Page 29 of A Cock and Bull Story
“Oh, there is no need,” the man in the middle says with a genial grin. “We were just wrapping up here.”
Professor Yardley nods.
“Yes, we were. Dean Hardwick, this is Miss Harper. She is the foreign exchange student from the States, here on scholarship.”
The dean of the university looks at me with keen interest. Normally, I would look back with the same interest—I mean, his nameisHardwick—if that’s not an invitation to ride a stiff cock, I don’t know what is.
Yet, there’s something else going on here that I don’t understand. The dean’s eyes bore into mine as if he's trying to divine my secrets. I'm used to sexual interest, but that's not how he's staring at me. It's something else—something unnerving.
“So nice to meet you, Miss Harper,” the dean says, extending his hand toward me.
I stare at the proffered palm apprehensively—I'm waiting for it to morph into a tiger paw. When claws and stripes do not appear, I hesitantly stick out my hand to shake his. Dean Hardwick’s grasp is firm, and his eyes appear oddlytriumphant.
“This is one of the top students in my class—in all her classes, I’m told,” Professor Yardley continues.
“Excellent,” Dean Hardwick crows, still holding my hand hostage. “I'm so glad that you are such anassetto the University of Oxford.”
The way he emphasizes ‘asset’ raises my hackles.
It creeps me out beyond words—I’m definitelynotgoing to try to wrangle these dudes into a foursome.
“Miss Harper, would you mind stopping by my office later on this afternoon—say two o'clock?”
My brain scrambles to think of some lie because I don’t want to be alone in this man’s office—ever.
“Er, I'm getting my vagina waxed at that time,” I blurt out like an idiot.
Every brow in the room raises.
Professor Yardley chokes on her sip of coffee.
“I-I mean, I'm getting a massagewithoutthe happy ending.”
I emphasize this in case anyone is now questioning my proclivities. To my surprise, Dean Hardwick just throws back his head and laughs.
“Miss Harper, you don't have to explain. Perhaps we can schedule another time. What is your phone number? I will have my secretary call you.”
For the first time in my entire existence, I don't want to give someone my phone number—I don't even want to meet them for a late-night rendezvous, or an afternoon rendezvous, or a two-am-booty-call rendezvous.
Instead of giving Dean Hardwick my cell phone, I give him the number to my dorm room. I cringe at my stupidity at telling the man where I live but, as dean, I assume he can easily learn that information, right?
“Well, I will leave you and Professor Yardley to it. Again, thank you for bringing such lovely talent to our beloved university.”
With that, the dean turns around and walks out, the two other unintroduced men trailing behind them.
One gives me a wink on the way out, and it reminds me of the wild animal I saw before I came inside.
What the hell is happening?
My vag doesn’t even quiver once in excitement.
Something is seriously off. You know how some people listen to their guts? Well, I do that, but with my pussy.
If my meat curtains don’t want to conceal your tube steak or fish taco—then, I don’t trust you.
“I. . . uh, forgot something that I needed to do,” I tell Professor Yardley lamely.
“Get your cunt waxed?” she offers blandly.
