Page 60 of A Cock and Bull Story

“Are you a tarantula?” I blurt out.

The dean tips back his head and laughs.

“No, no, my dear, I'm even higher on the food chain.”

I cringe—that doesn't sound good at all.

“I think there's been some mistake. I don't want to know about you, and I'm not going to tell anyone—” I start to reassure before shutting my mouth.

Spidey’s last words pop into my brain and cut me off—his boss was looking for human womento experiment on. . .

Whelp, fuck a duck.

Dean Hardwick is the boss, isn't he?

Of course, he is—because why not?

This is what I get for thinking like a fourteen year old boy. All the blood has pooled in my phantom cock that I probably will tell Dean Stiffdick to suck before he eats me in a very non-sexy way.

“Maybe you’re confused. I’m not the whore you’re looking for,” I joke.

If a badStar Warspun doesn’t save my skanky ass, nothing will.

“You're exactly what I'm looking for, my dear.” the dean disagrees.

Well, that sucks for me.

“I don't think so,” I counter. “I bet there's a lot better human women out there for you.”

I acknowledge that this isn't the responsible thing to do because I certainly don't want other women to be tested on.

But I also don't want myself to be tested on.

“How about you let me go and we call it good? I'll just hop back over the pond and never step foot in the UK again, deal?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no—that won't do at all! I promise that you're exactly the type of woman I've been looking for—I’ve heard the rumors about you on campus among the professors. . .” the dean trails off.

“That I'm brilliant?” I attempt.

“No,” he chuckles darkly, “that you're a blint—and that's exactly what I'm looking for.”

“Blint?”

“Whore—you’re a whore,” he clarifies.

“You know, in my defense, I'm not the only whore at Oxford,” I point out. “There's plenty of them—I should know since I've slept with a lot of them, and I can help you find them.”

Shut up, Belle!

What am I even saying?

I need to be quiet and just find a way out of this without getting anyone else stuck in the same predicament.

“Well, no, I'm not just looking for any old skank,” Dean Hardwick argues. “I’m looking for someone very particular. A one-of-a-kind slut, if you would.”

Now, normally, I would take his words as a compliment, but being a ‘one-of-a-kind slut’ really doesn't sound like that's in my favor right now.

“I promise you that being skanky isn't that unique,” I whimper.