outtake uno

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outtake uno

Messaggio  simona80 il Dom 13 Mar 2011, 17:46

Outtake #1 The Life Of Angela Webber
Angela Webber had a privileged upbringing so really, there was no excuse for her sour disposition and vicious nature.
She had two parents who loved each other and their only daughter very much. Her father was an Anglican priest at the Church of St. Augustine of Canterbury on Bayview Avenue in Toronto. Her mother was a librarian at Havergal College, an elite, private girl's school that Angela attended from kindergarten through grade twelve.
Angela went to Sunday school. She was confirmed as an Anglican. She studied Thomas Cranmer's Book of Common Prayer with her father, but none of these elements touched her heart. And when she was fifteen years old she discovered the immense power of female sexuality. Once she discovered it, it became not only her currency, but her weapon of choice.
Her best friend, Lauren Mallory, had an older brother called Benjamin. Benjamin was handsome. He looked like so many other graduates of Upper Canada College, a private boy's school that catered to Canada's old moneyed families. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and was tall and fit. He was a rower for the University of Toronto's men's team and could equally have starred in a J. Crew commercial.
Angela had admired Benjamin from afar for years but because of the four year age difference, he had never noticed her. Until late one night while sleeping over at Lauren's house, Angela ran into Benjamin on her way to the bathroom. And he had been extremely taken by her long dark hair and big brown eyes and youthful, nubile form. He had kissed her gently in the hallway and brushed tentative fingers across her breast and then taken her hand and invited her into his room.
After thirty minutes of making out and feeling one another through their clothes, he tried to take her to bed. Angela hesitated, because she was a virgin, so Benjamin began making wild and extravagant promises - gifts, romantic dates, and then finally, a Baume & Mercier stainless steel watch that had been a present from his parents on his sixteenth birthday.
Angela had admired his watch. She knew it well for Benjamin treasured it. And truth be told, she wanted it almost more than she wanted him.
Benjamin fastened the watch on her wrist and she stared at it, marvelling at the coolness of the steel against her flesh and the way it slid easily up and down her narrow forearm. It was a token. A talisman. A sign that he desired her so intensely that he was willing to give her one of his most prized possessions.
It made her feel wanted. And powerful.
"I'll be gentle," he whispered. "You're so pretty. I won't hurt you. But God, I want you. And I promise I'll make you feel good."
Angela smiled at him and let him place her on his narrow bed like an Incan sacrifice on an altar and she gave her virginity up to him in exchange for a three thousand dollar watch.
Benjamin kept his word. He was gentle. He went slowly. He kissed her and softly explored her mouth. He paid homage to her breasts. He prepared her with his fingers and tested her to ensure that she was ready for him.
And when he entered her, he did so carefully. There was no tearing of flesh, no blood, just stretching. And large hands rubbing circles on her hips and a low voice that murmured instructions on how to relax and breathe deeply. Until all her discomfort disappeared.
He didn't hurt her and he made her feel good. He made her feel beautiful and special. And when it was over he held her closely all night. For he was not an entirely vicious soul, ruled as he was by a particular passion.
They would repeat this act many times over the next three years, despite other romantic entanglements. And just before Benjamin entered her, he would always place a gift in her hand.
Benjamin was soon followed by Mr. Crowley, Angela's grade eleven math teacher at Havergal. Angela's encounters with Benjamin taught her much about men, how to read their wants and desires, how to tantalize and provoke, and how to string along and tease.
She teased Mr. Crowley unmercifully until the man cracked and begged her to meet him at a hotel after school. Angela liked it when a man begged. She liked to feel powerful and desirable. In the plain hotel room, her teacher surprised her with a silver locket from Tiffany. He placed the delicate links around her neck and then kissed her white flesh softly. In exchange, Angela let him explore her body for four hours until he fell asleep, exhausted and sated.
He was not as attractive as Benjamin, but he was older and more experienced. He knew more positions. He was more adventurous. And so for every subsequent gift, she would allow him to touch her in old and new ways. By the time their affair ended and Angela moved to Quebec to attend Bishop's University, she had amassed an enormous amount of jewellery and an extensive knowledge of sexual relations. There was no heterosexual act that she had not experienced.
Moreover, Angela was one of perhaps three women in the world who viewed Nabokov's Lolita as a feminist manifesto.
When Angela completed her Master's degree in Renaissance Studies at the Università degli Studi di Firenze, her pattern of relationships was fixed. She preferred older men, men in positions of power. She was excited by forbidden affairs; the more remote, the more improbable, the better.
She tried for two years to seduce a priest who was assigned to the Duomo in Florence and right before graduation, she succeeded. He took her against the wall of his tiny apartment but before he touched her, he wrapped her long, warm fingers around a tiny icon that had been painted by Giotto. It was priceless. But so, she reasoned, was she.
Angela would allow men to have her, but only at a price. And she always bedded the men she wanted - eventually.
Until her first year of a Ph.D. at the University of Toronto when she met Professor Edward A. C. Masen.
He was by far the most attractive and sensual of all the men she had ever met. And he loved sex. His raw, smouldering carnality oozed from every pore.
She could almost smell it.
She watched him hunt at his favourite bar. She noted his stealthy, seductive approach and the way that women reacted to him. She studied him the way she had studied Italian and then she put her knowledge to good use.
But he spurned her.
He never looked at her body. He would gaze into her eyes coldly, as if she wasn't even female.
She began to dress more provocatively.
He never glanced below her neck.
She tried to be sweet and self-deprecating.
He was impatient with her.
She baked him cookies and took to leaving anonymous culinary treats in his mail box at the Centre.
The treats would remain untouched for weeks until Mrs. Cope would throw them into the garbage, worried about a potential infestation of vermin.
The more Professor Masen rejected her, the more she wanted him. The more she became obsessed with having him, and for the first time in her life, without gifts in trade. She would give herself to him freely if he would only look at her with desire. Just once.
But he didn't.
So when she had the opportunity to meet him off campus to share a coffee at Starbucks and discuss her dissertation, she was eager to see if their meeting could turn into dinner and possibly a trip to Lobby. She would be on her best behaviour, but she would be alluring. And hopefully, he would stop resisting her.
In preparation for her meeting, she spent six hundred dollars on a black Bordelle bondage chemise appropriately named Angela, along with garters and black silk stockings. She did not bother with panties. Every time the garters pulled across the surface of her flesh, she felt inflamed. And wondered how it would feel if Professor Masen were to release her stockings from their bonds with his teeth.
Unfortunately for Angela, Peter and Bella had chosen to inhabit the exact same Starbucks at the exact same time. And Angela knew without doubt that any impropriety on her part would be eagerly watched and noted by her fellow graduate students. The Professor would know this, too, and thus be far more professional than usual.
Peter and Bella were cockblockers.
So by the time Angela worked up the courage to confront Peter and Bella, she was beyond pissed. Her only hope was to insult the two of them so that they would leave before the Professor arrived. And she did her damnedest to make sure that happened.
She walked over to the sofa where her colleagues were sitting, carrying her own coffee and Edward's favourite drink.
"Well, isn't this cozy."
"Angela." Peter nodded at her curtly.
She noticed that Peter was holding Bella rather tightly about her shoulders.
"Slumming with M.A. students, Peter? How very democratic of you."
"Be careful, Angela. Two fisted, today? That's a bit much. Pulling an all-nighter?" He gestured to the two cups she was holding.
"You have no idea, Peter. One for me and one for Edward, of course. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there, Miss Swan. You're so small. I guess he's still Professor Masen to you."
Angela laughed.
"You've never called him Edward a day in your life, Angela. And I triple-dog-dare you to do it the next time you see him," spat Peter.
Angela smiled. "Triple-dog-dare? That's funny, Peter. Is that a Vermont thing? Something farmers say to one another when they're shovelling manure?
"After my meeting with Edward, we'll probably head over to Lobby for drinks. He likes to go there after work. I'm sure we'll be exchanging more than –ah- names this evening."
"And he'll take you?" asked Peter.
"He will. Oh, he will." Angela's confidence was directly proportional to the cost of her underthings.
Bella muttered something that Angela didn't catch.
"Pardon?" asked Angela.
Bella didn't blink. "I said – don't believe the hype."
"About what?" Angela's eyes narrowed.
"About Lobby. It's not that great."
Angela smiled coldly at Bella. "I don't think they'd let you in, dearie. Not dressed like that. Where do you get your fashion tips from – Modern Grunge Magazine?"
Peter released Bella's shoulders and sat forward on the loveseat and began to flex his arms.
"Why wouldn't they let Bella in, Angela? They only admit working girls now?"
Angela turned very red, for his remark hit very close to home. Too close.
"What would you know about it, Peter? You're practically a monk! Or perhaps that's what monks do – they pay for it." She glanced down intentionally at Bella's new messenger bag.
"Angela, you're going to shut up right now or I'm going to stand up. And then all chivalry goes out the window."
She took a deep breath. This was not going well. She wanted them to leave, not involve her in some petty altercation.
"Don't get your panties in a twist, Peter. I'm sure there are multiple explanations. Maybe Lobby wouldn't let Isabella in because of her I.Q. Edward says you're not that bright, Miss Swan."
She laughed as Bella ducked her head.
"Oh, really? And what else does Edward say?" A sharp, familiar voice came from behind them.
Angela slowly turned around and looked up into a pair of angry green eyes.
Fuck, she thought.
"Peter." Edward's gaze shifted and he nodded at his research assistant.
"Miss Swan, how nice to see you again." Edward smiled at Bella, who smiled hesitantly in return. "You're looking smart, as always."
"Miss Webber." Edward pointed towards an empty table far away from Peter and Bella and indicated that Angela should follow him.
Fuck, thought Angela once again. Those assholes ruined everything. Now he's pissed.
"Professor Masen, I bought you a venti latté with skim milk." She tried to hand it to him but he waved it aside.
"Only barbarians drink coffee with milk after breakfast. Haven't you ever been to Italy? And by the way, Miss Webber, skim milk is for wankers. Or fat girls."
He spun on his heel and walked over to the counter to order his own coffee while Angela tried valiantly to hide her rage.
Damn you, Isabella. This is all your fault. You and the monk.
Angela sat in the chair that Professor Masen had pointed out, feeling almost defeated.
Almost, for from her vantage point, she had a lovely view of Professor Masen's ass in his grey flannel trousers. Rounded like two apples. Two ripe, delicious Washington apples.
She wanted to take a bite out of them.
Mmmmmmm. If you weren't so beautiful, I'd hate you, you lovely bastard, you.
Edward, oblivious to the torrent of lust that was emanating from the tart behind him, unhurriedly bought an espresso without a twist of lemon zest and a Starbucks gift card. He flipped through a stack of cards until he found the one he wanted; one with a large light bulb on the front. One that could be personalized. It would do very nicely for his purposes.
But the fact that he had to go to such trouble angered him. The fact that Miss Webber had repeated something he had said in an off-hand moment of primordial pissedness, to the delicate Miss Swan, upset him. His opinion of Miss Swan had changed, of course. She improved upon closer acquaintance. And he was trying to keep his promise to be gentle with her. A promise he had made to himself when he held her in his arms and danced to Diana Krall.
Angela wasn't helping.
And now he was going to have to push the boundaries of professional contact in order to fix it. And he didn't like that, not one little bit.
As he waited for his espresso, it occurred to him that Miss Swan hadn't fought back against Miss Webber's vicious remarks. She had just hung her head. She just sat there and took it, remarkably like her reaction in his first seminar. And in his office. And in her little apartment when he had churlishly denigrated it.
Why didn't she tell Miss Webber to go to hell?
He pondered this slowly. Was it because Peter was protecting her? Was it because he had arrived and Miss Swan had clammed up, as she always seemed to do around him? Or was it because Miss Swan was too shy and/or possibly too good to tell Miss Webber what she could do with her viciousness?
Hmmmm. A cat fight between Miss Swan and Miss Webber. Hair flying, nails drawn, mud slinging ...
Mud?
The more Edward pondered the interaction he had just witnessed, the angrier he became. If Peter was the Angelfucker, then Miss Webber was the Angelbreaker. She was trying to pull off the angel's wings, one feather at a time, the way a young child tortures a butterfly.
And he was going to put a stop to that, today.
Angelbreaker.
He returned to Miss Webber, with his own damn coffee, and sat across the table from her. He pulled his chair out so that he was sitting as far away from her as possible, while still technically sitting at the same table.
He gazed at her coldly.
"I need to speak to you about your behaviour, Miss Webber. But before I do, let me make one thing clear. I agreed to meet you here today because I desired a coffee. In the future, we will meet at the Centre as we normally do. Your transparent attempts at engineering social engagements between the two of us will be unsuccessful. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Magister," said Angela.
Edward raised his eyebrows but continued quickly, for he did not believe that he had heard what he had actually heard.
"You are on thin ice with me as it is. One word from me and you'll be finding yourself a new dissertation director." He cleared his throat.
Edward's tirade towards Angela was interrupted by a slight movement in his periphery.
He turned towards the window and saw Peter whispering in Bella's ear.
A low growl rumbled in his chest as he saw the young couple talking sweetly.
How can you stand to have him touch you, Isabella? He looks like a bear. Do you think he'll be gentle with you? He'll probably crush you with his weight without even noticing. Couldn't you find someone less – Emmett-like?
"Are you okay, Professor? You sound like you have croup."
Edward swung his gaze reluctantly from the couple on the loveseat to the dark haired shrew that sat across from him. He coughed semi-convincingly.
"I'm fine. I'm sure it's just the beginning of the H1N1 virus. Or SARS." He smiled at her wickedly and then proceeded to cough again, just for show.
Angela drew back instinctively and placed a hand over her nose and mouth.
"In the future you will address me as Professor Masen, even when speaking of me in the third person. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Professor Masen."
Oooohhhh, Professor. You have no idea how much I want to scream your name. Mmmmmm, Professor. Professor. Professor. Professor ...
"Moreover, you will refrain from making personal remarks about my other students, including Mr. Norris and Miss Swan. Is that clear?"
"Clear."
Now Angela was beginning to seethe a little, but she kept her reaction to herself. She placed all of the blame on Bella.
She wanted to drive Bella out of the program. She just wasn't sure how to do that, yet.
"Finally, anything you hear from me about another student or person connected with the University will be deemed to be confidential and you will not repeat it. Or else you will find yourself another dissertation director. Do you think you are intelligent enough to comply with this very simple instruction?"
"Yes, sir." She bristled slightly at his condescension, but truth be told, she found his grumpiness sexy. She wanted him to dominate her. To tie her up and do unspeakable things to her, to ...
"Any more abuse directed towards M. A. students will be brought to the attention of the Chair of my Department. I believe you are well aware of the regulations governing the behaviour of graduate students. I don't need to remind you about the prohibitions against hazing, now do I?"
"But I wasn't hazing Bella, I was -"
"Enough! No snivelling. And I doubt that Miss Swan has given you permission to use her nickname. So you will address her properly or not at all."
Angela bowed her head, and looked close to tears. Threats of the sort Professor Masen was making were not sexy.
She had worked very hard to get into the Ph.D. program at the University of Toronto and she wasn't about to let it all slip through her fingers. Not for some miserable little bitch who had something cooking with the Professor's precious research assistant.
Edward saw her reaction but said nothing, slowly sipping his espresso. He felt no remorse and was beginning to wonder what else he could do to make her cry.
"Moreover, I am confident you are well aware of the University's polices governing harassment and fraternization between a student and a professor. You no doubt know that those policies work both ways. Professors can complain to the Vice-Presidential Tribunal if they believe they are being harassed by a student.
"If you cross the line with me, I'll drag you over to the Tribunal so quickly your head will spin. Do you understand?"
Angela lifted her chin and gaze at him with wide, frightened eyes. "But ... I thought ... we …"
"But nothing!" Edward snapped. "And unless you're insane, you'll realize that there is no we. I won't repeat myself. You know where you stand."
He glanced at Bella and Peter one last time, inhaling slowly.
"Now that we have dispensed with today's pleasantries, I'd like to tell you what I thought about your last dissertation proposal. In a word, it was rubbish. In the first place, your thesis is derivative. In the second, you've made no attempt to provide an even adequate literature review. If you cannot amend your proposal to address these issues, you will need to find another director. If you choose to submit a revised proposal, you will need to do so within two weeks. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another meeting. Good afternoon, Miss Webber."
Edward departed the Starbucks quickly, leaving a rather shell-shocked Angela staring off into space.
She heard part of his speech, of course, but her mind was focused on other things. She was scheming. First, she was going to do something to get back at Bella. She didn't know what and she didn't know when. But she was going to shank that bitch (metaphorically speaking) and cut her (also metaphorically speaking).
Second, she was going to rewrite her dissertation proposal immediately and hopefully win Professor Masen's academic approval.
Third, she was going to re-double her efforts at seduction.
Now that she had seen Professor Masen angry, there was nothing she desired more than to see him angry with her - and naked. She was going to change his mind. She was going to break through his harsh exterior.
She was going to see him kneeling before her, begging for her, and then …
Clearly, the four inch heels and the Bordelle lingerie weren't enough. Angela was going to head over to Holt Renfrew and she was going to buy herself a new dress. Something European. Something sexy. Something by Versace.
And then she was going to Lobby to set her third scheme in motion ...

simona80
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