Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hit one of the function keys and the familiar robotic arm, which had previously been retracted, once again made its appearance from the angular compartment adjacent to the hole.

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

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

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

"Any discomfort, Craig?" Joanna asked.

"Nope. It feels great. Keep going."

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure. Go ahead."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No pain or unpleasantness of any kind?"

"So far, no."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Zula, cut the power." I ordered.

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

"Craig, are you okay?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm ready," Charlotte said.

"Whatever it takes," I added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

"How many levels are there?"

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

"Nine?" How can that be possible?"

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

"What about the old tunnel?"

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

"Did you ever try to get inside?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It went very well," I replied.

"How did that new machine work out?"

"Do you mean the 'Extractinator'?

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

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

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

"You were the one who...?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You must hurry!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then tell him in your language!"

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

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

"We must help him!" cried the woman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, will you shut up!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what is your champion's name?"

"He is called 'Atma'."

"Help Atma to his feet, please."

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

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