Taste 2021 edition, p.144
Taste: 2021 Edition, page 144
A ballerina steps onto the stage.
At least, she’s a ballerina on the bottom. On the top, she’s wearing horrible makeup that makes her look like a witch—with wrinkles on her forehead so large they’re sprouting their own wrinkles.
Must be a Baba Yaga impersonation. Didn’t know the old witch was a dancer.
The one on stage sure is. She performs some truly acrobatic ballet moves—that is, until the pudgy singer from earlier rushes onto the stage, dressed like a child.
Yep.
That’s Baba Yaga, for sure. Why else would she pantomime eating the dude?
When she’s done pretending to eat him, the bearded child grabs the mic, and the music changes again.
“My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,” he sings with a thick Russian accent.
The Rockettes ladies rush back, also wearing Baba Yaga makeup. Each of them holds a toy that reminds me of the killer Chucky doll—and these dolls are missing random limbs.
Did the Baba Yagas get peckish off stage?
Instead of kicking up their legs like before, the Rockettes/Baba Yagas launch into the famous Russian Cossack dance—the one with lots of squats and leg thrusts.
For elderly witches, they’re incredibly athletic.
From here, the show gets even weirder. There are Cirque du Soleil-style acrobats dressed like Teletubbies, jugglers pretending to be bears, a clown straight out of Stephen King’s worst nightmares, and a Baba Yaga on a unicycle for the finale.
When it’s done, everyone begins to clap, and I join in.
“Ladies and Germs,” the singer dude says after the ovation, sweat beading on his brow. “I want to see you on the dance floor.” And just like that, he starts butchering Madonna’s Like a Virgin.
“What did you think of the show?” Natasha asks me, beaming with pride.
Did she choreograph it? “It was… very interesting.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she says. “We had to simplify it for the American audience.”
Simplify? The original must’ve been the equivalent of an LSD overdose.
“Ask the lady to dance.” Bella gives Vlad an exasperated glare. “You’re making the family look bad.”
“Yeah, bro,” Alex says. “Dance.”
Smiling with his eyes, Vlad stands up and extends a hand to me, Prince Charming style. “May I have this dance?”
I leap to my feet before my brain can even think about vetoing this questionable idea.
With a knowing smirk, Bella rushes to the stage and yells something to the singer dude in Russian.
He nods.
The music changes once more to a slower song I don’t recognize.
Vlad takes my hands like a professional ballroom dancer.
Heat spreads through my whole body from his touch—as though I have vodka for blood.
He pulls me closer.
I swallow my heart back into my chest.
We start to slowly sway to the music.
Can you have a heart attack from being too turned on?
“Bésame,” the pudgy dude sings, and for the first time, I feel like he’s in his element. “Bésame mucho.”
Why, oh why, did I ever learn Spanish? That’s “kiss me a lot”—which is exactly what I want Vlad to do to me.
Around us, some of the 1000 Devils’ staff get the same idea. People are making out left and right. Hopefully, they’re each other’s significant others, and not, like in our case, bosses and their subordinates once removed.
Vlad leans down.
I shouldn’t kiss him.
But I really want to.
But I mustn’t.
He locks eyes with me.
Not fair. It’s harder to control myself when looking into those hypnotic blue depths.
And what if he kisses me?
I think he might. And if he does, I won’t be able to resist. I’m only human.
He pulls me even closer, and our lower bodies touch.
Holy phallic symbols.
Is that the proverbial flashlight in his pocket, or is Dracula very happy to see me?
I should step back, but I can’t.
My legs refuse to move away—not even when Vlad slowly lowers his head, as if his mouth is drawn to mine by a puppeteer’s string.
Got to do something. Now.
“We should test today,” I blurt, stopping him an inch from my lips.
Eyes gleaming, he lifts his head. “Should we?”
“At your place.” Wait, what? How is that better than kissing? This is clearly the hormones and the vodka talking.
His nostrils flare. “Now?”
“It is a school night.” School night? Did that pop into my head because this is so much like the fantasy of a prom I never had?
“Let’s go.” He guides me through the slow-dancing throngs of software engineers.
Before I can blink, we’re in the limo again.
“What about your family?” I say as Ivan floors the gas pedal.
Vlad takes out his phone and sends a few rapid-fire texts.
A bunch of replies arrive immediately.
He rolls his eyes. “To sum up, everyone liked you. A lot.”
Why do I have the feeling the actual texts mentioned unborn grandchildren or worse?
“Good to know.” The words come out too breathless for my liking.
“First things first.” He reaches into a drawer on the side and takes out something resembling an asthma inhaler. Changing the mouth piece, he thrusts the gizmo in my face. “Blow.”
My cheeks burn. Apparently, they pictured my lips around Dracula’s shaft, not this device.
“What is that?” I ask, though I can guess.
“A breathalyzer. I want to make sure you’re not intoxicated.”
Huh, okay. Shrugging, I blow into the thing. I took a drug test before I started working for Binary Birch; this is not that different, I guess.
He frowns. “Point-zero-five percent. I think we’re going to take you home.”
Is he calling me a lightweight? I lift my chin. “Below eight is safe to drive in NYC.”
His frown deepens. “Do you have a car?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t even think about driving in this condition.”
If the idea was to ruin my buzz, he’s definitely succeeding. “Why do you have a breathalyzer here?”
He nods at the driver’s section. “I do random checks, especially around the holidays. Russians make fun of drink-and-drive regulations. Ivan isn’t allowed to have any alcohol when on duty.”
Suddenly feeling mischievous, I lick my lips as seductively as I can. “You sure you want to take me home? The testing is oh-so important.”
His jaw flexes. “Fine. Let’s go to my place. I better keep an eye on you.”
Wow.
His place.
This is really happening.
I sober up some more. Suddenly feeling shy, I voice something that bothered me in the restaurant. “Do you not get along with your parents?”
He shakes his head. “When I visit them one-on-one or with Alex, we get along just fine. I just don’t like bigger gatherings because of how they treat Bella. She’s a great sister and an amazing daughter—not to mention, an MIT grad—but they don’t appreciate her.”
I frown. “Because of her sex toy company?”
“No. It started much earlier. Bella was a tomboy as a kid, which our mother hated. In general, Bella has always been a free spirit, and I guess my folks didn’t like it that she didn’t fit the mold they had in mind for her. They always think the worst of her. Like they claim she does drugs—but she doesn’t. They think she’s promiscuous—but she isn’t. It’s infuriating.”
“That sucks.” I cover his hand with mine. “I know about not meeting parents’ expectations. And the funny thing is, I think mine would love to swap me for Bella.”
His expression warms. “Well, at least mine love you.”
“Because they think I’m a prude goodie two shoes?” The question comes out more bitter than I hoped.
He leans in, the corners of his mouth tilting up. “If only they knew what you wanted to do at my place.”
Even my blush blushes. “Too bad that’s cancelled.”
He pockets the breathalyzer. “Maybe not. Depends on your liver function.”
Oh?
The car stops, and before I can respond, he opens the door for me.
His building is modern and pricey-looking. He waves at the security guy as he leads me to the elevator and presses the button for the penthouse.
Is this really happening?
I will my body to detox the alcohol as fast as it can.
The elevator opens into a large hallway.
Vlad holds the doors for me. “Welcome to my home.”
I stumble out of the elevator.
This is surreal.
I’ve willingly come to the Impaler’s lair.
22
“Kitchen is through this corridor.” He leads the way.
As we walk, I gawk at everything.
The place is huge, especially for New York. The décor reminds me of our office—cold, modern, spotless. But unlike at work, there are human touches here as well. Specifically, posters of The Matrix movie franchise. And I mean a lot of posters. In multiple languages. Of every character. There are even posters tangentially related to it, like the one that states, “In Soviet Russia, Bullet Dodges You.”
We enter the kitchen.
“Sit.” He presses a button on an espresso machine. “Milk, sugar?”
“Just black is fine.” I plop on a chrome barstool. “So, let me guess. The Matrix is your favorite movie.”
He cocks his head. “What gave me away? Was it the trench coat?”
I want to smack myself on the forehead. He loves that movie so much he even dresses like the characters.
How did I not pick up on that?
I grin. “Oracle. That’s also a reference, isn’t it?”
He pours two cups of coffee and puts one in front of me. “Tell me you like the first Matrix.”
“I don’t like it.” I blow on my coffee. “I love it. I’ve been Trinity for every Halloween since I’ve seen it.”
He gives me such an admiring look that, for the first time ever, I wonder if this could actually work between us.
Whatever this is.
We love the same movie.
We’re into coding.
I find him attractive, and he clearly doesn’t think me hideous.
If only I’d met him outside of work.
“Every programmer likes The Matrix, at least a little,” he says. “How can we not? The hero is one of us.”
I take a big sip. The coffee is good, smooth and only moderately bitter. “How psyched are you about the fourth one?”
He grins. “Since they confirmed its existence a few months back, I’ve been counting down the days.”
Hmm. I wonder if he’d take me to the premiere.
“What’s your favorite scene?” I ask.
He tells me, and I share what mine were. Then we talk about other movies we like, and here, too, our likes and dislikes fit together like pieces of a puzzle.
“Can I see Oracle’s room?” I ask when the coffee is gone.
With a wide grin, he leads me there.
It’s as big as it seemed on the screen. There are millions of people in NYC who have less square footage than this lucky pig.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Still drunk?”
This again? I glare up at him. “I wasn’t drunk before. Even less so now.”
He pulls out the breathalyzer. “If you’re below point-zero-four, I’ll clear you for testing.”
Testing. Crap. I totally forgot about that. Do I want my alcohol to be low or high?
I blow into the gizmo.
“Good enough,” he says. “We can test—if you’re still up for it, that is.”
My cheeks turn redder than the Soviet flag. Can I back out of the testing now, after dragging us from the party under this pretext?
He might’ve been right earlier. I was drunk. How else to explain that bold invite?
I take a step back, frantically trying to think of ways to minimize the insanity of what’s about to happen. “We keep things professional.”
He steps toward me. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I’ll use the Kegel balls. This way, I keep my clothes on.” I feel like I just might fall through the floor as I say it.
He loosens his tie. “Is there a guy equivalent to those balls?”
“No. I mean, there’s the cock ring, but I imagine Dracula won’t fit inside your pants if—”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Dracula?”
I didn’t think I could redden more, but here we go.
Oh, well. Might as well fess up.
“I often nickname things.” I glance down at my chest. “I dubbed the girls Pinky and the Brain, if that makes your ego feel any better.”
He stares at Pinky and the Brain for a second too long, then raises his gaze back to my face. “You don’t look at Dracula, and I don’t look at you when you’re using the balls.” He takes off his glasses and puts them on a nearby table. “This way, I can’t see much anyway.”
I suppress a semi-hysterical giggle brought on by the phrase “using the balls.” “Where do we do this?” I ask.
“Follow me.” He leads me into his giant living room. “There.” He points at a twin of my suitcase. “Get what we need.”
I fish out the toys in question and hand him the cock ring, my face burning the entire time.
Must. Not. Think what Dracula would look like with that bling on.
As he takes the ring, our fingers brush, sending shivers down my body.
Perfect. Now I won’t need any lube for the Kegel balls.
“Where’s your bathroom?” Did that sound husky?
He points at a nearby door.
I lock myself in, take off my panties, and wash my hands and balls. The Kegel balls, that is. Thus far, no matter how ballsy I feel, I’ve never sprouted a pair, thank uterus.
Just in case, I lube up the balls and gently slide the first of the pair in, then the string that holds them together.
Feels pretty neutral so far.
Making sure to leave the removal loop out, I let the second ball join the first, and push them in as far as I’m comfortable with.
Hmm. This way, they feel tingly, and it’s not a big effort to keep them in.
I could probably walk around like this all day—which, of course, would be a bad idea. Vlad could then activate the vibration at any time, even if I’m at the DMV or the fish market, or at a meeting with Sandra.
I pace from sink to tub.
Yep.
Thanks to my pelvic floor muscles, the balls stay put.
Still, walking like this is a little scary. This must be what it’s like for guys to walk around worrying about their balls all the time.
I come back to the living room and find that he’s dimmed the lights.
Is this to lower visibility or to set a sexy mood?
He darts a glance at my skirt, then quickly drags his gaze to my face. “All good?”
Is that hunger in his eyes? I squeeze my muscles around the balls for reassurance. “Peachy.”
He runs his tongue over his lower lip. “Ladies first?”
I gulp in a breath. “How about together? You turn around and—”
“Sure.” He spins on his heel, and I hear the loudest zipper opening in the history of sound.
Do cock rings require erections? If so, Dracula was clearly ready for action, because almost instantly, Vlad says, “I’m all set.”
His phone lights up.
“No video.” I pull out my own phone and launch the app.
He grunts his agreement and clicks something on his end.
Oh my. The balls begin vibrating inside me, and I nearly drop Precious.
Holy A-spot, this feels good.
Too good. Moaning in the same room with Vlad kind of good.
Must distract him.
Frantically, I activate the vibration on his toy.
Did the phone just shake in his hands?
The ball vibration increases.
I up his also.
He ups mine again.
Why didn’t we sit? Or lie down?
My eyes begin to roll back, but I still manage to up his vibration one more notch.
When the orgasm smashes into me, I can’t suppress a moan.
His back tenses.
My pelvic muscles spasm a few more times, then relax.
Oh, no. The Kegel balls slip out of me onto the living room floor and begin rolling.
Fuck. If he sees my slickness on those balls, I’ll die.
“Close your eyes!” I shout. “And please don’t ask why.”
“Done.” The word sounds like a grunt.
Good.
Without turning off his vibration, I stash Precious into my purse and sprint over to where the balls stopped—four feet in front of Vlad.
Giving him his privacy, I resist the strong urge to peek at Dracula as I bend to pick up the balls.
The darn things slip through my fingers and roll away.
Since it’s hard to not look at his junk and chase them this way, I drop on all fours and chase after the toy like a predator hunting her prey.
Finally.
I grab the balls.
Nope.
They slip out of my grasp once more.
Did I have to lube them up so well?
Knees beginning to hurt, I crawl to where they stopped.
Yes! I snatch them and manage to keep a grip.
Then I see the legs in front of me.
I look up.
Yep.
I’m head to head with Dracula.
23
Wow.
I’m a tiny mouse in front of an anaconda.
This is how Mowgli must’ve felt when he first met Kaa.
Clutching onto my balls for dear life, I gulp down the gallon of saliva that my salivary glands suddenly spurt into my mouth.
Did I mention wow?
Dracula is beautiful in his engorged hugeness. Noticeably bigger than even Glurp, he might not fit in me, though it might be fun to try.
The ring squeezes and vibrates Dracula near the base, somehow accentuating the already-awesome sight.
