Melinda Matson
A seductive student

CHAPTER ONE

Joselyn Foche lay on her back on the rumpled double bed, the afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, baking the soft, round rings of her nipples into hard pink stubs, scorching her bare crotch. She opened her legs wider, letting the sunlight bathe her fat pubic mound, the sparse tendrils of her blonde pubic hair, the plump cheeks of her shapely buttocks.

She was a second year graduate student in Chemistry, but the only Chemistry on her mind at the moment was her own. She felt sensuous, like a cat, and there was a lustful craving between her legs, a yearning deep in her belly. She stretched out, placing her arms up over her head, spread eagling herself, making her firm, pear-shaped breasts lift tantalizingly, parting her thighs so far that it felt almost as if her pelvis would crack from the strain.

Like a human sacrifice she thought, closing her eyes, basking in the heat, letting her imagination run wild. An Aztec victim about to be put to the stone dagger. Her long blonde hair cascaded over the edge of the stone altar, her wrists and ankles manacled to its four corners, the altar, itself, atop a steep sided pyramid. She imagined she was a high-born virgin whose spilled blood would appease the hunger of the Sun God and insure the coming of the maize. In her mind, she saw the high priest approach, his face masked by hammered gold, rimmed by exotic feathers, his coppery chest greased, gleaming in the sun. What he held in his hand, however, was not the jagged sliver of obsidian, the sacrificial knife, but the huge, up curving length of his throbbing penis, a ruddy scimitar of meat crowned by a massive purple bulb.

She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming as he groped her ripe breasts with his hard, calloused fingers, as he climbed up on the altar, wedging his knees against the insides of her thighs. She watched spellbound as he bent his monstrous erection down between her legs, pushing the broad, smooth head up against her tight-lipped slit. The great rubbery knob nuzzled into her most secret place and, to her horror and shame, her vagina just fell apart under the insistent prodding, the thin pink labia coming away from each other, pushing open. And they were all sticky wet. Her own body had betrayed her.

Behind the golden mask, the high priest made a coughing sound that could've been a stifled laugh, then pulled back a bit, preparing to drive his powerful penis into her cunt. In that awful instant, she knew that he knew she wanted it, all of it, every gruesome, pussy-rending inch of his mammoth cock crammed up inside her. She lay there trembling, her chest heaving, her cheeks burning with the fever, awaiting his animal lunge.

The sound of the apartment's toilet flushing shattered her fantasy, brought her back to the present, to Southern California, to the campus of Mira Pavo College, to the rumpled bed.

"Want to use the bathroom, princess?" Paul said, sticking his head around the edge of the bathroom door. His dark brown eyes dropped from her face to her lewdly proffered fork and stayed there, riveted to the pink target under the downy fuzz.

Joselyn made a face at him and closed her thighs. The act was not prompted by any excess of modesty on her part. It was simply a show of her power over him. The resulting change in his expression was dramatic, going from delight to misery in an instant, but it did not please her. Her power over him was almost a tangible thing, an invisible leash she could feel in her hand, a leash connected to a choke collar about his thick, muscular neck. If Paul was an animal, he was a meek one. He was too easily controlled, too ready to jump through the hoop; he was a disappointment to her. Still, he was good-looking, tall and lean with a deep, deep suntan. The hair on his head was thick and black and curly, but there was no hair at all on his chest. His bare pectorals, like his other muscles, were hard and well-defined. He looked like he'd be a basket-ball player, but he wasn't. Paul was a Chemistry graduate student, too, and preferred to play his erotic games in bed.

He stepped out from behind the bathroom door and stood there for a moment as if unsure what her frown meant. Joselyn gazed at his naked loins, at the pale area left by the swim suit. Next to it, the crisp, shiny black hair of his pubis and the maroon colored flesh of his cock and balls. His cock was a long one, thick with a big spongy head and flaring rim that reminded her of a conquistador's helmet. His balls were large and hung low in their wrinkly, hair-fringed sack. Even as she watched, the thing dangling limply between his legs pulsed and started to grow, twitching, jerking against his thigh, slowly raising itself up from the dead.

She knew how to make it get stiff as a stick. Still frowning at him, she pulled her knees up, rolled to her side and turned her bottom towards him. She showed him everything she had. The whole of her crotch from the top of her fuzzy slit to the tiny, wrinkled pink ring of her rectum was visible between the silky sandwich of thighs and buttocks.

Paul groaned, his cock instantly snapping to full attention, sticking up out of his groin like a furious tree limb. Every sensuous vein bulged, every ligament and sinew stood out in high relief upon the rigid shaft. He took a step towards her, his cock head bobbing frantically as his penis flexed, then relaxed, flexed, then relaxed.

"No!! Stop!" she said, raising her hand to him. Paul froze, swallowing hard. The hunger in his eyes was awesome to behold.

Joselyn had to fight to keep from laughing at him. She was getting aroused, all right. She could feel the telltale tingling between her legs, the flush of heat sweeping over the lips of her vagina, but she was not aroused enough, not yet. Only by teasing him, torturing him, could she really get her steam up. There was something about driving a man to the brink of physical violence, of rape that very much appealed to her. It was a true test of her control, her power. To this end, she reached back and stroked her own ripe round buttocks, letting her fingertips graze the pouting petals of her pussy.

"Ooooooh," she cooed, slitting her eyes, her full, sensuous mouth turning up in a broad smile.

Paul gaped at her fingers, at the way they were sliding up and down the deepening crease in her pudenda, at the way they were forcing the pliant lips to smooch apart. He made a soft, whimpering noise as she peeled back her labia, showing him the glistening, hot pink lining of her cunt. His cock abruptly jerked from a horizontal position to the vertical in the blink of an eye, the bloated bulb slapping against his sternum vehemently.

She knew she was driving him crazy, but she continued, escalating the action, actually pushing the tip of her index finger into the mouth of her pussy, touching herself on the clitoris.

"Ohhh!" she gasped, her svelte hips moving, ticking back into the caress with a seeming will of their own.

Paul whimpered again, his great, swollen cock hammering upon his breastbone, his testicles drawing up tight to his groin. He was chomping at the bit, straining at the invisible leash. He wanted to pounce onto her, to fuck her into unconsciousness, to punish her for the way she was taunting him, but he did not. He dared not. He was afraid that she might just up and leave, that she might take her tight, firm little body away, and that was the one thing he could not have beared. The look in his eyes said it was worth it, whatever she did to him, it was worth it.

She pushed a second finger in beside the first and began to masturbate openly, making sure that he could see the doubled digits slipping in and out of her pussy, that he could see the shining juice that coated them from tip to knuckle.

Joselyn knew what the other grad students thought of her, the kind of stories they spread around the department. They said that the only reason she'd moved in with Paul was that she needed a place to stay and that she gladly traded a little sex for free rent. She couldn't fault what they had to say about her; it was true. She had cultivated her relationship with Paul with that end in mind. Not that she thought there was anything wrong with doing it. Paul certainly wasn't complaining. He was having the time of his life, getting much more loving than he could handle.

Joselyn had a very pragmatic philosophy of life. She had learned long before that her face and body have her a decided advantage in any situation where men were concerned. Her chosen field Theoretical Chemistry, was highly competitive and totally dominated by men and she was determined to use every edge she had to get ahead. It wasn't that she doubted her ability to perform mentally that made her resort to using her body to get what she wanted; she knew that she was just as intelligent as her peers. She wasn't compensating for any defiency, but rather, using all of her physical attributes to set herself apart from the uniformly brilliant competition. Perhaps more she simply enjoyed using her body as a lure, a tool; she enjoyed screwing men both physically and mentally, messing up their heads, making them hop and skip to suit her whims.

She'd put a lot of thought into her choice or a male room mate. A guy had to fulfill certain criteria in order to become a candidate. First, he had to be handsome and experienced with women, a suitable sex partner. Paul more than fulfilled the bill in this regard. His name and phone number, followed by various superlatives, had appeared on the wall of every ladies room in the Chem Building. Second, he had to be someone who could help her further her career. As Paul was one of the most senior of the graduate students, she figured he knew his way around, where all the departmental skeletons were buried.

Though he seemed to be the logical choice for the job, after about two weeks of living together, Joselyn began to wonder if she hadn't made one big mistake. True, Paul had been in the Chem Department at Mira Pavo for a long time, but it turned out that his position was anything but secure. He had been a grad student there for six years, working under Dr. Ruta Blensch, supposedly attempting to finish his doctoral thesis. During this time, the maximum allowed for the completion of the Ph.D., he had accomplished next to nothing, but had been drawing a hefty salary from Dr. Blensch and her government research grant. There were plenty of rumors floating about that he would soon be shown the door and everyone in the department was openly marveling at how he'd been able to stay on as long as he had without producing anything more than the neatest office on the floor.

Paul knew precisely what was coming. He also knew that once he'd failed to complete his program at Mira Pavo, the chances of his finding another professor to sponsor him further was next to nil. He was a condemned man and he wasn't taking the sentence well. Instead of keeping a stiff upper lip, he tended to alternately sulk and blubber, presenting a weak, defeated, mush-mouthed front to the world… and no challenge to Joselyn in or out of the bedroom.

She realized that Paul's predicament wasn't entirely his fault. He'd had the bad fortune to pick Dr. Blensch for an advisor. An internationally renowned chemist, she belonged to the laissez-faire school of thought when it came to theses. If a student needed help, she would grudgingly take timeout from her own projects to give it, but she did not ride herd on her charges, making sure they were progressing toward the desired result. Given his predilection to inertia, Paul would have done much better to have chosen one of the department's little dictators who supervised every detail of the research and publication process, even down to the subject of the thesis itself. Joselyn could understand his problem and sympathize with it, but only up to a point.

"Are you hot, Paul?" she asked, finger fucking herself so furiously that her wet little pussy made squishy, messy sounds about her darting digits.

He could not answer. His face was nearly as congested as the head of his cock, and from the slit in the latter, a thin, milky fluid seeped. Each time his penis snapped up against his chest, it sent tiny drops of semen spattering over his hairless pectorals.

She paused in her self abuse, panting, feeling the muscles of her sphincter clutching rhythmically at the second joint of her doubled fingers. She was more than hot enough, herself. Her pussy was wet and stretched enough to easily accommodate Paul's huge cock. She didn't give in to the demands of her body though. She would not until she exercised her power over him, until she made him grovel for it. Rolling onto her back again, she spread her thighs wide, lifting her knees, showing him the soft, damp fringe of her pubic hair, the moist pink lips sucking so eagerly at her digits.

"If you want it," she said, thickly, removing her fingers, "you're going to have to kiss it for me."

Paul's eyes were glued to the glistening little slit, his Adam's apple bobbing furiously, his cock smashing into his sternum over and over again. He started towards her, reaching out for her smooth thighs.

She could see that he'd entirely misunderstood what she'd demanded of him.

"No!" she said, emphatically.

He froze again, panting, whining softly, his eyes huge with hurt and disbelief. "But… but you said…" he reminded her.

"I said you were going to have to kiss it," she told him. "I didn't say what the 'it' was."

"Oh," he said, as if she'd kicked him.

She smirked at him. For a guy was with an astronomical I.Q., he was sure fucking slow about some things. He'd actually thought she'd meant for him to lick her pussy! That was a prize, not a penance!

"Kiss that!" she demanded, pointing at the head of his cock.

"Huh?!" he said.

She could hardly keep from giggling at the look of astonishment on his face.

"I want to see you kiss it," she repeated, reaching down between her legs and teasing a fingertip around the wet mouth of her vagina.

"But, that's impossible!" he moaned.

She glared at him. Instead of out and out refusing to participate in the bizarre and degrading act, Paul had given voice to a weak and simpering protest. It was typical of him and it infuriated her no end.

"If you don't find a way to do it in the next sixty seconds," she said, sharply, "I'm going to get dressed."

Paul flinched. The poor guy was so turned on that anything less than her tight little pussy would've driven him mad. Groaning miserably, he gripped the neck of his engorged penis and bent his head down as far as he could, jamming his chin up against his chest, arching his back and tipping his hips forward. Though he pulled mightily on his hard cock, causing the loose outer sheath of skin to bunch up about the flaring rim, causing the head, itself, to turn a dark, purple, he couldn't bring the tip closer than five inches to his face.

"I'm going, Paul," Joselyn said, reaching over for her skimpy hot orange tube top.

He whimpered and frantically jerked on the rigid rod, extending his tongue, trying to bridge the unbridgeable gap. He was still two and a half inches away! Growling, he threw himself down on the floor on his back at the foot of the bed.

Joselyn pulled on the tube top, gingerly reaching inside to adjust her saucy bosoms. She straightened up, peering over the edge of the bed at young man writhing before her on the rug.

"Uhhhhhhghh!!" Paul grunted, throwing his knees up, tipping his torso back until all his weight lay on his shoulders and the back of his neck, until his thighs bracketed his head, until he faced his own crotch.

"Ten seconds," she reminded him, gleefully. From the angle she had of the proceedings, which was looking directly down on his exposed cock and balls, she could see his scrotum was totally hairless, a nasty, wrinkly maroon bag snuggled tight about the huge gonads.

Paul grabbed his cock with his left hand and with his right he gripped his buttocks, using the strength of his arms to bend his pelvis, to draw his groin and the stiff length of his penis closer and closer to his face. The gleaming bulb brushed the tip of his nose, then he jammed it full against his mouth, planting a loud, moist smack upon it.

Despite herself, Joselyn was amazed. She didn't think anyone but a contortionist could've pulled off this annoying feat… and a double-jointed contortionist at that. The sight of him kissing his own cock made her pulse rate soar.

"No!" she said, as he started to remove his tip from against his lips. "Lick it! I must see you lick it!"

Paul closed his eyes tight. It was clear that what he was doing wasn't giving him a whole lot of pleasure, but then again, it couldn't have been hurting him too much either as his erection did not go down.

She jumped down from the bed, kneeling on the rug beside him. "Go on!" she exclaimed excitedly, reaching up to stroke his swollen balls.

Disgraceful or not, disgusting or not, Paul did as she asked. He parted his lips and extended his tongue, sweeping the moist red tip of it over the sticky face of his cock. When he pushed the tip through the angry folds of his nerve bundle, the gathering of all his cock's ganglia, the fiery strip of skin just beneath his slot, he groaned balefully and his eyes popped open.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" she smiled, squeezing his bloated testicles passionately.

Paul didn't answer. He couldn't. His larynx was being crushed by his own body weight. His face was a bright, beet red, which could have been from embarrassment at his predicament or, more likely, from his highly unnatural position. He continued to lick at himself, bathing his own cockhead in gleaming slobber.

The feel of his hard balls in her hand, the sight of him so openly debasing himself to satisfy her demented whim turned Joselyn on. Hot and wet pussy juices issued from the entrance to her pussy, spilled down the insides of her thighs in sticky rivulets. She was incredibly wet! And the keen scent of her arousal filled the room. Though she would've much rather had a more passionate love partner, there was undeniably something to be said for slave-like devotion.

"Keep on licking!" she demanded, getting up, crawling around to his cruelly bent over back. She dropped her face down onto his testicles, crooning to them, smothering the tacky flesh with hot, soft kisses. The harsh, cloying flavor of his balls exploded on her tongue and she was suddenly not only licking the fat orbs, but sucking them into her mouth, popping in and out like a little girl playing with her hard candy.

Poor Paul was beyond all hope. Whining piteously, he drew in his cheeks, making them go concave about his knob as he, too, commenced to suck.

Joselyn could tell that things were on the verge of getting out of hand. She could sense it in the sloppy sounds he was making as he sucked on himself, in the angry, man smell coming off his super-heated crotch, in the powerful contractions of the massive cock root under the tip of her nose. It was time! Time for her to assert herself, for her to crack the whip!

She raised her mouth from his drool-drenched scrotum, reached down and gripped the neck of his huge cock. With a jerk of her hand, she ripped penis from pursed lips.

"Uhhh!" he groaned, trying to pull it back. Joselyn let him have it, then gave him a strong push, shoving him completely over, so that he came up in an all-fours position on the rug under his belly, his thick cock flexed anxiously.

"Oh, God," he said, thickly, bending his head down, peering at the much-sucked, angry red head of his pecker.

Before he could utter another word, she scrambled around behind him, groping under buttocks and balls, between his legs, brutally hauling his hard cock back from against his chest, actually pulling it out the back way, so that it protruded obscenely from between his buttocks.

"Stay still!" she said, turning her own backside to his, inching her way backwards until she brought the wet bulb of his cock to bear upon the drooping lips of her cunt. She didn't immediately impale herself, but rather, started gyrating her hips lasciviously, rolling the sensitive knob about in her hot and sticky gash.

"OHHHHHHH!" Paul croaked, burying his face in the nap of the carpet.

Joselyn couldn't stand it any longer. It felt like her face was going to explode from the pressure of all the hot blood pounding in it. She edged her bottom backwards, forcing the domed tip of Paul's cockhead to slide into the mouth of her pussy. Stretched though she was, juicy though she was, there was still a stinging pain as the flaring rim of his prick popped inside her. She paused, moaning from the hurt, from the tube-rending girth of his knob.

"OHH!" he gasped, wanting with all his soul to thrust back into the tight delight of her cunt but afraid to move at all for fear of snapping his rigid cock off at the root.

Joselyn was in complete control and she knew it. She reveled in it. Biting the tip of her tongue to quell the cry of ecstasy in her throat, she rotated her hips in a great circle, making the mouth of her cunt swivel about his bulb, causing her own, tender clitoral bud to be mashed against the intruding cockface. As she rolled her ass around, she could feel her vaginal sphincter start to really stretch, to yield like hot taffy to the blood-thickened tip.

Paul knelt there, his ass raised high in the air, his face pressed tight to the carpet, ostrich-like, helpless to hurry or delay the inevitable outcome, unable to do anything but whimper his pleasure into the acrylic pile.

Slowly, carefully, Joselyn pushed back as she gyrated, feeding her pussy the big cock in minute increments. She could feel the walls of her cunt being driven back by the rubbery bulb and the bulb's fat, jutting rim bumped over her clitoris, massaging it, sending flaming flickers of pure delight racing up her tummy, and over her tits. She spitted herself relentlessly, cork-screwing the ramrod deep into her pussy, pausing only when she could feel the broad root tearing at her sphincter, the hot, firm sack of his balls prodding between her asscheeks. Her vagina was filled from wall to wall with raging male meat and when Paul's cock throbbed, pushing out in all directions, threatening to split a seam in her channel, she, too, dropped her face to the carpet, clutching at it, clawing it.

"Ohhhhh," she murmured, actually chewing at the nap as she tipped her bottom forward, dragging his knob from the back of her womb.

Their buttocks came apart and bridging the gap between them was a ruddy, glistening shaft of muscle. She only hesitated an instant, then thrust his cock back inside her squirming her hips as she did so, teasing the wet sheath of her pussy down over his cruelly bent penis. The downward pressure on her cunt was incredible, not just because of the size of his cock, but because it wanted very much to return to its normal angle, to flip back up to his chest, a full 180 degrees. It felt like the monstrous thing was about to rip out the front of her stomach.

Joselyn whined and whimpered but gave neither one of them any mercy. Puffing from the effort, she began bobbing her ass around, forcing the huge probe to flip in and out of her pussy. Every time the cock withdrew, it pulled her wet pink petals far from her body, making them smooch out from her fork like the lips of a chimpanzee, and each back thrust drew from the depths of her cunt a fresh gush of clear, slick lubricant, lubricant that oozed down over the whole front of her pudenda, clinging to the soft hairs in crystal beads. The sound the big penis made as she stuffed it in and out was incredibly sloppy, messy, like the sound a boot makes when it is thrust into a bog, then pulled free, a sucking sound. It was neither the erotic noise nor the delicious wetness between her legs that was pushing her closer and closer to the brink of orgasm, however. Instead, it was the friction, the friction of all that hard meat sawing over her tender clitoris. Every thrust meant another bump of cock rim against that fat nubbin, each bump another sudden, devastating rush of sensation in her pussy.

She was a greedy little bitch, too, greedy for the maddening thrills and chills of climax. She didn't care what it cost her partner in terms of pain, of personal dignity; all that mattered was the finish.

"Uhhhhhh-huhhhhh!" Paul whinnied into the carpet, his testicles being battered, bumped by the soft buns, his cock being squeezed, wrung out by the violent contractions of her pussy as it was forced in and out, in and out.

When it happened for Joselyn, it happened suddenly. An ecstatic tingle in her cunt blossomed, exploding into a fireball of pleasure. She let out a piercing shriek and started hunching like a madwoman as she felt the floor dropping out from under her, as she felt herself tumbling, somersaulting into blackness. As she fell, the klieg lights flickered inside her skull, great search lights flashing on and off in time to the racking convulsions of her vagina, in time to the surges of delight rocketing up and down her spine.

Under the onslaught, Paul couldn't hold back any longer. Moaning deliriously into the slobber soaked carpet, he, too, began to orgasm. His cock bucked and jerked, throbbing mightily against the walls of her pussy as it forced the hot, milky jism up from his balls.

At the feel of that first powerful spurt gushing into her, Joselyn stiffened, arching her head back, turning her flushed face towards the ceiling. She pushed back into him with all her strength, burying his cock in her to the hairs as it spurted again and again, bathing the inside of her cunt in molten fluid. Every teeming spurt made the fireball blossom anew, knocking the air from her lungs, making her gasp and fight for breath.

Only after the spurting stopped did she resume her fucking. She hungrily bobbed her buttocks up and down, driving the rapidly softening penis through the super-wet, super-sticky grip of her cunt, making the pearly goo he'd deposited inside her come rushing out to hang in long, yo-yaing strands from the apex of her slit. Finally, Paul's cock buckled in the middle and came sliding out of her pussy. The two parted company with a moist plop and then his limp cock swung back to its normal position.

Joselyn made an impatient noise and reached back between his legs to grip his penis. She did so with the idea in mind of pushing it back up her pussy, but as soon as she felt its mushy, spineless shaft, she flung it away from her in disgust. Paul was a disappointment to her in more ways than one.

The dark-haired young man collapsed face down onto the rug and lay there, motionless except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

She stared at him, an expression of disgust on her face. She wondered what inexperienced girl had covered the ladies room walls with graffiti in tribute to this "One Shot Charlie"? After a single fuck, he was always wasted, exhausted. And the few times she'd wheedled and threatened him into doing her a second time, he moaned and groaned through the whole thing as if it was just about killing him. Some lover!

"I've got to make my decision about an advisor today or tomorrow," she said, after a long silence. She got up from the rug and walked over to the nightstand, taking a handful of Kleenex from the box there for mopping up operations. "I simply can't wait any longer. It's either going to be Bertrand or Velasquez."

Paul turned over on the rug. "Dammit," he exclaimed, giving her a concerned look, "why those two?"

She made a face at him. "Because all the other professors already have their assistants lined up," she said.

"You don't need to take a job," he told her. "Like I said before, you can stay here as long as you want, rent free."

Joselyn was fully intending to take him up on his offer, even if she did get an assistantship… assuming, of course, no better offer came along. The money involved in the job wasn't the only motivating factor, however. Her first year at grad school had been underwritten by the Chem Department. In return for correcting papers on the undergraduate classes, she received a small monthly allowance. Now that she was starting her second year at Mira Pavo, that source of funds was dried up. It was department policy only to give aid during the first year, after that it was up to the individual student to find a faculty sponsor who would pay him or her to perform menial tasks, repetitive laboratory procedures, and assistant teach the lecture classes. More often than not, the sponsor ended up being the student's thesis advisor or the thesis advisor ended up being the sponsor. Regardless, the advisor-sponsor was the key figure in determining what happened to the student after he or she received a doctorate degree. Simply speaking, it was the sponsor's pull, connections both in academic circles and in academic publishing circles that made or broke a career. In order to get the "right" post-doctorate position, the all-important first job after graduation… which amounted to nothing more than an internship for, lousy pay… one had to have articles published in the scientific journals on one's original research. Usually, the sponsor took most of the credit for the work, even if he didn't do anything but glance at it before it was sent off to the publication. It didn't matter that the student took second bill to the professor, though. The important thing was getting the name in print as much as possible. Joselyn knew how the game was played and she was determined to make the correct decision, to choose the right sponsor, the one who could help her the most.

"What about Veblen?" Paul asked, weakly. "You corrected for him last year. Wouldn't he take you on?"

"That old fart?" she said in astonishment. "He isn't even doing research anymore. All his cronies in the field are either dead or as senile as he is. You know as well as I do that he's nothing but a fixture in the department, a distinguished name at the head of the faculty list."

Paul didn't say anything, but toyed with the nap of the rug with his fingertip. She knew why he was uptight about her working for the other two professors. She wanted him to say it out loud, though; she wanted him to squirm a bit.

"So, what's wrong with Bertrand and Velasquez?" she said. "They're on top of their fields."

"That isn't all they're on top of," Paul said, miserably.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she said, feigning irritation.

"They both have, well, reputations outside the field," he said.

"So do you," she told him.

"Yeah, well, I never knocked up a department secretary like Mr. 'Hip' Bertrand," Paul said. "And I never traded grades for a roll in the hay with an undergrad like that character Velasquez."

"If any of those stories were true," Joselyn said, "do you really think those professors would still be teaching at Mira Pavo? No way! I think petty jealousy started those rumors going around and petty jealousy keeps them circulating. Bertrand and Velasquez are right in the forefront of what's happening in Theoretical Chem… and they've got the biggest National Science Foundation grants in the department for their research. It's jealousy, Paul, just jealousy."

Joselyn knew that wasn't the case and so did Paul. Jealousy hadn't made the prettiest department secretary suddenly resign after five years on the job. Jealousy hadn't made a sexy young coed complain to the Faculty advisor about the treatment she was receiving from a certain illustrious professor. The College, however, chose to ignore the peccadilloes of two of its "Golden Boys".

"Christ! How can you say that?" Paul exclaimed. "I don't believe that you'd really consider working for one of them. They're a couple of… animals! Everybody knows it!?"

She had him squirming, but good.

"What are you afraid of?" she said. "That one of them might hit up on me… or that I might get a better post-doc than you?"

"Dammit, dammit," he said, pushing up from the rug and storming off to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him.

She stuck her tongue out in his direction, then picked up her skimpy, faded blue cut off jeans from the foot of the bed. She didn't bother with panties, but just pulled on the brief shorts and zipped them up. They were super tight, cutting up into her crotch, outlining the fat hummock of her pubis and, in back, showing a bit of smooth, tan butt cheek protruding from each frayed leg hole. She slipped on her platform sandals and picked up her book bag, walking over to the bathroom door and putting her head, up against it. She knocked on it lightly.

"Paul?" she said, cheerily. "Paul, I'm going now. I have an appointment with Dr. Bertrand." She paused, awaiting his reply, but there was none. "Aren't you going to wish me luck?" she said. The sound of the shower being turned on full force came hissing through the closed door, but it did not drown out Paul's single word response.

"Bitch!" he snarled.

Joselyn giggled and blew him a kiss, then walked out of the apartment.