Page 63 of A Cock and Bull Story
I assume that he’s the scientist. The man has a balding head andHarry Potter-style glasses—basically, just the very typical geeky look that you would assume someone in this position would have.
It’s slightly reassuring in the sense that he probably knows what he's doing—but, also, that he knows what he's doing, and I'm going to instantly pop out eggs that they're going to harvest to make creepy ass shifters.
“Darling, you have nothing to barter with,” Dean Stiffdick cuts me off. “I'm wealthy beyond my means and the highest of my kind. There's nothing that you have to offer me except what I want from you.”
“Not true,” I negate. “Not true at all—you haven't had a blowjob from me. And, if you listen to the whispers on campus, you will know how awesome they are. I use both my hands in combination with my mouth, so it's kind of like a two-for-one deal.”
I try adding in a wink, but it's hard when you're terrified and trying to bamboozle somebody out of a situation instead of really attempting to seduce them.
“Wow. You weren't kidding,” the scientist mutters. “She really is a slut.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I screech. “Uncalled for! You're not going to shame me, sir. If I want to use my fantastic oral skills to get out of speeding tickets, or in shitty situations like this, then bully for me!”
I realize that I'm probably not really helping myself, but I'm throwing everything I have out there. I don't have anything else to offer besides my great oral skills.
“My dear, the only thing I want from you is to be my high-end kerb girl,” the dean responds.
“Kerb girl?” I parrot in confusion because—one thing I’ve learned—everythinghas been lost in translation thus far.
“Prostitute,” Dean Hardwick clarifies. “You’re going to be my personal prostitute to do with when I say and I how I say.”
“Ooooo,a prostitute. I didn’t realize that I was getting paid for this job,” I retort snidely.
“Yes—as long as your womb keeps producing—you’ll keep living.”
I cringe.
I suppose living is sufficient enough payment.
“I'll go get the others, Dr. Pilkins. Just get her prepped and ready,” the dean commands to the scientist.
A shudder racks my body at ‘prepped and ready’.
Doctor Asswipe doesn't waste any time to follow the dean's orders. He steps right up, cleans a patch of my skin on my arm, and plunges a needle—and all its contents—right into me. I scream as the doc steps back.
“Really, Miss Harper, there's no need for that,” the man chides.
He's right—I didn't feel any pain.
I just screamed for the sheer need to be vocal about how I feel inside—used.
Dirty.
Violated.
“You can't do this! You don't have my consent!” I scream.
The doctor pats my hand like a comforting uncle.
“Then, I'm afraid it's going to get far worse for you,” he reasons coolly as Dr. Shouldn’t Have A License undoes the ties over my legs and spreads them open wide. “But, I have a feeling someone likeyouwill enjoy what's coming next.”
I despise the way he emphasizes ‘you’—like because I'm a sex addict and enjoy getting fucked, it’s ok if I don’t give my consent.I’ll eventually get into itis his rationale.
Fuck that and fuck him.
Some people might get their jollies off to that shit—but I do not.
Of course, there’s no point in arguing with Dr. Idiot—besides, I have bigger problems. Dean Hardwick just returned. With him are three other men—threevery familiarmen.
