Russian Folktale
Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mind Control, Drunk/Drugged, Fiction, Oral Sex,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Nick has been chosen to fulfill a destiny he neither understands nor desires. The old crone and her beautiful granddaughters steer him to where they want him, in bed.

Nick was kicking back in his office with his shoes off, his feet crossed on the desk and the thick report nestled comfortably in his lap. He left the door open and told Valerie, his secretary, that he was busy and to keep the nonsense away. This little warren of offices on the 16th floor was a testament to their up-and-coming consulting firm that he and his two classmates had founded six years ago. They were young, eager, apparently ruthless, and good. They had kept the peace amongst themselves with a brilliant stroke of opening up the corner office to their passel of research assistants while the three partners took private offices away from the noise of business. Nick's office was in the furthest corner because he appreciated the silence most.

Chad, or Chadwick Humboldt III as the man's father liked to remind everyone, gave a quick knock on the open door and stuck his head in and asked, "Have you got a minute?"

Nick made a grand gesture of tossing the report back on the desk and swinging his legs off of the desk with the grace of a practiced office monkey.

Rubbing his palms nervously, Chad began to pace the office like a caged animal, which made Nick smile at the appropriateness of the image. Chad was the first of the three to be caught; that is to say, he was getting married this weekend. He was sweating under his mat of straight brown hair, which was well coifed with mousse.

Nick thought Chad looked like a well groomed show dog, but he had learned to keep his opinions to himself since Pricilla Huntingdon had become a serious part of Chad's life. Among the three, Chad, Nick and Ajay, Chad had been the fuck-meister but now Chad was marrying into high society. Their lives were changing rapidly.

"My parents are driving me crazy," Chad opined for the third time in as many days. "They are going to embarrass the hell out of me at my own wedding."

Nick had heard it all before; they were a bunch of guys from the suburbs of New Jersey whose parents had lousy middle class lives: Nick's father was a plumber, complete with butt crack; Chad's father was an accountant/bookkeeper; Ajay's father owned a Subway restaurant. When the boys tried to explain what they did for a living in high finance, their parents collectively shook their heads with incomprehension.

Nick had devised the plan for Chad to avoid most of the embarrassment for the wedding. Chad put as many of his relatives in the wedding as possible, which forced them to wear the dresses and tuxes that his bride chose. This was high society: who cared if there were fifteen bridesmaids and groomsmen. The more ostentatious the better, Nick had argued. That stroke took away the most of the fear of Chad's family showing up in fuzzy pink dresses and orange ties on a white suit; hey, it's Jersey. As a bonus, there was no room for Nick in the wedding party and he got out of wearing the powder grey tux with the striped, poofy short tie that was the wedding style for the season. He consoled Chad with some juicy platitudes and got him the hell out of his office. He listened to Valerie wish the male sacrifice 'good luck'.

Nick showed up to the wedding solo. The last woman he had been dating was pleasant enough, even with her big nose and even bigger plans for Nicholas Korman. Not only was her schnozz a distraction, but he didn't want her to have any sort of encouragement that they could possibly be heading down the same matrimonial path. He sat comfortably on the groom's side passing the time with Chad's friends, Ajay, and of course, the near and dear clients. With a wedding for five hundred of the couple's nearest family and friends, Nick felt comfortably but anonymously ensconced in the middle of the party.

The bride wore a designer gown that was sleeveless, backless and sheer from the bodice down to the waist and then layered with rolls of taffeta from the waist down to the floor. Nick thought it looked clownish but it was the Vera Wang wedding dress of the season, and all of the bride's friends thought is was "simply gorgeous."

He couldn't escape Chad's mom who was dressed in a hideous purple dress that billowed in every direction with fake purple jewels glued all over it. He was sure that it had cost a fortune, "but it was the best that K-Mart had to offer," he snarked with Ajay and Ajay's date as they shared a chilled top shelf vodka after the main course was cleared. Ajay's family was from India and although Ajay spoke without an accent, his young date did. They all laughed easily though, which piqued Nick's envy just a touch.

The band picked up the beat and Ajay took his date out onto the floor leaving Nick alone for a moment. He pitched the rest of the vodka down the back of his throat and when he put the glass down, he realized that there was an old lady who had taken a seat next to him.

"Nikolai," she began in a creaky voice, "I'm delighted that we finally get to meet; Chad and Pricilla have had so much to say about you. I'm Mrs. Yagablovsky, and I'm from the bride's side, of course."

"Hello, Mrs. Yagablovsky," Nick offered with a sincere smile of confusion. He couldn't figure out how Huntingdon Anglo-Saxon connected with Russian Yagablovsky, "It's a pleasure to meet you but my name is Nicolas, not Nikolai."

"Nonsense," the old lady retorted with a pat of her hand on his wrist, "you are Nikolai Koshchey and I don't care what your father says. He may be a good plumber, but he is a lousy liar, and a fool to be ashamed of his Russian heritage."

She fixed an eye on him that left him distinctly uncomfortable, "You are Nikolai and the name Koshchey is known throughout all the Russian lands. Ask your father."

"Ah, yes, I will," Nick Korman fumbled.

"This is a lovely wedding," she changed the subject, "why didn't you bring a date?"

"I'm not used to discussing my love life with strangers," Nick started to explain until he caught sight of her eye boring into him, "but there is no one of interest to me at the moment."

He swallowed and wished desperately for another shot of vodka. He felt the old lady appraising him up and down; he squirmed in his seat.

She sucked in her wrinkled cheeks, "What's the matter? Doesn't all of your equipment work?"

Nick blushed. "I think I need another drink," Nick blurted out but before he could rise she clamped one of her claws on his wrist.

"Is that your problem? You drink too much and you can't get your winkie up?" she charged.

"My 'winkie' works just fine, thank you. Now if you don't mind, I really want another shot of vodka." Nick felt desperate.

"There are no bonus points for not using your winkie. You may get another shot only if you bring me back one, as well," Mrs. Yagablovsky responded, "and don't bring me any of that French shit; I want the real Russian vodka."

Nick had no intention of returning to the table but he found himself seated again next to Mrs. Yagablovsky who had been joined by a beautiful woman on her right.

"Za Molodykh!" the old crone toasted.

"To the bride!" Nick translated and both of them downed their shot with a single swallow. Nick hoped the smooth burn down the back of his throat would restore his balance. They both slammed their glasses down with a solid 'thunk' that shook the rest of the table.

"This," Mrs. Yagablovsky patted the young woman's hand, "is my granddaughter, Elena, and she has also come to the wedding without a date. She is being a dear escorting her old grandmother tonight, but she needs to get out and live a little. Don't you agree, Nikolai?"

Nick nodded in agreement suddenly unable to keep his eyes off of the Nordic beauty with her thick blonde hair that fell down her back and her large blue eyes framing a long nose. She burned his eyes even more than the vodka did.

He felt a tapping on his wrist. "Why don't the two of you get up and dance," Mrs. Yagablovsky commanded more than suggested.

The music was slow and Nick wrapped Elena loosely in his arms that he might stare into her face as they twirled around the floor. She was tall, nearly as tall as Nick and somewhere in the back of his brain, the word "statuesque" leapt forward. They made the small talk that new acquaintances always do.

As they moved into a second song, Nick turned the subject to the little they had in common, "Tell me about your grandmother?"

"She is my babushka," Elena shrugged, "but we call her 'Baba', which means 'old lady' because when I was young, that was all I could pronounce according to my parents. 'Baba' seems to fit her, don't you think?"

"She has a surprising strong grip for an old lady and she can certainly hold her liquor," Nick observed.

Elena nestled closer to him and pressed her body into his. Nick could feel her breasts press into his chest and her breath feather his neck as she nuzzled close. He released a sigh of contentment and let the magic in his pants harden and press back against her gown. When the music ended, he brushed her cheek with his and left her with a lingering kiss on the same cheek. With his hand on the small of her back, he escorted her back to the table and Baba Yagablovsky.

Coffee had been served while Nick and Elena were dancing. Nick took his seat on one side of the old crone while Elena sat on the other side. All of the other table guests seemed to be occupied somewhere else in the banquet hall, which left the three of them alone.

"I put a lump of sugar in your coffee and hint of milk, because the taste is a little strong," Mrs. Yagablovsky commented, "but it is quite good."

Nick shrugged noncommittally and took an obligatory sip of the coffee. An exotic burst of flavor rolled across his tongue and he sat up straight in surprise. "This is amazing coffee," he declared, "I can't identify the spice in it, but it seems vaguely familiar. I bet Ajay could tell me."

He looked around for his friend and his date, but they were no where to be found. The sheer mass of people dancing and moving around the tables easily hid them from his eyes. He took another sip and then a gulp. Before he realized it, he had drained the cup with a smack of his lips.

From that moment on, Nick's memory seemed to blur into a series of still photographs that were connected only by the sequence of time. He remembered taking Elena into his arms and dancing around the room with abandon. He remembered the chandeliers of a thousand lights as they slowly crossed the floor, sweaty but invigorated.

Nick remembered standing to one side with the bachelors as the bride tossed her bouquet onto the dance floor where all of the single women had gathered. The bouquet seemed to lazily float through the air in an impossible arc that dropped the flowers right into Elena's arms.

He remembered the snarling looks of the disgruntled debutantes as they laid eyes on the unworthy one who had stolen their prize. He watched them scamper like little creatures into their burrows when Elena raised her left eyebrow at their collective disdain. He remembered chuckling at their discomfort as Elena gave herself one step towards them with contemptuous triumph and then she veered off to zero in on him, waving the flowers for his benefit.

He remembered. He was in a bed of crisp white sheets looking down at the most beautiful naked form he had ever seen. Her breasts were delicious large handfuls capped with tan nipples poised above a soft gentle belly. Before he could look farther down, he was captivated by a small smile, a unique smile that beckoned him to explore its mysteries. He remembered a long, wet kiss; he remembered the scent of womanliness on her neck and on her jaw.

He remembered an incredible erection that he hadn't felt in a long time. He plunged it into a hot, inviting sheath that seemed to suck his very essence out of his gut. He vaguely recollected a long bout of thrusting back and forth, trying to force pleasure upon his partner before his release. He remembered the spasm that started deep in his groin that spread through every muscle in his limbs. Then there was blackness.

Nick groaned with pain. He felt sunlight torturing his eyeballs through his closed lids. His fingers and toes hurt; his cock dangling between his legs was sore to the touch.

A hand slapped his shoulder and a voice yelled, "Get up!"


"Yes, it is Elena," said the voice and another slap fell on his shoulder, "get out of my bed!"

Nick tried to protect himself from another blow as he squinted, his eyes barely open. He could find only a hazy view of the world. The canopy above his head took a moment to decipher because it seemed unreal. He saw another blow coming and he deflected it.

"Stop hitting me," he demanded. "what the fuck is your problem?"

"You are a pig!" she screamed. "you are pig: you rut like a pig; you fart like a pig; you treat women like a pig!"

Nick gaped at her trying to get his brain back online. He wondered if he had drunk too much at the wedding last night.

Elena cried out with tears in her eyes, "Baba! You were wrong; he is not the man for me. How could you be so wrong?"

"Baba?" Nick voiced with a moment's confusion. The light bulb went off in his head and he jumped out of bed and grabbed the naked woman by the arms.

"What did she put in my coffee last night, Elena? What did she do to me that I can't remember most of last night?" His anger almost shook the woman as he pressed her.

"I don't know," she wailed, "let go of me; you are hurting me."

Nick dropped his hands from her arms but raised his finger again in accusation, "You knew she was drugging me. You knew that she had designs on me; that she wanted to take advantage of me. You knew!"

Elena's face was red from crying, "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know, Nikolai Koshchey. She promised me that I would meet the man of my dreams last night. She promised me."

Elena leaned back against the wall and slowly slid down to the ground. "You were so awful to me last night. You took me to bed and just used me for your pleasure. You hurt me. I am so sore and bruised between my legs."

Nick was aghast. "Elena, I don't abuse women in bed or anywhere else for that matter. I wouldn't just take from a woman for myself; that's not me. Your grandmother drugged me last night and I can't remember a damn thing; nothing."

"Look at these marks on my arms," she snapped.

"Look at the marks on my shoulder where you slapped me while I was lying down on your bed," Nick retorted.

Elena sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Nick stared at her naked body with clarity for the first time and marveled at the unblemished porcelain quality of her skin. He was angry, but he couldn't deny her beauty. He unconsciously scratched his itchy balls until he saw the look of disgust on Elena's face.

"Where is your grandmother," Nick hastily changed the subject.

"I don't know," Elena answered softly, "she doesn't live in New York."

"Jersey?" Nick asked somewhat facetiously but she gave her head a violent shake. He noticed that her toenails were perfectly manicured.

"I'm not a pig, Elena," Nick insisted returning to their earlier conversation since grandmother was a dead end.

"I don't care; I don't like you," Elena growled and suddenly Nick felt nauseous.

He bolted for the bathroom where he bent over the toilet and heaved yellow bile. When the sensation passed, he leaned against the cold tile and shouted out the door, "Your grandmother poisoned me!"

"Shut up," Elena demanded, "you are not helping, saying bad things about my family."

Nick watched his underwear fly into the bathroom. He stood up, took a whiz, and put on his boxer briefs. He walked back into the bedroom only to freeze again as Elena posed in a yellow silk robe that came down about mid-thigh but remained open between her well-formed breasts.

"Stop looking at me," Elena snapped again, "I don't want you looking at me like you are a predator and I am prey."

Nick grabbed his temples with his thumb and pinkie, massaging the dull headache that pounded in his skull. He refused to apologize, "Where are the rest of my clothes?"

He followed her finger down the hall to the main room of her apartment and began to collect his strewn items and put them on in no particular order. He glanced at the gown she had worn last night lying on the sofa.

"Elena, how do you know Pricilla?"

"You mean the bride? I don't know her and I never met her before last night," she replied.

Nick had a hunch, "Your grandmother said that she was a guest of the bride. If she isn't from New York, my guess is that she wasn't an invited guest either."

Elena appeared confused, "Baba told me to dress for a wedding ball and that we were going to meet the man of my dreams. She said nothing of an invitation."

"You realize that you crashed the wedding of the season in Manhattan," Nick pointed out, enjoying the moment as Elena became uncomfortable.

"Baba would never do that," she insisted with more conviction than she felt, "would she?"

"She would," Nick spit out, "and how did she know my name? How did she know that my family is Russian?"

"I don't know," Elena answered as she blew her nose with a tissue, "Baba is the most intelligent woman I have ever known. She knows everything and it is probably a small matter that she knows of you and your insignificant family."

Nick snorted with derision, "She is evil and this time she is quite wrong. Instead of me being 'the man of your dreams', whatever that means, I am 'the man walking out of your apartment', Elena Baitchenko."

He swore that he heard a sob as he closed the door but he refused to let that fact sink into his consciousness. Walking down the stairs he decided that this had been the strangest night in his life and further decided to forget about it as soon as possible. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk on East 82nd Street, Nick failed to notice the bent shadow in the alley across the street.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Mind Control / Drunk/Drugged / Fiction / Oral Sex /