Home > Hard Code(9)

Hard Code(9)
Author: Misha Bell

I must’ve fat-fingered it.

“Hi, Fanny.” Sandra’s eyes widen. “Am I interrupting something?”

I redden like a boiled crab and swiftly disable the video.

Did she see anything? Can’t be—the camera was aimed at my face, not at Glurp.

At least I hope it was.

But then why the question? Maybe she figured something was up by the blissed-out look on my face?

“I just wanted to make sure Project Belka is on track,” Sandra says apologetically, and I realize I haven’t responded to her still.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” I half say, half squeal. “It’s in good hands.”

I have no idea if she hears or responds because at that moment, Glurp finally gives my G-spot a knockout.

I bite my cheek to prevent a moan from escaping as my eyes roll back in my head.

“Thanks,” Sandra says. “Email an update when you get the chance.”

“Yes!”

She hangs up.

I extricate Glurp from myself and rush into the bathroom to splash some icy water on my overheated face. Leaving Glurp behind to be cleaned, I get back and record this session in the document.

They better allow me to move departments. After today, I can never work for Sandra again, or look her in the eye.

Also, can one develop a fetish this way? Next thing I know, I’ll need Sandra to call me every time I get hot and heavy.

Looking into the suitcase, I debate what to test next.

The buttplug catches my attention.

It’s small enough not to be intimidating—a good thing for me, a butt play virgin.

I take the package out and read the title.

Anal Belka.

Does Belka mean something besides the name of this project?

A quick search reveals that Belka is actually a common word in various Slavic languages. It means beam in Polish (ouch), egg white in Macedonian (weird), and squirrel in Russian (hmm, okay). Given Vlad’s country of birth, I have to assume the title of both the toy and the project means the latter.

In which case… an anal squirrel? Sounds like a rodent obsessed with keeping his park nice and tidy. Who decided that was a good name for this thing?

Then again, Ava told me about the time they had a guy come to the ER with a hamster stuck in his butt—so rodents in butts must be something people are interested in doing. Why not a squirrel, too?

I can never tell Monkey about this. As a rodent herself, she’ll be scarred for life. At least in the case of this Belka, no animals need to be harmed.

Placing the work phone on the bed, I lie on my stomach and squirt the lube that came with the squirrel toy into my butt.

The things I do for science.

Or quality assurance.

Or a paycheck.

Feeling naughty, I place the tip of the toy at my opening and push lightly to see how much resistance my body provides. There’s some, but not as much as I expected.

Well, okay, the squirrel is small.

I get bolder and increase the pressure.

There’s a small hint of discomfort, and then, like a baster into a turkey, the squirrel dives right in.

 

 

Chapter Six

 

 

Whoa. That feels strange. But also kind of good, maybe? I can’t decide.

I set the timer on the phone and load “Anal Belka” as the toy on the app.

A few new controls appear on the screen that weren’t available in the case of the vibrator and Glurp. For example, there’s a button named “Out” and one named “Deeper.”

I’m not ready for deeper just yet, and out is premature.

I press “On.”

The squirrel begins to vibrate.

The feeling is odd, but not unpleasant. As I adjust, I feel ready to brave more, and a button that says “P-spot stimulation” catches my gaze.

I’ve never heard of a P-spot. Then again, I’ve never heard of the A-spot either. To be honest, I didn’t even know there were “spots” in the backdoor area, but I guess there must be since so many women like butt play.

I hesitantly press on the P-spot button.

The squirrel stops vibrating and gently burrows deeper into me.

Weird.

It keeps moving.

Wait a second.

It stops. I feel it whirling around as if looking for something, then it starts moving again.

What the hell? I jab the stop button.

Nothing happens. The squirrel continues on its merry way.

I frantically press the out button.

The squirrel stops.

Whew.

Wait a second. The squirrel is whirling around again, as if rooting for something inside me. Not finding whatever it is, it burrows even deeper.

What the fuck? Does “P” stand for pancreas? I think that’s an organ in the digestive system, but there’s no way that’s a fun spot.

I scan the screen in panic.

There’s a help button here, plus a few more that don’t look promising.

I punch all the non-help buttons at once.

The squirrel keeps going deeper.

I’m beginning to freak out. What if “P” stands for the pituitary gland in the brain?

The squirrel stops. An error pops up on the screen, stating, “Prostate not found.”

Prostate? Oh, no. Women don’t have one—at least not in the butt area. There’s something called Skene’s glands on the front side of the vagina that are sometimes referred to as “the female prostate,” but that’s clearly not what the squirrel was looking for.

Through my panic, I begin to parse out what happened. The squirrel must be from the batch meant for the male sex. When the Impaler wrote the app, he forgot to account for a situation where someone who wants P-spot stimulation lacks a prostate to stimulate.

It’s not a surprising bug, but it is a major pain in my ass—and that expression has never been this literal.

I swipe angrily at the error message until it disappears from the screen. Then I pound the out button.

The error comes back, and nothing else happens.

Out of options, I click the help button again.

A sound resembling a dial tone emanates from the phone.

That’s not good. I bet that’s meant to dial customer service when Belka toys get into the hands of real customers. This early, I doubt anyone’s going to answer that call. Not that I’d know what to tell them if they did.

Frantic, I drop the work phone on the bed and grab Precious to dial Ava.

“I’m a little busy,” she says in lieu of a hello.

“This is a medical emergency! Code red. I’m not joking, this is—”

“Whoa, slow down, slow down. What happened?”

“I have a squirrel stuck in my rectum. Or maybe my colon. Somewhere up there.”

A moment of silence, then: “Is this a joke?”

“I wish! I was testing the toys and—”

Ava sounds like she’s got something stuck in her throat. “So the squirrel is a toy?”

“No, I mean a real fucking animal.”

“Hey, you never know. I’ve heard of lots of things stuck in there. Fruits, vegetables, keys, candles, coffee and peanut butter jars, lightbulbs, deodorant, smartphones, bottles of body spray, Buzz Lightyear—”

“That’s not making me feel any better.” I squeeze the phone tighter. “What should I do?”

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