation her mother might be feeling regarding her welfare. It had the desired effect. Phoebe enveloped her in her arms and kissed her face repeatedly.

"My darling girl! My cheri! I have missed our times together so much. Let us not talk of the Sisterhood, or of Lenore, or of Holly or anyone else. Let us just be ourselves. As we used to be. You remember how that was, don't you?"

"Yes, mom, I remember," Angelique replied, as she allowed herself to submit to her mother's tender embraces. "I promise I won't be a bad girl anymore."

"You were never a bad girl, my child. You may be an Anjou but you are more like me than your father. You are a beautiful and wonderful person Angelique, and God has given you great gifts. Use them to enjoy your life and be happy. That is all I want for you."

It was an impassioned plea, but its effect was totally wasted on the young girl, whose mind had now become so impervious to honest human affection that all she could do was remain impassive in her mother's arms as the older woman continued to shower her with praise. After what seemed a long and uncomfortable silence, Phoebe drew her arms away and Angelique saw that there were tears in her mother's eyes.

"Why are you crying mother?"

"It's nothing. I'm just being silly."

"No, please. Tell me."

Phoebe took one of the napkins that lay on the table and wiped her eyes with it. "I dreamt of your father today. We had just gotten married and we were on our honeymoon in glorious Italy—Tuscany to be exact. He had a villa there you know."

"I remember. He sold it when you found out about his affair."

"Yes, well that was long before he began taking mistresses. We were so happy then. We used to walk along the deserted seashore totally naked."

"Really?" Angelique laughed, despite herself.

"There was no one around to see. Your father owned the entire seafront. We used to go swimming in the nude all the time."

"You never told me that."

"Well, you're old enough to know now. That was when your father was more willing to try new things. He was so much fun in those days."

"I don't remember him that way mom."

"No, he began to change soon after you were born. I don't know what happened to him. It was like a disease. Some insidious thing that lay hidden deep inside him and eventually ate him up alive. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

Angelique looked up at the sky and shook her head from side to side, letting her long hair fall lazily over her shoulders. "All I know is that he didn't treat you right. And he didn't treat me right either."

She spoke these words with a hint of menace, but Phoebe chose to ignore it.

"Your father's mind was corrupted Angelique. Some of it was his fault, but some of it was…"

"Was what mother?"

Phoebe took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "Some of it was my fault."

"Like the time he beat me so hard that I lost consciousness and you didn't even report him to the police?"

"Please Angelique. Don't bring that up. It would have done no good to have your father arrested."

Suddenly, Angelique's calm demeanor acquired a more sinister aspect. "It would have done me plenty of good mom! Maybe you enjoyed living in fear every day, but I didn't. Why did you protect him?"

"It wasn't him. I had to protect our family."

"How? By letting him abuse us? Must I remind you of what happened that night you spent with your sister in Paris?"

"No, no, please. I don't want to hear it!" Phoebe exclaimed.

"Of course you don't. You still don't believe it ever happened."

"What does it matter now anyway? Your father is a broken man. He has paid for his sins."

"He hasn't paid hardly enough as far as I'm concerned," Angelique said angrily. "I was only six years old mom. Six years old!"

"You could have been mistaken Angelique. You always had a wild imagination, even as a child."

Angelique looked at her mother with scorn. "I didn't need to imagine what I felt pushing in between my legs!"

"Please, don't!"

"You know how big he is," Angelique said with derision. "It hurt me mom. That thing really hurt me."

Phoebe rose from her chair and stood over her daughter, her face flushed with anger and tears.

"I don't want you to speak another word of it! I have spent the better part of my life trying to erase from my mind that abhorrent thing he did to you. And now you fling this abomination in my face—for what? Retribution for not being there to save you? How could I have possibly known what that son of a bitch was planning? How could I have known?"

Angelique was quiet for a moment in the aftermath of her mother's outburst. But she could not stay silent.

"You should have known," she began coldly, impassively. "You knew what he was like. You saw the way he used to look at me. If you were really interested in protecting our family, you should have stayed home with me that night. You should have protected me. You should have never left me alone with him—ever. But you did. And I can never forgive you for that."

Phoebe turned to meet her daughter's gaze. There were no tears in the translucent blue eyes. No semblance of anger, hatred, or regret. All that she saw was a cold, lingering menace, subdued but present nonetheless. Every tiny scrap of normal human emotion had become nonexistent, wiped away from the beautiful patina of her face until no feeling remained. The chiseled features of a statue would have held more emotion than the face Phoebe now beheld.

It now seemed to her that the gentle night breeze, which had given her so much pleasure, had suddenly become intolerably cold, and that all she wanted to do was to return to those sunny days in Tuscany, to the early days of her marriage where she could now rectify, by virtue of blessed foresight, all the mistakes her misplaced trust and naiveté had incurred. All she had ever wanted was for her and her family to be happy. The precocious little blonde girl from Rodeo Drive who married a French nobleman had been the envy of her entire family. She, who had traveled the entire planet, had sat at the right hand of kings, and who had become rich and famous and loved by all who knew her could not buy with a king's ransom the forgiveness of her own child.

And as if to add one further morsel of agony to her mother's already guilt-ridden mind, the spiteful creature who was her daughter got up from her chair and embraced the stricken woman in a mock attempt to offer consolation, her voice laden with sarcasm.

"Don't worry mother. I've learned to live with my disgrace. Even if you haven't. I think we can still be friends though. But you really can't tell me what to do. Not ever. Otherwise I'll just have to disappear. As in forever."

Angelique gently kissed her mother's cheek as a tormented Phoebe watched her slowly walk away toward the west wing of the chateau. 

"You will forgive me someday, Angelique," she called after her. "You are more like me than you know."

Angelique stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face Phoebe. With all the coldness and lack of sensitivity she could muster, she replied: "The truth is mother, I'm really not like you at all."

With that, the hateful young woman turned away, leaving Phoebe all alone and shivering in the cool night air. The answer she had sought to explain her daughter's aberrant behavior had finally been revealed, and it horrified her. She had suppressed the memory of the violation of her child by her husband for so long that she had ultimately convinced herself that it was all just a child's fabrication. But it was true. It had happened and she had not been there to protect Angelique. But even worse, she never reported the incident to the police. She had protected the rapist for fear of bringing shame upon the entire family, never accepting the fact that the young child had rights of her own, which she was obligated to uphold.

Phoebe had too much self-respect to continue punishing herself for a decision she had made long ago and under duress. A decision that had been made with only the best interests of her family in mind. Angelique was still young and immature. In time she would come to realize that people sometimes make great sacrifices in the name of love—as Phoebe had done by protecting the integrity of the Anjou name. And hopefully, with that realization, would one day come forgiveness.


Barney Cole was sitting in his hotel room playing with his cock. It was a mindless thing he did from time to time as he watched television or read a magazine. He never did it in public of course, just when he was alone and was desirous of releasing some of his abundant sperm. But this was impossible, as he knew he had to perform in the "Long Shots" contest tomorrow afternoon.

It bothered him that he had become a willing puppet in Angelique's quest for attaining the championship. But her physical presence enervated him in such a way that he could not resist pleasing her. What magical or demonical power she possessed over men was impossible to define, but she wielded it with the confidence and surety of a master craftsman. 

A month earlier, when she had first approached him about taking part in her secret plan to win the contest, she had asked him to perform for her and a dozen of her confederates. He was to allow her to masturbate him in a process called "tease and denial" until the pressure in his balls increased to the point where he would climax without benefit of having a hand stroking his penis. She called it a "touchless cumshot".

He remembered how quickly he had achieved an erection and how every woman demanded to touch it and stroke it. The subterranean floor of the ancient castle cellar was cool to his bare feet, but he didn't mind. For three hours he was fondled and teased, brought to the brink of orgasm several times until Angelique determined he was ready to ejaculate. And ejaculate he did.

Begging her for release, Angelique finally took pity on him and pulled on his cock fiercely as the other eleven girls watched with fascination. Screaming that he was about to cum, Angelique quickly removed her hand from the huge throbbing prick and stood back and watched in amusement as Barney began firing off huge wads of hot, creamy spunk into the air. His prick convulsed in an uncontrollable back and forth motion, every upward thrust of his cock producing a long, thick rope of gooey semen that flew in every direction imaginable. All the girls laughed hysterically at the sight of his huge, unmanned dick shooting volleys of sperm high into the air. Some tried to catch the spurts in their open palms, while others just giggled and watched intently as the cream burst forth from his swollen balls in a never-ending cascade of white.

This had been only one of many masturbation sessions that Angelique and her team had put him through. All of these sessions were just a prelude to prepare him for the "Long Shots" contest. He was bred to win. And Angelique would not suffer defeat gladly. Even now, as Barney stroked his cock to full erection, he thought of the beautifully blonde girl and how powerful she really was. He adored her and he worshiped her. He would do anything for her; maybe even kill for her. His immortal soul was now in the palm of her hands and he was happy beyond belief that he was the one she had favored.

He could not count how many times her splendid hands had brought him to a mind-blowing orgasm. Once, when he was naked and alone with her and a few of her team, she actually talked him into an ejaculation. There had been no physical contact at all, just the sound of her sexy and demanding voice used as a proxy to force an ejaculation. She and her friends marveled at this and tried it several more times, once when she had gathered over fifty girls within the confines of the ancient dungeon to witness how it was done.

From the beginning of his training, Angelique had been feeding Barney with a special herbal concoction that was designed to greatly increase sperm production. It was not any kind of viable drug, but an aphrodisiac that was derived from completely natural sources. Any form of drug taking during the competition was strictly forbidden. But this substance, although very potent, was deemed acceptable by the Sisterhood. Many of the champions were probably taking it, or something like it, but each man reacted differently to it. Some men did not achieve any appreciable results at all, while others, like Barney, seemed to thrive on it, achieving a tremendous increase in sperm count. It was nothing like the extremely powerful EJAX-472, which was forbidden, but it was a useful aid nonetheless.

As with all the other champions, Barney had not ejaculated for seven days. His balls were full and he really wanted to masturbate himself to orgasm. But he knew if he did, that his days with Angelique would be over. He really didn't care so much about winning the contest—that was her concern. What he wanted was to forever remain with her, to be used by her, to be her total slave. No other life was possible for him now.

He thought of his friend Craig and how much he truly cared for the young boy. He missed him terribly and was saddened by the thought that he had become part of his mistress's secret plan, forcing him to lie to his friend. Like Craig, Barney was a man of conscience, so he felt remorse for his actions. However, unlike Craig, Barney was not a morally strong man. He could be manipulated very easily, whereas Craig could not. Craig would do anything within reason to please his female superiors, but he would not sell his soul in the process. And unlike Barney, he was not a true submissive.

It was getting late and Barney realized that it was useless to dwell on such matters. Tomorrow his friend would learn that he had betrayed him, and there would be no turning back. That was bad enough. But to think that he might actually lose the contest and subsequently lose Angelique's favor was a far worse fate. It disgusted him to think that the favor of one tyrannical girl should outweigh years of friendship with a man whom he knew to be a better man than he. But his hand continued to work at his prick, teasing it, tensing it, imagining it one day shooting its hot, sticky contents all over Angelique's beautiful face, and that was all that mattered.


"You know I'm really not supposed to be here," I said, as I nestled into Craig's arms. "It's not exactly prohibited, but I'm sure Lenore would frown upon it."

His apartment was spacious, if not sparse. We were watching some old sci-fi movie on television. It was all in French.

"I'm glad you came. I can't thank you enough for what you did for me today."

"It's a good thing those women were on break or you might have died in there."

"I came pretty close. I figured it was either the machine or the smoke that would eventually get me." He hugged me closer. "I don't understand what made her do it."

"Somebody is desperately afraid that we're going to win, and that person wanted you out of the way."

"Do you have any idea who might have been behind it?"

"Well, I can't prove it, but I would bet my life that it was Angelique."

Craig looked at me askance. "You're cousin? Why would she do such a thing?"

"Think about it. You've seen the competition. You and Jacques are the only real contenders in this game. Angelique is desperate to win at any cost. What better way to increase her chances of winning than by getting you out of the way?"

"Okay, but where does Zula fit in all this? What could have made her turn traitor and abandon the Sisterhood?"

"Money. Lots of money."

"You think your cousin paid her off?"

"I'm sure of it. She has the resources. And Zula has been waiting for years to strike out on her own. She was never really happy being a Sister."

A commercial came on just then and Craig hit the mute button. I could see that he was still feeling a bit queasy from his earlier ordeal. I made a motion to leave.

"No, don't go," he said, reaching out his hand to pull me back. "Can't you stay a little longer?"

"I want to Craig, I really do. But I don't think it's a good idea. We both have to get up early and you really need to get some sleep."

Reluctantly, he let go of my arm. "I guess you're right. I 'm still feeling a bit off."

"Then get to bed. That's an order."

"Yes, my queen," he said, rising to take a bow.

We both laughed.

"I'll see you at the South Gate by noon. And make sure you're on time."

"Don't worry," he replied, kissing me on my lips. "I'll be there. Are you sure you're okay driving home?"

"Of course, silly. I know my way around Paris better than you do."

We kissed several more times before he let me go. 

"I love you, Holly," he said as I turned to go.

"I love you too," I replied. "Now go to sleep!"

As I drove home I felt a wonderful feeling of exhilaration come over me. It was great being in love, and I was so happy to have found such a fantastic guy like Craig. Even the thought of Angelique's mischief and Zula's betrayal could not dampen my spirits. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.


We are all prisoners of our troubled minds. No one escapes the wheel of life. Either you learn to navigate within its constantly revolving spokes, or you get run over and die. A wise man once said, "If you don't act on life, life will act on you." I have always remembered those words and have tried to live by them.

I got home just after midnight and entered a silent house. I had changed, put on my pajamas and sat in bed reading for a little while hoping it would make me tired. But sleep did not come. 

In a little more than twelve hours the "Long Shots" contest would begin and the winner would walk away with the coveted "Antoinette" award, a large sum of money, and most importantly, a tremendous boost in prestige. To an outsider, the importance attached to the latter might seem odd. But in the Sisterhood, it was all about perceived power, not necessarily the actual physical manifestation of it. Even the poorest Sister could possess vast power, if she knew the right people and played the right game. It was all about appearances. And no one knew this better than Lenore.

She had come from a modest, middle-class background and had risen through the ranks of the Sisterhood by virtue of sheer determination and hard work. She knew how to charm people; how to make them feel important. She was generous in her praise for those who served her well and never spoke ill of anyone. Lenore was the quintessential outsider and the ultimate diplomat. Having entered the Sisterhood on the recommendation of a friend who was herself only a neophyte in the order, she knew no one in the upper echelons of power. But over time her superior capabilities could not be ignored, and she found herself assuming more and more responsibility as the years wore on. Her coming had been like a breath of fresh air, as one Sister had whimsically put it. She had been at the right place at the right time.

Lenore had told me a lot about herself during my time at the chateau. These tidbits of information came to me in drips and drabs, whenever the Sisterhood leader felt the urge to talk. Under her watch the Sisterhood had grown in size and strength, and was now a prodigious body of powerful women who would soon become the next great leaders of the world. It would be a better world—one in which all wars would be eradicated and people would live in peace. The trouble was, there had recently arisen a radical element within the order. And this element was not content with the ramblings of a woman whom many considered to be out of touch with reality. Many felt she was naïve to think that wars would suddenly cease because women were in power. And I had to admit that I, too, felt the same way. That is not to say that I supported the radicals, but I did agree with some of their points.

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

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

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

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

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

"Holly, are you awake?"

It was Angelique.

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

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

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

"Come in. The door's open."

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

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

"About what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you told your mother about this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know you're going to try."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A minute into their conversation he lost his balance and fell to the ground with a thud. Dr. Monroe immediately ran to the stricken boy and called for some of the acolytes to help her. Lenore was visibly shaken, as was my aunt and many others, who thought he was seriously hurt. I noticed that Angelique, though seeming surprised at this turn of events, was maintaining eye contact with her next in command, Marge Davis. Some sort of collusion was at work, but I had no idea what it might be. It was just an intuitive feeling, nothing more, but not long after I was proved right in my assumptions when my cousin made a motion to request that she call in her standby champion. I could not imagine who this man might be. 

It took several acolytes to carry Jacques out of the hall. Dr. Monroe followed close behind after consulting with Lenore and my aunt. It took some time for the things to settle down. When about ten minutes later, Dr. Monroe returned, it was made known that Jacques was indeed all right. He had simply been dehydrated and had passed out from all the excitement. However, he was not fit to contend. 

It was a rule that any team could have a second champion if they wished. At Angelique's request the judges called in her substitute champion who had been waiting in another part of the hall watching the events on closed-circuit television. In less than a minute of being summoned, a very tall, nice-looking, muscular black man entered the hall in a white robe and a big grin. When I saw Craig stand up and point directly at him in complete shock, I knew it was none other than his long-time friend Barney Cole.

Barney walked briskly to the platform where Angelique and the French team stood, barely acknowledging his old friend. I saw a look of hurt and disappointment come over Craig's face, as if he had suffered a physical blow. I knew then that Barney had betrayed his friend in order to become one of Angelique's tools in her bid for power.

Angelique was all smiles as the big black man took his position on the marker. The crowd squealed with delight when he took off his robe, revealing a body that seemed perfect in every respect. His cock, like Craig's, was a bit over 12 inches long and a formidable piece of equipment it was too. He waved it to and fro before a stunned audience and then informed his mistress that he was ready. The judges marked the time and Angelique's hands were instantly upon him.

Barney's prick was massive in the sense that it was not only long, it was also very thick. Angelique's hands were strong and agile, so she did not have much difficulty masturbating him at a very rapid tempo. She used only one hand to do the job, resorting to her usual haphazard stroking pattern that seemed to work wonders on any man's penis she had ever brought to orgasm. In less that a minute Barney was fully erect and he began to thrust his cock in and out of my cousin's well-lubricated hands to add to the pleasure he was receiving.

At the three-minute mark he was sweating profusely, his face strangely contorted into an expression of sublimity derived from intense pleasure. She worked him over like a pro, never once changing her grip or varying her speed. As had happened during the qualifying rounds, none of the women in Angelique's team showed much emotion. They simply stood there and watched their team leader jerk his magnificent organ as if they were watching a cow being milked. However, the French delegation made up for their apparent lack of interest and cheered the black Hercules on with great enthusiasm. As the time hit the four-minute mark, Barney grabbed both of his ass cheeks hard and pushed up into Angelique's casually stroking hand.

A thick wash of sperm flew out of his prick and sailed high into the air, finally landing exactly at the 22-foot marker. I looked at Craig. He was not happy.

"Jesus Christ, Holly!" Janet Walsh screamed over the din. "What the fuck are we going to do?"

I was too stupefied to answer.

His huge organ, under the deceptively simple guidance of my cousin's exquisite hands, sent another half dozen creamy salvos up the lane, one of which almost reached the distance achieved by his first shot.

The audience was ecstatic. For five full minutes Barney was cheered by the crowd, and he soaked up the attention like a man who had just won the Tour de France. Angelique was all smiles. She even went so far as to actually hug her champion, which startled him most of all. My hopes, so high at the beginning of the contest, were now quite deflated. Barney's cumshot was not just exceptional, it was unprecedented. Angelique had played her cards right. Whether or not Jacques physical ailment was a feint or an honest oversight on his part, mattered very little. My cousin was about to crush me, and I suddenly felt very sick.

Charlotte, Joanna, Felicia, and Janet—my stalwart and intrepid team—seemed to suffer from a collective meltdown. Charlotte, especially, looked doubtful as to whether we really stood any chance of winning in the aftermath of Barney's extremely long cumshot. Even Felicia, usually the most optimistic one of all of us, looked grim. But I, as their leader, could not afford to throw in my chips just yet. I had to present to them, and to everyone, a positive front. Luckily, my nature would not accept defeat—not when I knew we stood the slightest chance of winning.

"Wipe those frowns of your faces girls," I told my team. "Don't let Angelique and her nasty little minions see you sweat."

"She's right," Charlotte said to the others. "If we have to go down, let's go down fighting."

"Bravo!" Felicia agreed. "Let's show them!"

"Do you think Craig can beat him?" Janet asked me.

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "But we've got to try."

Joanna patted me on my shoulder reassuringly. "You've got one huge advantage in your favor."

"What's that?
"You love each other. And people who are in love tend to go that extra mile."

"Aptly put," Janet laughed.

Once the judges had restored order, they signaled for us to come to the platform. I wished my team luck and helped Craig disrobe. He looked angry and his body motions were very stiff and aggressive—not conducive to producing a superior cumshot.

"Please," I said to him almost as a whisper. "If you love me, do as I tell you. Put Barney and everything else out of your mind. Focus on me only. Relax your body and make believe you're fucking my brains out. That's what you want to do to me right, baby? You want to fuck the shit out of me. So just pretend my hand is my pussy and shoot all the hot, sticky spunk way up inside me. Fuck me hard. Fuck me until I cream all over that big fucking cock of yours!"

I don't think Craig was quite prepared for my litany of filth. I think I even surprised myself. But it had the desired effect. As soon as he saw me rub Dr. Swensen's special masturbation cream on my hands, he quieted down and allowed his body to relax.

The signal was given to start and I took both hands and began rubbing his cock in a milking fashion that he once told me had been used by Mrs. Terry and Mrs. Barber years ago when he was first indoctrinated by those older women into the world of CFNM. His prick was the same size as Barney's and just as thick. But Craig's balls did not hang as low. Instead, they hung higher up between his legs, making them less capable of bouncing back and forth as I masturbated him. In a way this was good, since my hand had a greater range of motion over his cock.

My team urged him on with some of the most wickedly filthy talk I had ever heard from a group of women. He responded by concentrating on my hand, imagining it to be my pussy. I knew this imagery would be a great help to him and he seemed to respond very well to my technique.

My hand literally flew up and down over his huge tool like it had a mind of its own. I saw pre-cum begin to form at the three-minute mark and I sensed his balls were preparing to launch their pent-up load.

"You're milking me like a cow!" he screamed aloud. "Like Mrs. Terry!"

"Yes," I said. "Like Mrs. Terry and Mrs. Barber who used to put you on all fours and jerk your huge prick off into a bucket!"

I knew how much he loved the imagery of those two venerable women and I hoped my words would fuel him to a stupendous orgasm.

"I want to see your spunk hit the fucking wall!" I screamed. "Show all these women your sticky, hot, creamy jizz now!"

With only 30 seconds left to go, I pulled on him for dear life. 

"Oh, look at your balls!" I cried. "They're all filled up with hot sperm!"

The crowd was standing up in their seats, cheering wildly. I knew Craig had superb self-control, but time was running out. My hand was failing.

"Hurry Craig! Hurry!" I yelled at him in desperation.

Fifteen seconds remaining now. "Shoot it for me baby. Shoot it for me, Mrs. Terry, Mrs. Barber, and Kelly! Shoot it now!"

And then, in the final few seconds, my handsome lover screamed aloud and thrust his prick up hard against my hand. I pulled down on his cock and stopped stroking entirely, letting the pressure inside his balls supply him with all the force he would need. It was a maneuver that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. I was taking a big chance, but I trusted to both his sexual preferences and my own intuition.

To a chorus of gasps and moans, I and my team, and a thousand other women, watched in rapt fascination as the first hot jet of spunk shot of Craig's huge convulsing cock and flew outward at a 45-degree trajectory over the less fortunate offerings of the previous contenders. And to both my shock and delight, it landed right next to Barney's cumshot. I immediately looked up at the sensor results posted automatically on the giant LCD above the judges' platform. Twenty-two feet and one-eighth of an inch! I screamed for joy, continuing to milk his cock while my hands got covered in spunk.

We had won. It was a small margin but it had been enough. Craig and I were greeted by a thunderous applause. As my team and I hugged each other, I saw Barney walk over to Craig and shake his hand. I saw genuine sorrow on the black man's face as he congratulated Craig. And Craig, incapable of holding a grudge, smiled and patted Barney on the back, happy to see his old friend once again. Both men hugged each other and laughed, and I knew that things were going to be all right between them.

Suddenly, Lenore was all over me and then it was my aunt's turn. All of my Sisterhood friends had now surrounded me and my team, kissing and hugging all of us. And amongst the crowd I made out two diminutive figures approaching me. It was Mary Kate and Ashley. Their faces were jubilant.

"You did it!" Ashley cried as she threw her arms around me. "I knew you were going to win!"

And then it was Mary Kate's turn to shower me with affection. I had never felt so proud of myself and my team, and especially Craig, who picked me up and kissed me with great passion as soon as Mary Kate had pulled away. Teri and Drew offered me their congratulations as well as some other celebrities who were friends of my aunt Phoebe. Sylvie, Juliette, and Julie tried to embrace me all at once, and the older woman kissed me many times on both cheeks.

"You know how to control a man!" she exclaimed. "I salute you!" 

Even as I responded to all the people who came up to offer me their congratulations, my eyes were busy searching the room for any sign of Angelique and her team. They were nowhere to be found. I knew that this defeat would forever mark the end of whatever civility might have survived between us. But I also knew that it signaled the beginning of an even greater struggle that was to dwarf the importance of this competition into insignificance and ultimately propel us into the battle of our lives.

In the short ceremony that followed, I was awarded the "Antoinette" statue before an admiring crowd of onlookers. It felt good to hold that ancient relic in my hands: a symbol of all that was best and good about the Sisterhood. I looked forward to the monetary prize as well, but nothing could equal the joy I received from defeating Angelique. And as I held the statue high above my head for all to see, I saw a bevy of her radical-minded apostolates depart the hall in great haste, and with disgust written all over their faces.

After the ceremony had concluded, all those who had taken part in the competition, including dignitaries and other celebrities, enjoyed a sumptuous feast prepared by my aunt Phoebe, which was hosted on the lawn. Ashley and Mary Kate joined Craig and I at our table and both sisters immediately launched into a series of questions for the handsome champion.

"How do you manage to ejaculate so far?" Mary Kate asked him. "I mean I have seen guys in adult films shoot pretty good, but twenty-two feet? My mind can't grasp that."

Craig laughed. "Neither can I! I guess guys like me are freaks of nature."

"But I mean that black guy too," Ashley chimed in.

"Yeah, you mean my friend, Barney."

"Yes, Barney. How does he do it?"

"I guess he's a freak too. I really don't know what else to say."

"The fact is," I began, "both Craig and Barney had taken part in a medical experiment about a year ago in Sweden. They were both given male enhancement drugs and I guess it permanently affected them."

"I that so?" Ashley replied. "I think most guys would kill to be able to ejaculate like that."

"I suppose you're right, Ashley," Craig said.

"Do you masturbate often?" Mary Kate asked him.

Craig leaned back in his chair and let his eyes settle on me. "I'm pretty much horny all the time. Some days I can jerk off three or four times."

"Really?" Mary Kate asked surprised. "Your body can produce that much sperm?"

"Yes, ma'm it can," he replied proudly. "In fact, I'm horny right now."

"Even after all that cum you just shot out?"

"Yup. I produce tons of the white stuff every day."

"Lucky you, Holly!" Ashley laughed. I could tell she had become turned on by what she had seen and was anxious to see more.

"Do you think," she said to me, "that we could have a private show? You know, just the four of us?"

"A private show?" I asked.

"Yes. Mary Kate and I would love to see him masturbate. We were sitting kind of far away and the monitor screen didn't really didn't do it justice. It would be great if we could see things up close. If it's okay with you and Craig."

"As long as there's free food around, I don't mind," Craig said happily.

"I don't see why not," I said. "It would be fun." I turned to Craig. "Do you think you can perform again so soon?"

"I think so. But don't expect another twenty-two foot cumshot."

"Okay. Twenty feet!" Mary Kate said, her eyes sparkling.

"Awesome!" Ashley laughed. "I hate those little cumshots that just dribble out. They're not exciting to watch."

"Yeah," Mary Kate agreed. "We like our cumshots thick and creamy!"

"And shot far and wide!" Ashley added, moving her right hand in a wide arc to simulate the tracing of a cumshot through the air. She began laughing hysterically. "You must think we are such perverts!"

"No at all," I said. "It's nice to see this side of you for a change."

Mary Kate finished a forkful of food, swallowed, and eyed her sister. "You know, the world sees us one way, and that's fine because that's what we want them to see. But here, with all the Sisterhood around us, and our bodyguards out of the way, we can let our hair down. I mean, Ash and I are both 21 years old now and we should be able to act out some of our fantasies without facing reprobation. It's not like we're breaking the law or hurting anyone or anything like that. We just want to have some fun—with cum!" 

Both sisters laughed at her little pun.

I found their ribald talk quite infectious and arousing. I laughed along with them, as did Craig. I had never really seen either of the twins display more of their lustful natures until now, and it was pure revelation.

"The truth is, Holly," Ashley began, "both Mary Kate and I really get turned on watching guys masturbate. I don't know if that's normal or not, but it's just so hot and sexy to see it. Especially if we're the ones who get them to do it."

"Better stop talking like that girls. I'm getting a hard-on!"

The twins and I looked at each other and giggled.

"I think you were born with a hard-on," I said to him. "But really, I don't think there is anything weird about watching guys jerk off. It's really a power trip for us girls, right? And jerking off guys is one of the things the Sisters here do best. Look where it's got them!"

We watched as Craig moved his hand down onto his crotch. Ashley coyly bent her head to one side to watch him fondle himself.

"Why don't you jerk it off right now?" she suggested with a provocative smile.

"Are you serious?" Craig replied, sneaking a look at me.

"Go ahead," I said. "I'd like to see it too."

"You mean right here? With all these other people around?"

"Well," I said, "you just jerked off in front of a thousand women. Why should that be a problem for you?"

"Yeah, come on, beat if off," Mary Kate insisted. "I want to see you shoot your load. Please!"

It was almost a plea.

"No, I want it to be just the four of us," Ashley stated emphatically. "I want it to be special. Can't we go someplace where Craig can perform without anyone else around?"

I thought for a moment and remembered that my aunt's veranda was hardly ever used except by me on those occasions when I needed time alone. It was surrounded by a high brick wall that would give us complete privacy. I suggested this to the twins and they thought it was a great idea.

Craig had insisted that he needed to finish his dinner before giving us another show. That was fine with me. I could tell that both Mary Kate and Ashley were thrilled at the idea of watching my handsome boyfriend cum for them. The world might have an impression of both girls as being somewhat cutesy and demure, which in fact they were. But, they were now both adult women with a concomitant interest about male sexuality and were both fascinated and curious about how the male genitals worked. What better way than to show them firsthand from a young and handsome guy who was always willing to please? And being sheltered as it were in the Sisterhood environment, the rest of the world would never know of their prurient experiences. It was a perfect environment in which to satiate their ribald desires.

As we dined, I saw Barney Cole come walking over with a plate of food in his hands. Craig greeted him warmly and invited him to sit down with us. 

After all the introductions had been made, we had explained to him what we were planning to do after dinner. Barney took a swig of soda and laughed.

"Good luck to you, buddy," he said to Craig. "If you can shoot another load like you did in the contest, I take my hat off to you."

I saw Ashley size up the handsome black man favorably. "I was thinking," she said to him, "why don't you and Craig compete against each other?"

"Great idea!" Mary Kate quickly agreed. "What do you think, Barney? You feel like you can cum again? Please say yes!"

Barney looked surprised. "Put on another show? Just for you? After what we just did?" He looked at Ashley, then Mary Kate. "I had no idea you girls were so kinky! But god-damn if I ain't up for it!"

"Excellent!" Mary Kate said, excitedly.

Ashley looked at her sister and they both giggled.

"Mary Kate and I took bets on which one of you was going to shoot the farthest."

"Yeah that was a close call, Craig," Barney said. "You only beat me by an eighth of an inch."

"Well, you might beat me this time bro," Craig replied genially.

"I'm glad to see that you both have worked out your differences," I said to Barney. "The kind of friendship you have is rare."

"Hey, I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that I'm not in love with Angelique, cause I am. Whether she is in love with me is another story. I'm just sorry as hell that I lied to you, Craig. It was wrong. I never meant you any harm."

Craig put his hand on Barney's shoulder. "Look man, I think we both know that people sometimes make mistakes. You let your lust get the best of you, that's all!"

Both men laughed heartily. 

"I guess there's no love lost between you and your cousin," Barney said to me quite unexpectedly.

"No, Barney," I replied. "There's no love lost between us. But if I may give you a word of advice: be careful. Angelique has a way of using and then discarding men. I just don't want to see a good guy like you get hurt."

"I appreciate that, Holly," he said with a serious air. "I want you and my buddy here to know that just because I helped her out, I'm not your enemy. I'll never do anything to hurt you guys despite my involvement with her."

After dinner was over the five of us walked around to the east wing of the chateau and entered through a set of glass doors into the veranda. It was a spacious area the size of a small hall. Most of the patio furniture had been removed to accommodate the dinner guests, but we found a few pieces that had been left behind. 

"Right there," I said, pointing to a long, rectangular table. "Mary Kate, Ashley, and I will sit on that side and you guys can perform on this side. That way we can see everything."

Craig and Barney quickly removed their shorts and tee shirts as the twins and I sat down. When Ashley first saw Barney's cock pop up out of his shorts fully erect, she squealed with joy.

"Oh, my God! Where were you hiding that?"

Mary Kate simply sat there gawking at the size of the black man's enormous appendage. "Closed circuit TV doesn't do you justice!" she said to him, unable to stop from laughing.

"It has a mind of its own, ladies," Barney snickered. "You never know when it's going to pop up!"

"Or pop off!" Ashley exclaimed through her laughter.

When both men were ready, I told them to begin fondling themselves. I further advised them to take it nice and slow and really entertain us.

"Yeah," Mary Kate agreed. "No quickies. We want a build up. You know, that way you guys can shoot it really far."

The men agreed and promised to give us a show that we would never forget. 

"Don't worry, you won't be disappointed," Craig assured her as he started caressing his prick. Within moments he was as hard as a rock.

"Wow!" Ashley remarked, staring at the abrupt transformation. "I think you're as big as Barney!"

"In fact," I said to her, "they are both exactly twelve and three quarters of an inch long."

"That's so cool!" Mary Kate said admiring both penises. "Do bigger cocks usually shoot more cum?"

Barney smiled. "I don't think there's any evidence to support that theory, Mary Kate."

"Oh," she replied looking somewhat dismayed. Then suddenly her face brightened. "But we already know what you guys can do, so maybe it is true."

It was obvious that all of our sexy talk was very effectual in helping both men achieve full erection. It was time to begin.

"You guys are going to be on your own this time," I said to them. "No lube, no tricks, no one's hands but your own. Just a straight and simple jerk off."

"Straight and simple," Barney concurred. "You better watch out bro," he said to Craig. "I'm gonna whip your white ass this time."

"Oh yeah?" Craig replied. "How are you going to do that?"

"I'm gonna stroke this damn piece of hot black meat so fast and hard that all these fine ladies here in the box seats are gonna wish they had raincoats on!"

That did it. Ashley, Mary Kate and I burst out laughing. We soon found out that Barney had a marvelous sense of humor. It was not so much the jokes themselves, but the way in which he told them. And his expressions were so animated that before he got to the punch line we were already doubled over in fits of laughter. Ashley was particularly sensitive to his outbursts of humor. Everything that he said that had the slightest tinge of humor in it from that moment on set her off on a laughing spree. Barney was overjoyed that she found him so amusing.

"I've never laughed so hard in my life," the beautiful twin confessed.

"You know, Ashley," Barney said, waiting for her laughter to subside, "I think there is nothing more beautiful and sexy than seeing a fine-looking woman such as yourself having a great time. I just get all turned on from watching you laugh."

"Are you telling us she can laugh you into an erection?" Craig joked.

"It's possible," Barney said with some seriousness. "There are all kinds of fetishes out there man. Come on, don't you find laughing women sexy?"

"Hmmm…Now that you mention it—I do." Craig said, somewhat bemused at this apparently unexpected realization.

"Okay," Barney said, looking justified. "I see Ashley laugh like she does and I'm gonna shoot the biggest load of man juice this side of Paris."

Ashley took a little sip of her mineral water and crossed her legs. "Well, I guess I'll just have to make sure I laugh a lot, Barney."

Her answer appeared to excite him because I saw him take a quick peek at her lovely legs and sigh aloud.

"Girl you are something else."

Ashley just grinned and looked at his crotch. "So, what are you guys waiting for? We want to see the cum!"

"Damn!" Barney said under his breath.

I told both Craig and Barney to position themselves so that they were standing side by side facing us. "You can jerk off until you're ready to cum and then you have to point those monsters out towards the wall so that we don't get soaked."

"Yeah," Mary Kate agreed. "Stand so we can watch both of you cum."

"Maybe they'll both cum together!" Ashley chuckled.

The twins and I carried on our conversation while the two men masturbated themselves, their excited pricks seeming to grow bigger and bigger with each newfound burst of laughter from us. Both Mary Kate and Ashley were still virgins, but their repertoire of foul language might have belied that fact. I was not prepared for some of the things I heard, and I think Craig and Barney were themselves surprised to hear about some of the very racy but sexy tales they told about their family and friends. Some of it was shocking, but it seemed to stimulate both men to no end.

"It was Ashley who first caught our older brother masturbating," Mary Kate said as she watched Barney and Craig stroke their long tools. "I think he had left the bathroom door unlocked or something, right Ash?"

"I think he thought it was locked but actually it was open about an inch or two," Ashley explained. "I was going in to take a shower and there he was sitting on the toilet jerking off with a porn magazine in his hands. He was doing it so fast that he was in another world. I was really curious to see what was going to happen so I kept watching. He never even knew I was there."

"Wow!" I said. "Did you actually stay to watch him cum?"

"I really didn't want to because it was my brother, you know. But his cock was so huge, and he seemed to be really enjoying himself that I got turned on from just looking at him. I hope you don't think I'm sick or anything, but it was just so much fun to see."

"I wish I had been there," Mary Kate said. "I would have loved to see him bust a nut."

"So what happened?" I asked.

"Well," Ashley continued, "I opened the door just a little bit more to see better and then he started to cum."

"Ropes," Mary Kate interjected. "Tell Holly how you thought it looked like ropes of sperm when he shot off."

"Exactly like that," her sister agreed. "Huge, sticky ropes of semen came shooting out of his dick. The first spurt actually hit the shower curtain about ten feet away."

"Oh God, why wasn't I there?" the other twin complained.

"And I mean, I was like shocked," Ashley confessed. "He just kept shooting his cum over and over. His fingers were all covered with it, and the magazine took several hits so that the pages all got soaked. I got so horny from watching him cum that I had to go into my bedroom and take out my vibrator."

"That is some story!" I said, wishing that I, too, had been there to see it.

"That is a great fucking story!" Craig said aloud.

Barney was sweating profusely now, his body glistening in the sunlight, his huge cock and balls bouncing up and down to his impassioned stroking. "I fucking love that story!" he gasped. "It's so hot! Damn girl! You are one sexy thing!"

"Looks like that cream is building up in those huge fucking balls of yours," Mary Kate laughed. 

"Oh, I got lots of cream inside of these big old balls for you babe," he answered her. "About two quarts' worth."

"He means a half gallon," Craig said laughing hard, and almost breaking his concentration.

"I love watching your balls bounce around, Barney," Ashley commented.

"Why don't you girls tell us another story," he suggested. 

Ashley looked sheepishly at Mary Kate. "What do you think? Should we tell them the story of the hand cream?"

"Oh, that sounds good already!" Craig muttered between clenched teeth.

"Tell them," Mary Kate advised her sister.

"Well," Ashley began, "Mary Kate and I go to the same hair salon and have our hair done by the same stylist. One day she—her name is Alicia—was giving me a facial and her boyfriend came in to see her. Mary Kate was sitting in the chair next to me getting her haircut and we both giggled because he was just so gorgeous. Anyway, Alicia takes out this huge plastic bottle of face cream—you know, Holly, the big blue bottle with the pushdown dispenser—and she puts the palm of one hand underneath the dispenser and with the other she pushes the top of the dispenser down hard. 

"She wasn't paying any attention because her boyfriend was there," Mary Kate interjected.

"Anyway, what happened was that the cream shot out of the dispenser so hard that it flew right into my lap. It was no big deal, but I saw her look at him and she said: "It's just like you!" Then she made some kind of jerk-off motion with her hands so that she could convey her meaning to us. She told us later that she often took him in the back of the salon after hours and gave him handjobs with the lotion. She said it made him squirt gallons."

"Fuck, that's hot," Barney gasped.

"But that's not all," said Mary Kate, who now continued the story.

"The following week me and Ash went in for a manicure and her boyfriend was there again. This time Alicia told us to stay because she knew that we were curious about how to give guys handjobs. We told her we wanted to watch her bring him off. So she put us in the adjacent room, which has a two-way mirror."

"Holy shit," Craig said pulling on his cock like a madman. "How kinky can you get?"

"It's all true," Ashley insisted. "Every word. Those are the kinds of things that happen in LA."

"I'm not surprised!" I said, thoroughly amused by their outrageous tale. "So what happened?"

"Alicia snuck us into the back room and we waited there for about fifteen minutes until the last customer had left. She then took her boyfriend in and told him to get naked. She left her clothes on though."

"You're forgetting the best part," Ashley reminded her.

"What part?" Oh, yeah! The table!"

"The milking table!" Ashley corrected her.

Mary Kate chuckled. "Yeah, that's what she called it. She had this table that had a cutout in the middle so that if a guy laid down on his stomach, his cock would fit through the hole."

"I fuckin' like that idea!" Barney just barely managed to say.

"Once she got him lying on it, she got underneath and put some cream on her hands and began masturbating him like crazy. It was so funny watching this huge cock being jerked off like that. She had him shooting his sperm in no time."

Craig groaned. "I can't take much more of this girls!"

It was plainly obvious that the two men were getting close to ejaculating. 

"Ladies, I think we are going to see a really huge cumshot from both these guys very soon," I said.

Mary Kate suggested that they turn and face to the left so that we could get a good view of their ejaculations without us getting drenched in the process.

"Let us know when you're ready to cum so that we don't miss anything," she advised them.

"I'm going to sit on the table," Ashley said, quickly moving into a closer position.

Not to be outdone, Mary Kate followed her sister's lead. Both girls were now only a few feet from the men. They looked down on the mammoth tools being brought to orgasm just for them and they loved it.

"If I had some hand lotion I'd use it on you," Ashley told Barney, her voice dripping with lust. "Up and down, up and down…" she laughed, pretending to stroke an imaginary penis with her hand.

"This is mind blowing!" Mary Kate said turning to me. "I just love it!"

"Me too" I said, eagerly awaiting the shower of sperm.

"Those cocks are going to explode!" she continued.

"Like a rocket getting ready to shoot off," Ashley said, unable to take her eyes off the scene.

"I think this rocket is getting ready to launch," Mary Kate observed, as he craned her neck forward so that her face was only a foot away from Barney's tool, now dripping pre-cum at an enormous rate and on the verge of exploding.

Neither man could speak at this point. All their concentration was now focused upon their cocks, fully primed and ready to release their white, hot spunk.

At almost the same exact moment both Craig and Barney thrust their hips forward and locked their legs. Barney was now beyond the point of no return. Throwing his head back, he let out a wild howl, and his enormous balls, so full of fresh, new spunk, expanded before our eyes and filled up like two huge water balloons, promising a potent release of sperm. I knew, as Ashley and Mark Kate did, that the long-awaited cumshot was now on its way. Barney grunted and, as he did so, Ashley moved slightly to the right so as to not miss witnessing his orgasm. Both girls' faces were only inches away from his huge black prick, which was now completely covered with his nasty juices.

"Ropes! I want to see ropes of cum!" Mary Kate demanded.

To further encourage his orgasm, Ashley made a "tsk, tsk" sound with her mouth, which I thought suggested the sound of semen being ejaculated. She simultaneously moved her arm in a wide arc, indicating he should hit the wall with his cumshot.

Barney's powerful hand pulled savagely on his cock as he began to surrender his hot and sticky spunk.

"Oh, here it comes!" Mary Kate laughed.

Ashley laughed along with her and Barney could take no more.

Suddenly, he let go with two huge blasts of semen, which shot out of his prick with such intensity that the girls and I screamed in delight. The milky load traveled at incredible speed and was almost impossible to follow with our eyes. I could not be sure but I think the first shot did, in fact, hit the brick wall, fifteen feet away. As astounding as his orgasm was, Craig was now ready to deliver what we all agreed, later on, was the greatest cumshot ever produced.

Seeing his friend shoot his cum uncontrollably to the sound of the twin's unceasing laughter, Craig delivered a few final vicious strokes to his fat prick and shot three amazingly thick ropes of spunk toward the wall, his abundant stream splashing head on into Barney's equally prodigious offering, and part of it sailing completely over the wall. Despite being in the throes of orgasm, he nonetheless appeared amazed that such a singular thing could happen. I think the twins and I sat awestruck for a moment, unable to comprehend how he could have achieved such a feat after having had such a voluminous orgasm only a few hours before.

There was so much cream shooting into the air at one time that both Ashley and Mary Kate looked on transfixed and temporarily speechless. We cried joyously as giant washes of white paste danced before our eyes. Unbelievable amounts of sperm were being ejaculated at an incredible rate, so much so that the area directly in front of us was completely saturated with the thick, salty fluid. It was as if someone had decided to take a bucket of white wash and fling the contents onto an invisible canvas. Squirt after giant squirt poured out of the men's swollen tools, in a seemingly never-ending cascade of semen. The twins were laughing so hard at the incessant volley of cum being shot out that they could barely speak.

"There' so…so much of it! And it's so gooey!" Ashley exclaimed, as her eyes followed two adjacent loads of sperm that flew past her in a parallel direction towards the hedges. 

And then it was Mary Kate's turn to comment when the next ejaculation, coming from Barney's cock, actually produced two separate, but distinct, arcs of cum, one of which flew off into the distance while the other formed a long, stringy tail that hung obscenely from the underside of his glans. And with each successive eruption, the sticky strands stubbornly clung to his cock head, moving back in forth in the air like some gelatinous paste that had a mind of its own. Mary Kate pointed to it and turned to her sister.

"Don't you just love that!" she said laughing uncontrollably. "Look at it!"

Ashley shook her head in wonderment at the trail of spunk hanging from Barney's cock. "It does look like ropes," she said to her sister, completely overcome by the hilarity of it all. "I want to see more ropes!"

Their pricks still not completely drained, both men continued to stoke themselves vigorously, their ample supply of sperm still shooting huge volleys of cum into the air. Mary Kate was enthralled.

"This is so fucking unbelievable!" she cried, as one sticky blast from Barney just barely missed hitting her in the face.

"And they're still cumming!" Ashley cried, as she watched several long, stringy loads from Craig fly over the hedges to Barney's left.

"More, more!" Mary Kate egged them on. "More ropes!"

They didn't disappoint her. As a final coup de grace, both men shot a huge, creamy load at roughly the same time. Both ejaculations were aimed toward the sky, and it made all of us laugh as we watched the fireworks-like display go up and then down, landing in a huge puddle near both men's feet. It was finally over, and Mary Kate and Ashley had been thoroughly satisfied with what I had to admit was an incredible performance.

"That was fantastic!" Ashley said to me as the men cleaned themselves with some paper towels I had brought with me. She then turned to Craig and Barney. "And you guys were both phenomenal!"

Both men looked up at us and smiled. They looked a bit tired but very happy.

"We have to do this again, Holly," Mary Kate said excitedly. "These guys are amazing!"

"My aunt Phoebe's official induction into the Sisterhood takes place next week," I said. "Maybe we can think up something special."

"I don't care what we do as long as Craig and Barney are there."

After the guys had cleaned themselves up, along with the sperm that they had so effectually rained down upon my aunt's veranda floor, all of us went to rejoin the dinner party, which was in full swing.

End of Chapter 9

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

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