Wail in a Hot Tub
and a Python in the Grass
The late afternoon Kiev sun sent slanting rays, as Python shoved the girl rudely out a patio door. The mobster named for the snake he was had again given her an injection, and with his usual roughness.
What’s his reptilian game in withholding my drugs but going through the motions of giving them to me? Whatever he had shot into her wasn’t heroin. I’ve seen the effects often enough to know.
Her gaze swept the next video set. A king size brass bedstead had been positioned on a spacious concrete deck: adjacent to it was a steaming hot tub. Chairs were arranged on the cropped lawn for the small audience.
There were fewer people here now and her snake in the grass co-star from the morning was standing fully clothed next to the pimpled cameraman. The girl’s trepidation surged and her eyes covertly regarded the venomous serpent. Don’t let my male lead be the viper! She took calming breaths and perched her tail feathers on the edge of the firm mattress. From what I’ve observed of him, The Python isn’t likely to sexually perform as an entertainer.
“~Places everyone.” The Fireplug’s baritone boomed: as attired in a quadruple-x navy-blue terry bathrobe, he made his screen debut. Natasha was trailing behind and she moved into a place beside the only camera.
Is this almost as bad or even worse than having the Python? Victoria appraised the male performer: his body resembled the shape of a boar on hind legs. I think he has eaten way too much wheat flour and it will feel like I’m practicing bestiality. She looked around the yard. How many running steps towards a leap over the perimeter fence could she make before being shot in the back?
Out of habit, the Obshina pranced to his usual chair but didn’t sit. He turned in place to take an inventory of persons present. He was tentative of an open display of his own pleasure so the gang master had minimized the attendees. Python, Max and Igor each took their seats and the pimpled bodyguard, Leonid, amateurishly fumbled with the tripod-mounted camera. Vladamir avoided looking at his co-star and focused on his girlfriend instead. He had ordered Natasha to take notes on how to provide improved sexual services.
“~Are we all ready?” The first time actor’s voice trembled with opening night jitters. He moved towards the bed and his eyes lost all sense of time in the young woman’s hourglass shape, partially concealed under a diaphanous teddy nightgown. His steps faltered in anticipation of ecstasy beyond his prurient imagination. “~Perform better than you did earlier.”
Can I work up another urge to vomit? I could have if I had gorged myself on those wheat flour dumplings. She didn’t have any better plan. Victoria slowly panned her gaze towards the hairy hydrant, with the intent of gagging, but her eyes traveled over the set—and lingered on the hot tub. That might be to my advantage. Her focus fell on her vulgar male co-star: he looked like the Pilsbury wheat flour doughboy. Why wouldn’t Vladamir just ravage me in private? It didn’t make any sense. Unless he assumes I’m a nymphomaniac—only as an exhibitionist.
“~Roll the camera.” The mobster’s hand shook as he gingerly placed it on her velvety smooth inner thigh. “~How should we start?”
“~As quickly as possible!” The girl reached up with both hands as quickly as a cobra and ripped the heavy robe off his drooping shoulders. The material parted like a snake shedding its skin. Does he enjoy being suddenly denuded in front of a group of clothed onlookers?
The instantly nude man was too taken aback to even stammer. His first response was to clutch down at his covering but he checked his action as the girl’s hasty fingers tore next at her own wispy negligee garment.
At least a baboon’s buttock is bald. Her lusty actions didn’t match her thoughts as her hands wantonly groped around his furry butt cheeks. Victoria pulled Vladamir’s hips closer and buried her face in the mat on his chest: her tongue darted. This is disgusting as licking a sheepdog-groomer’s brush.
The fantasy he had hoped for was coming true too fast. The mob boss glanced at the crowd and he became intensely aware of his corpulent body. With the girl’s slim waist in comparison, he must seem like a walrus. But a walrus has a penis that can make an elephant shameful at the urinal. The mobster’s lower lip sucked onto his stubble mustache: he tried to imagine his accoutrement rising to rival a well-hung blue whale’s. He felt like screaming: a wail in a hot tub.
His male gear can’t respond as fast as I apparently want it to. Victoria put her one hand into the mafia leader’s matted swatch of black pubic hair. As blindly seeking a needle in a haystack: I need fumble until I feel a prick.
“~Keep going,” Vladamir urged: he wished his gantry would elevate and take some focus off his flabby superstructure, “right there.” His mind was tracking her hand’s crotch action and didn’t notice what her mouth was up to. The nymphomaniac’s teeth crunched down on his left nipple: the shock ripped his concentration away from scanning the blueprint for his erection.
The nymph’s chin mowed through a jungle of dense underbrush and her tongue trekked up the male C-cup breast—to snap at his other nipple.
“~Ow!” The man reacted to the girl’s second lusty love bite with another hot tub wail. Stimulation of his nipple was erotic but she invaded the no-man’s-land between playful and painful. His attention was again drawn from his mental battle in the bulge and a weak push of his front collapsed back into his public launch pad.
Unquenchable desire showed in a pout, as the ravenous female glanced up from her unsuccessful effort. My recipe for his disaster calls for mixing in an extra measure of self-doubt—to prevent his stirring.
Get up! Vladamir issued an internal command to a non-performing task member. His eyes flicked over to the small crowd. The Python’s face had an unusual look—above an enviable male physique: it’s perfection caused him to feel even fatter like a glob of wheat flour and water dough molded roughly into a mane shape. He should’ve taken his underling’s advice about this girl being a snake in the grass.
His gaze traveled to the other spectators and his mind left the jelly of his belly, to lament their witnessing the lack of pectin in his gummy bear. Why hadn’t he approached the bed with his back to the crowd? At least he was correct in judging the young female. She was uncontrollably frantic in front of an audience—even if he found this situation grossly unnerving.
Victoria roughly grabbed at his hand that was hanging limply at his side. She tugged it onto her breast but the man had to bend slightly to reach.
Vladamir’s knuckles suddenly felt alone and lost in unknown hills. He scrunched his eyes and tried conjuring up an erotic image but soon realized the real situation was better than anything his mind’s eye could envision—except for his part. Why couldn’t he rise to this occasion? The mobster looked at her incredibly sexy body and to his relief, he felt a lower twitch.
“~Let’s go at it in the water.” Victoria also detected the slight thickening. Next phase! The frisky filly drew her failing stud to the hot water trough.
“~Oh ya!” Sporting a grin and emboldened by the slight arousal, the furry beast eagerly entered the pool with his sex-crazed water pixie. This erotic wet venue should put a tension spring into his rubbery diving board.
The fem-fatal cooed with genuine bliss and resumed the exaggerated motions of coaxing readiness. Under the water, her fingers worked hard enough for her arms to stir froth on the surface—but it produced no effects. The bilge plug is now pulled and his masculinity boat is utterly scuttled.
Vladamir closed his eyes again but it wasn’t to bring imagination or even to blot out the observers. He mentally cursed his physique. Other than in extreme drunkenness, this was the first time his body had failed. Why did it have to be now in front of witnesses? The answer was multiple-fold.
Nervousness, about performing for an audience had initially weakened his confidence. The lustful pique of the demanding girl had piled on more pressure and lack of response had factored in a healthy slice of dejection. The hot water was a decisive blow to his physiology. A biological reason why reproductive elements of the male anatomy aren’t housed within the protecting body is they function best—when air-cooled. The combination added up to temporary impotency, as a prostitute’s daughter would know.
The water sprite urged the titanic porn star’s flanks onto the tub’s rim. In pretense, it was for her female wizardry to work better but in reality, it was where the assemblage would be acutely aware his limp wand. Short of necromancy, now nothing was going to animate his dead bone.
Then, the unforgivable happened. Someone laughed at the humiliating debacle and the mob lord’s mortification was complete. He snarled at the cackle and his livid eyes swiveled to spy the offender. Max blanched at his employer’s malevolent glare and his hand tried to stanch back his guffaw.
As a lively tuna from a trawler’s deck, Vladamir flipped from the Jacuzzi. He snatched up his robe and donned it over a dripping wet hirsute mass. After terse words in his captain’s ear, the shamed mob kingpin scurried off: presumably to dress and to seek some spare self-esteem to put back in.
With three strides, the iron faced Python closed the distance to the now silent culprit: he was starting his punch on the third step. A solid right fist hit the center pin of the subaltern’s face and the recently hurt nose now almost literally exploded. Max collapsed like a sack of clippings onto the grass: his both hands grappled at a ruined face and a blood torrent spilled through his fingers—like runoff rain through a storm grate.
The Russian mafia lieutenant rounded to the video camera but Vladamir’s girlfriend stood between. Python paused briefly, to malevolently stare and then with a blast of force he ferociously shoved her sprawling.
“~Give me the tape!”
Leonid struggled amateurishly and his face flushed pink in between the glowing red of his acne, as the mini-DV cassette could not be extracted without removing the camera from the tripod. The captain snatched the video recorder as soon as it was free and removed the tape himself.
“~Set up for another take downstairs.” Instead of handing it back to the operator, the Python hurled the camera at Natasha. She defensively put her hands up and luckily caught the projectile before it could strike her.
The second-in-command grabbed a handful of Max’s armpit flesh. As a kitten is carried by a pinch of neck fur, with a display of extraordinary strength, the Python lifted the offending goon by the skin of his ribs. The mewing though, was as a cat with its tail caught under a tractor tire.