Dr. Cock-her Ch. 01

Mariella Medina, Ph.D., was enraged. The cute-at-first-sight Mexican businesswoman furrowed her rather too broad brow as she shivered in her severely undersewn frilly strapless, backless tube top. Her figure was decent, with a pert pair of sandy-brown breasts over a flattish tummy and slender legs crammed into ludicrous seven-inch heels, probably to mask her five feet of height. However, one ought not be fooled, as her diminutive stature was compensated for by a bellowing voice and tremendous ego. In her two-and-a-half weeks since joining the company, she’d already been promoted thrice, climbing rapidly over the quickly fallen bodies of her slow and ponderous rivals. In an organisation seemingly more devoted to atrophy and self-destruction than profitability or good corporate governance, Mariella was a fast-rising star. Already, the lust-maddened and foolhardy Andrew John “AJ” Simpson, President of the Firm, was tightly wound round her little finger.

Her portfolio instantly and incomprehensibly expanded from her original mandate of Scientific Inspection to include such variegated and diverse offices as Corporate Finance, Business Strategy, Sales, Marketing, Product Development, Shipping and the newly-instituted post of Slurping On AJ’s De-strung Ballsack (he’d had a nasty skiing accident in Colorado). You see, Mariella had a dangerous, overriding compulsion to climb the corporate ladder, and she did it both rather well and with absolute relish. Barely past half a month in and she was already running half the place while being next in line to succeed AJ’s current main squeeze, the somewhat overused blowsy blonde Leslie Jameson, Head of Human Resources.

With all this success, why the rage? Well, it was all the fault of her original stupid Scientific Inspection department. Those cocky little assholes were always trying to make her look bad! Mariella remembered her first hour at the firm. AJ had asked her to help him forge lightsaber crystals in the microwave. Mariella had leapt at the chance to touch up the color on her poorly-mixed mocha nose, visions of company cars and bloated expense accounts pleasantly intruding within her mind, but then Cyrille had nearly ruined it!

Mariella’s constantly exasperating Lead Inspector Cyrille le Corbusier was always nearly ruining it for her, mainly because of his maddening habit of injecting nasty, hideous, repugnant, awful, putrid, wretched and slimy facts into any discussion of AJ’s latest syphillis-inspired proposals.

That time, Cyrille had mouthed off with, “Um…that was just a movie Andrew.”

Andrew had frowned severely and stormed off with a “…no team spirit in these lab people,” and Mariella was left nearly in tears at the situation.

The disrespect and impudence astounded Mariella. She’d never have gotten through for-profit, on-line, unaccredited postgrad without some astounding ability to give people exactly what they wanted. Certainly, the graders for her Molecular Biology class were impressed by her warm and pliant oral skills. Her department’s insistence on the use beşiktaş escort of facts and scientific principles gave her no end of trouble, and every time she confronted them with it they defended themselves with some bullcrap about “scientific integrity”, “the truth” and some other nonsense she’d certainly never heard of at UOP! It drove Mariella crazy.

Well, she’d show the little twerps! Mariella stormed out of her newly-gained corner office, causing the timid mouse-like girls of the Accounting department to shrink fearfully into their insipid grey cubicles. Within twenty strides of her awkward tottering high-heeled gait, she reached the doors to the main plant. Viciously snatching a hairnet out of a box by the big doors, she crammed her overstyled coiffure into it as she barged her way into the manufacturing facility.

The line workers knew to avoid her gaze now, as they dived out of her path. When she had first arrived, they thought they had been given an ally in the upper echelons of the borderline racist company and had sought to befriend her as she walked by, but she had soon put paid to those notions. Verbally blasting “La Migra” in a shrill Midwestern accent, she told them in no uncertain terms that they were “damn lucky” she didn’t call the sheriff on them right that instant and that if they ever “fucking spewed that bullshit about La Raza” to her again, she’d deport them all herself. Being normal (if not entirely legally entitled to presence in the country) people, they soon spread the word to leave “la Perrita” alone. Just a few moments later, and Mariella was bursting in on Scientific Inspection’s woefully-underequipped laboratory.

For a company which had experienced tremendous growth in recent years, the firm was oddly hesitant to make standard industry purchases in laboratory equipment. By way of example, most Scientific Inspection teams weighed out reagents and samples with digital scales. The company’s SI lab had antique Phoenicean balances. Most industry SI teams used advanced Polymerase Chain Reaction technology in their microbiological test suite. The company’s team had 2 slices of mouldy bread in Tupperware. Most industry SI teams had special laboratory dishwashers to handle the delicate glassware needed for scientific tests. The company’s team had a wooden washtub filled with rainwater. Despite all of the foregoing, the company’s team was possibly the greatest in the industry.

Cyrille was a master scientist, having completed a not-online, not-for-profit, not-unaccredited B.Sc. in Nuclear Chemistry after he realised that his dashing good looks weren’t going to be quite enough to get by in the world. Known for whipping off perfect periodic tables of the elements on blank sheets of paper from memory, he was the preeminent young up-and-comer in his field. His intriguing Norman features were the herald of a formidable intellect and wry sense of humour.

Amy Kardon, his gal Friday, womanned the NMR station in the back corner, equipped with a double Bachelor’s in Nuclear Engineering and Animal Husbandry. istanbul escort Amy was stunningly attractive, with her seasonally coloured hair, perky tits, cute face and tidy butt. Pehaps even sexier was Amy’s dirty mind and filthy mouth. Amy was notorious among the gang for her lengthy and explicit extempore fantasies, which she would frequently recite aloud to the arousal and fascination of all around her.

Amy’s friend Julia Thatcher ran the Mystery Machine, as the team called the bizarre multipart acid-belching agglomeration of anodized steel and heavy-duty purple plastic which occupied more than three quarters of their cramped and tiny space. Like Amy, Julia was also a very welcome sight to see in the dreary and oppressive surroundings of the SI lab. Julia had a head of flowing blonde hair, which framed an angelic set of features. Her gorgeous chest was nicely complemented by her delectable ass. Also like her friend, Julia was a nasty girl at heart, and delighted in regaling all around her with tales of her multitudinous and impressive carnal exploits.

Cyrille’s roommate Wayne Snell ran the aforementioned microbiology section, churning out impressive amounts of accurate and timely data despite the utter lack of available resources. His thoughtful face belied his true passion, racetrack gambling. This was bourne out by his educational credentials: a B.Sc. in Microbiology and an M.Sc. in Statistics.

Wayne’s assistant Baljoon completed the group. A witty man from Bangladesh, Baljoon regarded most of the tribulations that befall the SI team as an agonizing, but entirely deserved, punishment from his mysterious and inscrutable god. Baljoon was the most educated of this rather over-educated bunch, possessing no less than 7 postdoctorate degrees from various top scientific institutions he’d taken refuge at around the world as his family escaped persecution in his home country.

The team looked up as one with a barely-suppressed weary sigh as Mariella appeared upon them. Wasting no time for pleasantries and also wasting no effort to even bother pretending to conceal her glee, Mariella trumpeted “You’re all going to have to come in on Saturday. And Sunday too.”.

Though he really ought to have known better by now, Cyrille asked, “Why?”

“Because this department is the worst-performing out of all of my many responsibilities. I can’t baby you all forever, so you need to come in until I’m satisfied that AJ will be happy!” Mariella triumphantly announced.

Baljoon muttered something under his breath, before Wayne nervously kicked him under the laboratory bench.

Mariella wheeled on the distressed Desi. Before she could even utter her inquisitorial remark, Amy and Julia sweetly chimed in with an amplification and restatement.

“Baljoon said: ‘Are you sure this isn’t actually because we stopped that shipment of HIV-infected condoms from going out because it failed the micro test, and Mr. Simpson said that we should have just approved them and only faggots are afraid of AIDS and you got in bakırköy escort trouble because we did the right and legal thing?’ Dr. Medina.”

Mariella towered, as least, she towered much as one can when one is sixty inches tall, and then fired off a final “And this will continue every weekend until I’m satisfied there’s an improvement in your attitudes!” as she venomously departed.

“Great job girls.” said Cyrille. “I thought we could go watch the game tomorrow.”

“Shut up doofus,” laughed Julia. “That crazy bitch was going to shitcan our weekend no matter what her excuse was. At least we got a laugh out of it this time.”

As Mariella dashed off back home in her flirty little car, her fury was not lessening in any perceptible fashion. And Mariella knew exactly what the solution to her problem was. The minute she got home, she dashed over to the kitchen telephone and pounded out a well-memorized number. After two rings, the other side picked up.

“Hello, Sharpened Senses, this is Tony speaking. How may you help me?”

The next words out of Dr. Medina’s mouth might have surprised an employee of the company. They certainly weren’t part of Mariella’s normal daytime vocabulary.

“Master Anthony, I’ve been a stupid slut again. Can you please come and punish me?”

There was a chuckle on the other end.

“Well, well, the dumb Mexicunt rings up for seconds. You know the routine, ready yourself.”

The line went dead, and Mariella’s heart suddenly jumped into her throat. The command to ready herself meant that she barely had twenty minutes before Tony Cvenn, Master Anthony to her, would arrive to expand her horizons, her cheeky tight brown asshole and her “dumb Mexicunt”, as Master Anthony had dubbed her trimmed and neat pussy.

As she scurried about her house, not a trace of the brash and hardnosed office Amazon of the day remained. Mariella’s mind was only filled with panicked fears about whether she’d amply chilled the champagne in the living room icebucket, and how nice it was to stop thinking about those SI punks. Being more machine than human, she lived in a rigid, inflexible cycle of work-eat-sleep, and therefore Mariella’s house was always in a pristine condition. It did not take long before she felt the place was in suitable shape for the final step.

The marginally nonexistent white top was whipped off in a hurry, bouncing Mariella’s smooth breasts out into the cool autumn air. Her nipples immediately responded to their sudden exposure, each hardening to a diamond point. Next her skirt flew off, exposing her office-inappropriate lacy red thong. That too soon followed, and now Mariella was bare save her nonsensical heels. She flushed somewhat, very much aware of her heated feminine musk after a long and busy day at the office. Though she would have liked to wash and deodourise herself, she knew she was forbidden to, as the smell of her juicy pink taco was going to play a major role in her upcoming humiliation.

Finally, Mariella unlocked her front door, and cracked it barely ajar. She faced the inner house, knelt on the floor, and pressed her forehead to the ground in a perverse obeisance. The horny Ph.D. moved her knees another foot apart, then thrust her hands back between her legs to grasp her ankles.

All she had to do now was wait.