Page 69 of A Cock and Bull Story

I feel my stomach drop even more.

Fuck me.

I just became their unicorn bitch.

“Wait!” I call, and everyone freezes at the urgency in my voice. “I need to pee! I mean, I think I might even have the shits, and it'll be like a fountain if we do anal—you know what I mean? Well, I guess we wouldn't be doing anal if you're trying to impregnate me, but it still could come out. . . nobody wants that, right?”

All the men take a hasty step away from me.

At least I have their attention now.

In my nervousness, I babbled a bit—but, in my defense, I think anyone would get the mouth runs in my situation. Not only has the good ol’ doc confessed to fucking up but, underneath the surface of my skin,something is changing.

I can feel movement, and it makes me want to puke.

“Changed my mind,” I say with a gag. “I don't have the squirts, I'm going to vom instead.”

I turn my head and, like a class act, puke out the side of my mouth. It dribbles down into my hair, my arm, and onto the floor.

Ew, toad in a hole tastes terrible coming back up—it smells even worse.

It's chunkier than Campbell's soup, and it's slipping down the inside of my arm. It's enough to make me gag and retch some more. I start choking, and doc quickly steps forward.

Big mistake—I wasn't done barfing yet.

I spew chunks in his face. It coats his glasses, and some might have gone into his mouth. He screams—which is stupid—since what was on his lip now falls into his mouth.

He stumbles back into one of the other shifters—who knocks into another shifter. Instantly, a brawl breaks out. Dean Stiffdick just stands there with an exasperated look on his face.

“Enough!” he snaps. “Dr. Pilkins, go clean yourself up. You three, go get something to clean her up. I have to make a phone call.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose like everything is just too much for him.

Fucker has no one to blame but himself.

He shoos everyone from the room. The sound of the door thudding and locking securely behind them echoes around the room. I sit there, coated in my own vomit, wondering how I came to be here.

Then again, as a sex addict, I probably shouldn't be surprised I'm strapped to a table with my legs spread and no underwear on.

I try to concentrate on something other than the feel of my puke sliding down my arm—it's itchy, cold, and gross.

Well, it'scooling.

I wiggle to escape it and try to rub it off, but find that it’s acting as the nastiest lubricant known to man. It Criscos my hand until I can shimmy it painfully from the rope.

Yes!

Freed by my own puke!

Take that, bad guys!

I bring my hand up to my nose and inhale with a big whiff. It’s like all my senses are heightened, and I can smell things a thousand percent more than I could before. My barf wafts up into my nostrils, and I instantly keel over and retch all over my left wrist.

Bull's eye!

Direct shot!

Puke spews through my mouth and in between the rope and my skin. Quickly, I wiggle my left arm free.