Lying on the goopy floor, my brain takes note of what works and what doesn’t. Most of my body is still offline, but my ears still function. I can hear the panicked hollering of the group outside begging for entrance. For as close as the minotaurs are,they might as well be an ocean away. On top of being unable to move, I can barely breathe.
“Professor! Professor! Let us in!” they call between the heavy thuds of fists pounding on wood and the furious clicks of a doorknob that would not open.
Meanwhile, the toilet near my head gurgles menacingly.
I try to yell for help— for mercy— for God— for anything that would stop this attack. My pleas are raspy and barely audible. I cannot breathe, much less talk. So I begin to pray in my head, petitioning every saint I learned while growing up in the church.
Above is a whooshing sound that reminds me of an angel’s wings. But instead of receiving divine help from on high as I’d hoped, it gives way to a downpour of thick warmth. Heavy drops of cum are now falling from the fire sprinklers.
Still working to draw in air, I can literally taste the seminal fluid.
As if sink and sprinklers weren’t enough, the toilet begins to overflow. The cum collecting on the floor goes from warm puddle to tepid pool in seconds. Still flat on my back and unable to move, the rising fluid would soon reach my ears.
Is this how I die? Will I drown tonight because I summoned an interdimensional witch while at a frat party I didn’t even want to attend in the first place?
Apparently so. The shower turns on. And as if adding cum to this disgusting flood wasn’t enough, the shower head must have been detachable, because I’m suddenly sprayed in the face with hot jizz. I want to lift my hands to swat away the snake-like hose that is spraying me, but I can’t find the strength.
I’m not sure how long it went on before the attack ended, only that it stops when the sound of cracking wood gives way and the door opens. I hear the soft click of a wall switch, and bright light shines down upon me.
There is a collective gasp.
“Oh my God!” I hear Boann mutter. “The fuck?”
“Fucking told you all,” Veles snarls, storming away. “I fucking told ya!”
Behind the group, I can hear Daman on the phone with emergency services. Veles is updating the information, telling them I’m injured but alive.
Still on my back, I spit up a mouthful of cum then wipe the worst of the jizz off my face with my palms. I attempt to sit up but can’t seem to make it happen.
“Go in there and help him,” Euboia demands, shoving at Gotarzes.
“Fuck no!” The bull grasps the door jamb to keep from being propelled forward. “He’s covered in baby gravy! There’s a literal cum flood in there.”
“So?” Euboia huffs. “This is your fault!”
“My fault?” Gotarzes dry heaves as he surveys the room again. “Fuck, my bad, Professor. Didn’t know cum poltergeists existed.”
“She’s a fucking witch,” Byron mutters, pushing his way past. “Move, asshole. I’ll help him up.”
I cringe as Byron’s steps produce an audible squelching sound. He is moving slowly, trying not to slip.
“Uh. I’m gonna vomit.” Gotarzes swallows hard then addresses Euboia. “You and Boann like man pudding— you two get in there and help Byron.”
“Fuck you,” the ladies reply in unison.
“What?” Gotarzes feigns offense. “I’m not slut shaming. I’m just saying you both know how to handle being covered in dick snot better than any of us.”
Euboia punches him hard in the arm. “Shut your ass up, or the next punch will be to your ball sac.”
Despite being covered in ejaculate, Byron helps me to sit up, and I vow to myself that, if he hasn’t graduated yet, he’ll get anautomatic A+ in all my classes whether he attends the class or not. Hell, I might name first born after him.
“Are you okay, Professor?” Bryon asks as he draws a hand back, staring down in disgust at the sticky substance now coating his fingers. “Do you think you can stand?”
“I’ll try.”
I begin pushing off the floor but fall back with slosh.
“Holy cow!” Bryon suddenly let’s go of my arm. “Um, you might want to cover?—”
