"What are you looking at?!" she snapped in her most bitchy tone.
"I… uhhh," Dr. Bertrand said, blinking rapidly.
"You're staring at my pussy!" she exclaimed. She made no effort to close her thighs, however. She was, in fact, flaunting her sexy cunt, waving it like a red flag practically right under his nose…
Her accusation was so unexpected and yet so obviously true that the professor didn't quite know what to do. His face turned bright red under the dark suntan.
Bertrand's apparent inability to rise to her challenge, to do something masculine, aggressive, dominant infuriated her no end.
"If you want to see it so badly, professor, why don't you ask?" she demanded.
"Can I see it?" he asked her feebly, his breathing already becoming labored, hoarse. He leaned over his) cluttered desk, craning his neck in her direction.
"No I'm sorry you can't!" she said, smiling fiercely at him. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"
"No, Ms. Foche, I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I mean…" he babbled apologetically.
Every acquiescence on his part, every show of his weakness, only made her madder, made her want to humiliate him more. Was his reputation as a stud as undeserved as Paul's?! She wanted to drive him to the brink, to force him to take action against her, physical action. In this regard, she had two major obstacles. First there was her beauty. She was an exquisite, fragile creature that only a real beast, an animal would even consider using force against her to get what he wanted. The second was her expertise in verbally battering her partners. Her tone was so scornful, so aloof that it could turn any man with the slightest doubt about his ability to handle her into so much quivering jelly.