Chpt 5.
As the sound of Mike's footsteps receded down the corridor, Angelique leant back
against the door of her office and heaved a long sigh of relief. That had been a
near thing! She hadn't been expecting him to leave his office so quickly, and
then she had not closed the door to her own office as quietly as she might have.
It had seemed for a moment that he had heard something, the way he had turned
his head. Oh, well, all's well that ends well, she thought to herself, hugging
to her chest the tiny tape-recorder with its highly-sensitive microphone that
she had used to eavesdrop on the goings-on in Mike's office so late in the
evening. What on earth was he up to?
With the recorder and its precious tape safely tucked into her shoulder-bag she
put on her coat, turned out the light, locked the door and set off down the
corridor. Down the stairs, through the deserted hall and out into the ill-lit
campus. She shivered. She hated it when she had to leave the university in the
dark, she was scared to death that someone might try to rape her. Goodness only
knew there were enough dark nooks and crannies between the buildings where a
determined rapist could have his way with her, with no risk of being seen.
She knew, too, that there were probably more than a few students around who
would like to rape her. For two reasons. The first was that she was very
good-looking; long, raven-black hair cascading down to her shoulders, trained to
cover the left-hand side of her face. Big, dark-brown eyes that never seemed to
look straight at you, as though she was unaware that you were there, even when
she was speaking to you. And a body guaranteed to attract attention of the most
misogynous and myopic elderly professor, with its high-perched, full breasts,
that tiny waist and those long legs that seemed to go on forever.
But despite her physical qualities, she was unpopular with the students.
Lecturer in communication, she had the gift of reducing practically any student
almost to tears with her cutting and sarcastic comments on performance,
delivered in a beautifully modulated contralto voice. Particularly male
students. Not, mind you, that there weren't a few female students around who
would have taken a sadistic pleasure in doing her over with a pair of
nail-scissors!
Normally she didn't worry about such things but here, with the towering
buildings on every side, wrapped in the deep gloom; she felt vulnerable. Not
that she regretted the way she treated the students; after all, that was what
they were there for. Most of them she despised, they were crass, stupid, noisy,
insolent - the list of their defects was a long one. Above all, it was their
fault that she was still only a lecturer and not a full professor. Had it not
been for the Students' Union accusing her of prejudice, she would have been
appointed Professor at least two years ago and would by now be teaching in Paris
and not in this backward provincial town.
"Oh yes," she thought to herself as she unlocked her car and got into it,
already feeling much safer, "Oh yes, there's not a lot that can be said for most
students, but there are one or two I quite like. Especially Martine, with the
big breasts and long, blond hair. Trouble is, the stupid girl won't admit what
she is, won't see that she should be worshipping Lesbos and not Adonis! God, how
I'd love to teach her, to get my hands on that gorgeous body, to make it quiver
in response to my hands! Just what is she up to with that pig Granger?" The very
thought of Martine's body made her tremble as she drove through the dark
streets, and it was in a state of some mental and physical confusion that she
finally got out of the car in the underground garage and took the elevator up to
her plush little apartment in the western suburbs of the town.
Throwing the shoulder-bag onto an armchair, she went into the bathroom, turned
on he shower, stripped off and got into it. Ten minutes later she emerged,
dripping water all over the floor, and stood in front of the full-length mirror
on the wall. She studied herself intently. The tan from a summer in the South of
France was still in evidence, colouring her skin a golden hue. Her breasts, full
and rounded, were crowned by protruding ruby-red nipples set in very dark
aureoles and were set high on her chest. From them her gaze swept down, across a
well-define rib-cage, over a stomach that was gently rounded, belying her 34
summers, down to that triangle of dark hair set between thighs that tapered on
down into finely-rounded calves and delicate ankles. Here was no doubt about it,
she had a really lovely body. And the beads of water that covered it at that
moment set it off perfectly.
She wrapped her head in a towel, turban-wise and, rubbing herself vigorously
with a big, fluffy bath towel, she wandered into the kitchen area, fished a Coke
out of the refrigerator and fixed herself a vodka and Coke. Then still naked,
she rummaged in her shoulder-bag, found the little tape-recorder and switched it
on.
"The bastard!" she gasped, when she heard what Mike had suggested to Martine.
Here was this jumped-up American barbarian succeeding in getting his hands on
one of the few people she had any real interest in. She was furious, how dare
he, he wasn't even French and here he was, making off with a girl she had picked
out for herself! In her unreasoning rage, Angelique did not stop to consider the
fact that Martine had, on several occasions, rejected outright her
scarcely-veiled suggestions. All she thought about was the fact that she wanted
Martine, and here was Mike, taking her away from her. The very thought of it was
maddening, but what could she do about it?
She went over to the cabinet against the wall, the one made of rosewood with
sliding wooden doors. Opening the middle one, she looked at her collection of
dildoes. She couldn't have Martine, but at least she could give herself some
satisfaction. Idly her hand went down to stoke between her thighs as she
wondered which one to use. But slowly the realisation came over her that her
fingers, which invariably ended up wet and sticky when she stroked that
particular part of her body, remained dry. Worse, she didn't feel the usual
excitement that pervaded her body when she started this routine. Instead she
felt agitated, frustrated, as though she was being deprived of something.
Suddenly, in a fit of unreasoning pique she threw the nearly-empty glass hard
against the wall, where is shattered. Damn that American swine! She hated him,
and she wouldn't let him take Martine away from her!
