"I'm going to show you want I want in a little bit," I tell her.
"I want you to rip off my thong and spank me, Professor," Christine says and my blood begins to boil with desire.
One look at Christine tells me that she's not teasing me anymore. Whatever lust she was able to hide by pretending it was just a tease is now gone. In it's place is now simple, unadorned, desire. Lascivious want.
I stare back at her. I think it's safe to say that this party has run it's course.
"Let's get out of here," I tell Christine, taking a step towards her.
"But we just got here maybe ten minutes ago," she says to me. "I still need to talk to some of the other professors. And you need to talk to the Dean. Plus isn't he going to announce..."
I don't let her finish. I grab her hand and lean in close to her.
"I want to rip off your clothes and fuck you so hard that you moan," I hiss in her ear. "But I want you to moan and scream so loud that only the fucking birds will hear you."
There's a moment where Christine freezes. She doesn't stiffen or anything. But she looks at me.
"You're right, this party is lame," she says. "Let's get the hell out of here."
Finally.
She's seeing some reason.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Dean of the Political Science Department says to the room. The general hubbub and talking dies down.
"Thank you all for coming to tonight's reception, and it really is meant to be just a simple reception - I know we all have other plans after this."
That's right. I have other plans. I'm going to take the most gorgeous girl in my class and I'm going to stick my cock as far into her as I can get it.
And then I'm going to pull out and put it back in repeatedly, stimulating all her nerve clusters and making her body twitch with pleasure.
I'm going to make her cum and then I'm going to pull my long, fat cock out and cum all over her. I'm going to spray my semen all over her body and claim her as my property.
"But it's only fitting that as the Political Science head here at NYU, we recognize those of our fellow scholars who have been nominated by their peers for the prestigious United Nations Consultancy Program," the Dean says. He doesn't know it, but he's trying to kill my night.
"Any tenured professor is able to nominate as many or as few students as he or she chooses and the only criteria for this award is that the candidate demonstrates the sufficient moral fiber and character required for the next generation of leaders to change the world for a better place."
Maybe if I'm lucky I can get Christine out the door.
"There are ten names that have been submitted," the Dean says and I grab Christine and start to walk.
I need to get her the hell out.
But the Dean's already reading names. He's gotten three down. People are applauding each one.
"Christine Jalili," the Dean says and the two of us both stop.
I let go of her arm and Christine turns towards the Dean who sees her and smiles. She smiles and does a cute little curtsy.
Why would she curtsy?
"Congratulations," people whisper around her and pat her on the back or shake her hand.
That's when I see it.
Despite the fake smile, she's trying to hold back a frown.
Most people don't see it.