Page 38 of A Cock and Bull Story
It comes running at me, and I ninja-chuck the knife at the fucker. The blade catches him on one of its many legs and, instead of lopping it right off, the knife pins the bastard to my wood floor. The thing is only five feet from me now, and I let out another indelicate scream before rushing back to my bedroom.
“Arthur! Wake up!” I shout, flipping the sleeping man off my bed.
The poor guy hasnoidea what's going on as I grab a giant blanket to throw over the tarantula—to trap it.
I return to the living room but, instead of seeing the eight-legged nightmare pinned to the floor, it's a naked human. The dude is writhing in pain and one of his fingers is cut off. He’s bleeding everywhere, and I finally connect the dots.
This bastard is like the tiger that killed the woman.
Dick flapping and balls slapping, Arthur finally comes dashing out. He seems confused as to why there's a naked man in my living room, but I don’t have time for questions. I run up and kick the spidey intruder. The man groans—Arthur continues to stare in bafflement.
“Go get help!” I screech at the redheaded man.
He finally blinks before dashing out my front door—buck naked.
Sweet Lord, I highly doubt anyone even blinks any more.
Realizing that I'm now alone with a wounded trespasser, I grabbed my double-ended dildo—because it clearly is a cock saver—and I start smacking the animorph intrude across his back and head.
“Ouch! Fuck! Stop! Hey! God damn it!” he curses, but I don't let up—I swing my black beauty like it's a bat.
“Take that, you. . .whateveryou are!” I scream like a warrior woman.
The guy whirls around to me, his face lit with rage—and then I see the fur pop out of his skin.
And I know—I know—he's going to change into thatthingagain.
Not today, Satan!
I rear back with my dildo and slap him across the face as hard as I can with it.And damn if my pimp hand ain’t strong.The spider jerk stumbles back, trips over the coffee table, smacks his head on the edge, and knocks himself clean unconscious.
I stand there, unsure of what to do, before I sprint over and kick him in the gonads—again.
You know that rule about kicking them when they're down?
I obviously don't have a problem with it.
I quickly go to the tiny hall closet and pull out a thing ofgood old duct tape.
It takes me less than seven minutes to completely tie this guy up until he's completely bound.
Do not underestimate the skills of a super freak—a sex addict is into all kinds of crazy shit.
Suddenly, there's a knock at my door. I swing it open without thinking because I assume it's Arthur. It's not—it's campus security, who I called and, then, hung up.
Well, I didn'ttechnicallyhang up on him—I dropped my phone in panic when a tarantula crawled through my window.
Big difference.
“Ummmm. . .” I stammer.
“You called security, ma'am?” the guy on the left asks.
“Yes. I thought somebody was breaking in my house but, it turns out, they were. . . not.”
I trail off, trying not cringe at my lame excuse.
The men attempt to step into my apartment, but I bar them. They can't see anything except for spidey’s two feet—which are wrapped in duct tape. I suppose I should be thankful that he’s only sporting two instead of eight right now.
