Revenge Is Sweet


Your challenge reverberates in my head: prove to me that you are worthy. Prove to ME that you are worthy! PROVE to me that you are worthy. Prove to me that YOU are worthy. Prove to me that you are WORTHY. PROVE TO ME THAT YOU ARE WORTHY.

I begin to write. I do not know where this will end. I have three hours to prove to you that I am worthy. I think about our shared history, yours and mine. I think about you and what sort of man you have become, because of me. I think about your career and all that I have read about you, and how you first looked at me in that strange, cold way four years ago. My breath hitches. I did not hear you get up and approach behind me. I feel you finger my collar gently. I feel you tug on my leash. I feel your hands sweep down into my blouse and palm and squeeze my naked breasts. I feel your fingers play with my nipples. They harden and my writing slows, but it does not stop as I write a review of the literature for you. I explain my interpretation of your own theories and why I feel that they must be challenged based on all that I know and think. I tell you my plan for extending your work... our work, Master, using the new cutting-edge resources available at the spanking state-of-the-art facility recently built Yale... They want to make a bid to be the Number 1 physics programme in the country; to surpass Stanford and Berkeley and Harvard and MIT, and they have determined that I will be among a small cadre of young people who will help them to do this.

As I realise that this, taking up your mantle, is what I am doing I feel the most deliciously sexy sensation wash over me and I cum, right there in the exam. I am quiet about it. I don't want you to know what is happening to me lest you misinterpret and become even angrier. I continue to write and the time flies and my head hurts badly. I want to weep. I have poured my soul into this paper and stood naked before you as I have never done before.

"Your time is up, Cinnamon," you say tiredly. "Go and eat something and come back. I will have an answer for you in an hour."

I return to your office and hear you speaking quietly with someone. He seems very distraught.

"I really don't know what to say, Jim," I hear the voice of the university's President. "This is very disappointing! Very disappointing indeed! And she's one of our own! How can this be?"

I rush to the door, wild eyed, knowing that you are speaking about me! I can hardly breathe as I look at you accusingly. Despite all that you've said, I thought that we were going to settle this matter between us!

The President looks startled as I burst into the room. He gazes at me and, seeming to recognise me, smiles delightedly!

"Jim, is this the young woman about whom you have been telling me?"

He reaches for my hand and shakes it. I look at both of you uncertainly. You gaze at me unsmilingly. I smile back at the President as though at my lifeline.

"Cinnamon Swann!" he says as if speaking to a celebrity. "Your Professor tells me that you are the most gifted student of your age, Cinnamon. He says that he has never met anyone like you. He tells me that he had noticed you from your first year with us and that he's been trying to groom you. He's disappointed me though," he glances at you again before returning his eagle eye to me, "by saying that you will be leaving us! He says that you have accepted a very good scholarship with the new programme at Yale and that he has been unable to persuade you to remain here to do your graduate work. I suppose that we have to be grateful though. Our policy of mixing our best professors in with the first years is paying off if he could have found and guided's a good thing for physics! Better luck for us next time, I suppose."

I force my mouth open and push the words out before I can change my mind.

"No, Sir. I'm afraid that Jim is wrong. I will be staying here with him... at this school... I think that he has much more to teach me and we have already been discussing an extension to his work."

I glance at you but you are not looking at me at all.

"Who knows," I quip, "perhaps he can win a second Nobel Prize...It would take Yale years to top that! One man, copping the physics prize twice! You'd be a god, Sir."

Professor MacTavish pumps my arm vigorously and drawing me to him, envelopes me in a tight bear hug. I hug him back, relieved.

"This is wonderful news, my dear! I suppose that I will leave you two to your meeting then!"

He turns to you and gushes, "Well done, Jim! Well done! Congratulations! Excellent work as usual!"

"Why did you change your mind?" you ask when President McTavish and your now curious Grad Assistant, Pryia, finally leave us alone in the room.

"I need to be here," I say tentatively, hoping that you will understand what I cannot bring myself to say.

"This changes nothing between us. I hope you realise that."

I notice your finger stroking the wood of your desk. I know that you want to stroke my skin but you cannot bring yourself to do so right now.

"I know," I whisper. "I wouldn't want it to."

'Good," your voice hardens considerably, "meet me at the Sanford in an hour, bitch. You will be punished for making me worry."

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