Aunt Phoebe's Masturbatorium Ch. 08

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

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

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

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

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

"Welcome Sisters!" she shouted.

A chorus of cheers greeted her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shook her head. "You have."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What a way to lose!" Zula remarked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was already semi-erect.

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

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

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

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

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