He's more charming than you expected, but something goes very wrong

Annoying and arrogant he might be, but as the two of you sit together in a private booth at the bar you chose for your meeting, you have to concede you understand why so many girls fall for James' charms. Alone, with no-one else to impress, he has this way of just looking across the table at you with those gorgeous piercing eyes, making it feel like you're all he sees in the world. Then, as you make light small talk and dance around the topic you really came here to discuss, there's just the slightest sardonic edge to his replies, like he thinks the things you say are just a little silly. He radiates confidence, the kind only a boy who's had everything just go his way for years can have. You'd bet your salary that he's been popular and sporty all his life, probably wealthy parents too.

To a girl his age, bundled up with insecurities, no doubt this potent combination makes them **** to impress him. You're older and wiser, or so you like to think, but even still you have to **** yourself to focus on how annoying he is, rather than how soft his lips look, begging for a thick cock like yours to suck. Remember Lucy, you want to know if he's going to put himself in danger! Or so you keep telling yourself, but your other hidden objective keeps intruding into your mind. If you just reached across the table and grabbed him, pulling him into a bruising kiss, how would this arrogant jock react? If your suspicions are correct, he'll melt in your arms, and let you do pretty much anything you want to him. Your cock is stirring at the thought, pressing against your trousers under the table. No, not yet. First you need to make absolutely sure he's safe.

You try to broach the topic of his self-destructive behavior delicately, but he pretty much ignores the question, calling over a waiter and ordering drinks for the pair of you before you can even get another word out. You bristle at his chauvinism, perfectly capable of ordering for yourself as you are, but he doesn't seem to even notice how annoyed you are. When he turns back, flashes a wolfish smile and makes a cheeky comment about how he isn't usually feel attracted to women your height, your annoyance with him flares up even hotter. Is this stupid boy negging you? Does he actually think that's going to work?

You're angry now, and that just makes you want to shove your cock in him even more. Yes, a good hard hatefucking is just what this spoilt brat needs to put him firmly back in line. You bite your lip, resisting the urge to grab him right now and show him that, right across this table if necessary. You're getting worried again. The fact that he's willing to be so rude to a woman ten years older than him, his own lecturer at that, reminds you quite sharply that there's something wrong here, but asking him straight up just doesn't seem to be working. This is going nowhere and you sense he's going to keep stonewalling. You need to cool off and make a proper plan. It was stupid enough to come here so unprepared. Making an excuse, you head hurriedly to the lady's room.

You wash your face and take a few deep breaths, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks are flushed with arousal, your pupils dilated. Focus, you tell yourself, you're his lecturer, remember? This is your student you're talking to, not some cute boy you can drag back to your apartment and shove your aching cock in. How do you get him to talk to you? Only one option presents itself. You need him to get drunk. Not for any naughty reasons, you just need him to bring down his defenses slightly so he'll open up about his problems. It shouldn't be too hard. Even though you barely drink, your tolerance is massive like most New Females and he still thinks you're just an ordinary woman. If you match him drink for drink, it shouldn't be long before he's tipsy enough to tell you why he's doing these stupid things.

With your new plan in mind, you stride back to your table. The drinks have arrived, a rum and coke for him and some horrendous fruity pink cocktail he ordered for you. Strangely enough, he's holding yours when you get back, his fingers brushing over the cold glass, but as soon as he sees you, he hurriedly slides it across the table. You swear you see a moment's nervousness flicker across his face then, but it's gone just as quickly.

Sitting down, you take a long sip of this stupid drink. It's so sweet you can't even taste the ****, but you're still confident your New Female metabolism can handle anything this callow boy throws your way. With your plan in mind, you keep drinking as you chat lightly to him about university life, keeping your real questions in reserve. Sure enough, his stupid male pride requires him to match you, and he's downing his own just as fast. Soon, he'll be willing to chat.

It's some minutes later that you realize something's gone very wrong. That stupid cocktail has hit you like a truck. You're slurring your words, and James blurs across the table. It's hard to keep your head up off the table, your muscles suddenly like jelly. This should be impossible. **** doesn't affect you this much, not from just one drink. You struggle to focus on James' face. It's hard to even speak, your lips trembling and your throat limp. As you blink and try to clear your head, you see he's smiling thinly at you, his eyes alight with satisfaction.

It takes a while for your fuzzy brain to realize just what this all means. By that time he's stood up and gently guided your limp, unresisting body off your chair, supporting you on his shoulder as he walks you towards the door. This stupid boy has **** you! That was why he was handling your drink earlier! You try to snap at him furiously, but all that emerges from your limp lips is a slurred mumble. He just smiles back at you, not a hint of remorse on his achingly handsome face. Through the **** haze, you find yourself wondering just how he can be so very stupid. Does he think he can just date-**** his own lecturer with no consequences? Obviously he's not thinking much at all. Whatever fucked-up reason he's trying to ruin his own life, this is the next play. Stupid, idiot boy.

James waves over a taxi and ushers you inside, your unresisting body slumping back onto a chair. As he sits beside you, he tells the driver your address. How the fuck does he even know where you live? How long has this little shit been planning this? Obviously he thinks you'd never fuck him normally and this stupidity is his attempt to get you into bed. Little does he know, you'd happily rip off all his clothes and pound him into a mewling, squealing mess any day of the week.

You notice then that despite the **** haze your cock is still aching hard, pressing against the front of your trousers. In fact, it seems even hotter and angrier. Through the haze of this fucking ****, you can feel the red mist of lust returning with a vengeance, your skin crackling like a livewire under your smart clothes. Your fingers twitch, hand closing into a fist as you imagine shoving your throbbing erection into this arrogant little shit's tight butt, all the way to the hilt in one savage thrust. Beside you, James is smiling with sickly triumph, his arm wrapped possessively around your shoulder and his fingers brushing down over your aching chest. Your teeth clench...oh, as soon as you get back home, **** or not, you're going to give this stupid boy the pounding of his life.