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Like us, some of the teams came in during the morning to train, but most were happy to forego training and simply slept late. These teams now entered along with the rest of the throng while announcements were made over the loudspeaker directing the various delegations and their teams to their designated seats.

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

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

At first I thought the idea of a man shooting his sperm 30 feet away quite funny, but quickly recalled that Craig had came near to achieving a 20-foot cumshot only recently at Sylvie's. And Jacques LaSalle had succeeded in passing the 18-foot barrier the year before during this very same contest. The thought that someone's orgasm might actually span the 30-foot limit was something I could not quite comprehend, and I began to wonder just what method of teasing and denial, extended milking by hand and machine, and supplemental oral concoctions might produce such a prodigious feat.
My group was seated in the first few rows in between the delegations from England and Italy. Far to my left I could see Angelique and her team sitting quietly, seemingly unperturbed by all the commotion taking place around them. Sitting directly behind my cousin was Jacques LaSalle, looking as if he wished he were someplace else.

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

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

As I watched the women file by I suddenly heard my name being called out by someone in the upper tiers.

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