I still have a raging hard on that’s tenting my now crusty toga, and a small crowd of curious students have collected in the back. While kept away by campus security, I can hear them whispering, making jokes, calling their friends, taking videos, and revealing their plans to upload them to social media. Rather than referring to me as thefavorite professoror thesexiest professor, I was now being called thecum professor.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” says the detective.
“We’re done,” I declare.
“Okay, I think we have all we need from you for now,” he concludes. “We’ll call you if we need more info.”
Pissed, I watch the detective march to the backdoor to discuss God only knew what with those collecting evidence and the officers that first arrived on scene.
I tighten the silver-foiled emergency blanket around my shoulders in irritation. I might be forced to quit my job. Thestudents will not respect me after this. Hell, I’m finding it hard to respect myself.
“We told them we were sure it was a prank from another fraternity,” Daman says as he and the others draw near. “Not sure where he got bukkake from.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Go home, get you a nice shower, and sleep it off,” Byron suggests.
“My shower has a detachable head,” I practically growl, “and I have PTSD from almost drowning tonight. I’m going to go toss myself in the river like a forced baptism.” Maybe purifying myself in sacred waters would keep the witch the fuck away from me.
We say our goodbyes, and I depart on foot in the opposite direction of the gathered onlookers. Humiliation burns through me.
Lost in my thoughts, I’m almost to my car when I freeze mid-step. My hands slide down my crusty toga. The abrupt action causes cum flakes to break off and drift to the ground like grotesque dander.
Where is my travel pouch...
“Fuck.”
I turn around, but the group is already back inside.
Fuck it.There’s no way I'm going to parade myself around the entire fraternity dressed like a glazed donut while still sporting a raging hard-on just to get my keys back.
Huffing, I get on the path toward home. Didn’t want to sit my jizz-covered ass in my new car anyway.
The walk home felt like the walk of shame personified as I realize the all-too-small mylar blanket given to me by the fire department now hangs from my large shoulders like a damn cape. A cum-glued one. And it sparkles like stars under the glare of the full moon.Great.
Half a mile down the road, I come to a stop and cut through the grass, heading downhill to a nearby river known for baptisms. Without a second thought, I dive headfirst into the dark waters, losing the silver cape in the process.
Thick.
Gummy.
Like I’m swimming through warm, unset gelatin.
Rising to the surface, I gasp, taking in some of the all too familiar salty flavor that I could have gone the rest of my life never tasting again.
Looking up at the moon, I roar in outrage, punching at the surface with indignation, inadvertently splashing myself in the process.
“Really?! For fuck’s sake, you fucking witch!”
Sputtering and scrambling back to the shore, I drag myself out of the river. The muddy cum squelches under my hands and knees as I claw at the mucky ground, trying to escape the splooge.
Heaving from the effort, I’m once again standing upright, but the ground is now trying to suck me in like a vacuum. As I attempt to pull free, the suction slurps at my hooves before ultimately releasing me with audible plops.
When I finally make it back todryshoreline, I am not only exhausted but drenched again. Shuddering in distaste, I make my way up the hill, cursing the witch to hell and back.
At the top, I turn my gaze back over the river that was a sacred place for many of the local churches. To my surprise, it looks completely normal, just how it did before my sins had followed me into the water.
Huffing, I stomp back in the direction of home, leaving a trail of cum mud behind me.
