Amy was the dean of a prestigous college and she was only in her early thirties, intelligent, she was driven woman, and never allowed herself to be distracted by "filthy habits", largely because she went to all girl schools and even then she wouldn't act on any of the advances her classmates gave her. she was a fairly pretty with a C cup chest that matched her body, which she kept hidden behind suites and her clothes nerver exposed too much skin. Lately she had one concern on her mind, recently a buch of female students have beeen flunking out of classes. At first she thought it was just freshmen who couldn't handle life on campus but soon seniors who had straight A's were flunking out. So she looked into it further and saw that they all signed up for a drug trail by on of her professor and soon after they begun to fail. Which was perfect for her because the teacher in charge was one that she hated with a passion because he never respected her or any other female staff and this could be the thing to take his job away if she could prove it. She spent weeks planning interviewing the old students gathering up everything she would need to fire him. Once she was ready she sent him a massage saying that they neede to talk and to wait in his lab when classes where done on monday. she waited all day excited to finaly have the leverage she needed on him. she waited outside the door as students began to file out, she kindly waited for them to all leave before entering and closing the door.
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President Barbie (Cadrac and rohan)
- Thread starter rohan
- Start date
*Fucking hell, what does that bitch want now,* Professor Coolidge thought. *It can't be good news, she looks far too pleased with herself for it to be anything I want to hear.* As soon as he'd gotten her email, he was certain she wanted to complain about something. But complaints wouldn't make her happy. Actually complaining probably would, but until she got to do that, she'd just be irritated by whatever she wanted to complain about. She wanted to talk to him in order to say something she would really enjoy saying. He could tell just by the way she stood, impatiently waiting for the last of his lab students to depart. He couldn't imagine what it might be. He knew she despised him with as close to a passion as the frigid bitch could come. But there was nothing she could do to him; he was tenured, and brought hefty grant money into the university as well, even if you only counted the small portion he ever told the university about.
He stood six three in his white lab coat, his raven black hair cut short and parted in the middle. He was in decent shape, thanks to a daily two mile jog around the campus during his lunch break, not to mention the frequent walks between his lab and his classes. He knew exactly who was responsible for the fact that all his academic classes got scheduled in Johanssen Hall, the furthest classroom instruction building from his lab and office, despite the fact that the rest of his department, even the associate professors, taught their classes in the Newman Science Center. "Lack of space," she'd claimed when he knew for a fact that she had Olafson teaching his classes in the science center despite the fact that everyone else in the Psych department taught out of the Liberal Arts building. But then, she hated his Aryan Nation Neo-Nazi ass, too. If he'd thought the man could keep his mouth shut, he'd give him a free Valkyrie sex slave just for having to put up with the President.
So, what, his budget was being cut. Like he cared. Most of his "funding" came from "grants" he received from the happy recipients of his clinical subjects. Even the early failures were worth having to those who dated them--slightly less intelligent, slightly more submissive and subservient, with slightly enhanced figures. These days, the only subjects that weren't complete successes were those who dropped out of the clinical trials early when they noticed their grades starting to slip. The drug was so far perfected that by the time a girl's actual grades were being affected, she frequently was too stupid to notice or care, and submissive enough that he could easily convince her that her grades didn't matter, it was far more important that she finish the course of treatment.
For most, all he had to do was mention their breasts would stop growing, which is all those who signed up thought the drug was supposed to accomplish--surgery free permanent breast enlargement, which it did, along with spreading the hips. They'd discover it also permanently lowered IQ, increased submissive obedience, and boosted libido. The general improvement to looks brought about by loss of extraneous fat were only indirectly caused by the drug. Once they reached a certain level of horny, obedient submissiveness, he merely let them know how much more fuckable they'd be if they worked out, got in shape, and lost weight. They accomplished the rest themselves, with plenty of willpower to resist temptation, because they were doing it for him, not themselves. Some had even asked his permission to join him on his daily jog, which he permitted, turning his lunch time exercise into a parade of lovely young ladies bouncing along beside him, followed by a quick orgy in the shower with whichever ones of them he felt like fucking that day.
He called it NBSS #9, but what nobody else knew was that stood for Nympho Barbie Sex Slave. The early trial drugs, #'s 1 through 8, were partially successful, but #9 gradually turned them into complete bimbo sluts willing to do absolutely anything they were told, no matter how much of a raving man-hating bitch they were before they started. Those who didn't flunk out by the time they'd finished, he ordered to drop out. And then they willingly went with whatever person he sold them to as a slave. *I'd love to get this bitch to sign up for the course of treatment,* he thought just before meeting her glare with his bright blue eyes and saying to her, "What can I help you with, Amy?" In private he absolutely never gave her the respect of her title or position, calling her by first name like she was one of his students. "You indicated we needed to talk."
He stood six three in his white lab coat, his raven black hair cut short and parted in the middle. He was in decent shape, thanks to a daily two mile jog around the campus during his lunch break, not to mention the frequent walks between his lab and his classes. He knew exactly who was responsible for the fact that all his academic classes got scheduled in Johanssen Hall, the furthest classroom instruction building from his lab and office, despite the fact that the rest of his department, even the associate professors, taught their classes in the Newman Science Center. "Lack of space," she'd claimed when he knew for a fact that she had Olafson teaching his classes in the science center despite the fact that everyone else in the Psych department taught out of the Liberal Arts building. But then, she hated his Aryan Nation Neo-Nazi ass, too. If he'd thought the man could keep his mouth shut, he'd give him a free Valkyrie sex slave just for having to put up with the President.
So, what, his budget was being cut. Like he cared. Most of his "funding" came from "grants" he received from the happy recipients of his clinical subjects. Even the early failures were worth having to those who dated them--slightly less intelligent, slightly more submissive and subservient, with slightly enhanced figures. These days, the only subjects that weren't complete successes were those who dropped out of the clinical trials early when they noticed their grades starting to slip. The drug was so far perfected that by the time a girl's actual grades were being affected, she frequently was too stupid to notice or care, and submissive enough that he could easily convince her that her grades didn't matter, it was far more important that she finish the course of treatment.
For most, all he had to do was mention their breasts would stop growing, which is all those who signed up thought the drug was supposed to accomplish--surgery free permanent breast enlargement, which it did, along with spreading the hips. They'd discover it also permanently lowered IQ, increased submissive obedience, and boosted libido. The general improvement to looks brought about by loss of extraneous fat were only indirectly caused by the drug. Once they reached a certain level of horny, obedient submissiveness, he merely let them know how much more fuckable they'd be if they worked out, got in shape, and lost weight. They accomplished the rest themselves, with plenty of willpower to resist temptation, because they were doing it for him, not themselves. Some had even asked his permission to join him on his daily jog, which he permitted, turning his lunch time exercise into a parade of lovely young ladies bouncing along beside him, followed by a quick orgy in the shower with whichever ones of them he felt like fucking that day.
He called it NBSS #9, but what nobody else knew was that stood for Nympho Barbie Sex Slave. The early trial drugs, #'s 1 through 8, were partially successful, but #9 gradually turned them into complete bimbo sluts willing to do absolutely anything they were told, no matter how much of a raving man-hating bitch they were before they started. Those who didn't flunk out by the time they'd finished, he ordered to drop out. And then they willingly went with whatever person he sold them to as a slave. *I'd love to get this bitch to sign up for the course of treatment,* he thought just before meeting her glare with his bright blue eyes and saying to her, "What can I help you with, Amy?" In private he absolutely never gave her the respect of her title or position, calling her by first name like she was one of his students. "You indicated we needed to talk."
" Yes Professor Coolidge. I've noticed a few odd things about your drug trial and they need to stop. I've alredy sent the paperwork out to have your grants withdrawn. Were you aware that every girl who signed up ended up dropping out even the seniors who had gotten straight A's before slipped into F's. In order to prevent more drop outs you will not be allowed to test on students." Amy explained obviousily concerned by all of this. That and it did bring her joy to see him in discomfort by losing fudings and subjects. she hated him because he lacked respect for her and it was always in private when it came out. "but I'm not completely heartless, I'll give you a week to write a report on what your drug does, what is in it and provide evidence that the drop outs have nothing to do with your drug. But that shouldn't be too hard for you." She added smiling, since it was a hard task since most of his early subjects where not heard from in years and would take over a week to do. and if she could prove that his drug did cause students to drop out she could fire him in an instant.
"You've slipped a gear, Amy. This is a drug trial. Next time you want to try to tell me how to do my job, try doing your homework on my field first. Discovering what potential side effects a new drug might have in humans is the whole point of a drug trial. The risks of possible side effects are explained to the students prior to their acceptance into the program, and they sign papers stating that it is their obligation to report any such side effects immediately, as soon as they become apparent, and to continue doing so for five years after they complete the trial."
Shaking his head like he was disappointed in a not-to-bright student, "And to top it off, those grants are from the companies directly to me, which is why I was the one who had to go through all the hassle of submitting a grant proposal. You neither have the authority nor the legal right to get involved in my grants at all. The funds they supply the university are via my work and my contracts. In this matter, the university is only a beneficiary, not a controlling interest. All you've done is embarrass yourself before several prestigious pharmaceutical companies." Giving her his most insincere smile, he added, "And I hope for your sake you didn't include any actionable language in those letters you sent out to my grant companies without having hard data proving a correlation between my trials and the statistical hearsay of those students grades."
The false smile left his face and a hard edge came to his voice. "You say you'll give me a week. Well, take your week and shove it up your useless cunt, bitch. Not a single one of my test subjects has reported any side effects whatsoever. It would be science so bad I could be sued for it, as could you and this university, were I to take your anecdotal evidence that their might be an unreported problem with the drug and halt my trials, trials which both I and this university have accepted money to conduct, on the basis of that rumor alone. A week to find evidence that some problem you claim exists, yet not a single one of the trial participants has ever reported, isn't related to the drug. Are you on some sort of drug yourself? You'll be lucky if I don't go to the Board of Trustees with your attempts to sabotage the millions of dollars my research brings in on the basis of your personal vendetta and unscientific hearsay."
He stepped closer to her, thoroughly violating any sense of personal space she might have, "Bring me documented, scientific evidence of an actual side effect, and then I might shut down the trial, but I doubt it. We are being paid to document those side effects, not shut things down the moment side effects occur. And so far, all you've brought me is a pile of statistics within acceptable norms. In case you hadn't noticed, you stupid whore, we are an extremely competitive university, renowned for how difficult it is to get a degree from us. A full 25% of our senior class every year cracks under the pressure and either drops out or flunks out. That my test subjects are among them means NOTHING. Until you have some hard science to present, get your frigid ass out of my lab!"
Shaking his head like he was disappointed in a not-to-bright student, "And to top it off, those grants are from the companies directly to me, which is why I was the one who had to go through all the hassle of submitting a grant proposal. You neither have the authority nor the legal right to get involved in my grants at all. The funds they supply the university are via my work and my contracts. In this matter, the university is only a beneficiary, not a controlling interest. All you've done is embarrass yourself before several prestigious pharmaceutical companies." Giving her his most insincere smile, he added, "And I hope for your sake you didn't include any actionable language in those letters you sent out to my grant companies without having hard data proving a correlation between my trials and the statistical hearsay of those students grades."
The false smile left his face and a hard edge came to his voice. "You say you'll give me a week. Well, take your week and shove it up your useless cunt, bitch. Not a single one of my test subjects has reported any side effects whatsoever. It would be science so bad I could be sued for it, as could you and this university, were I to take your anecdotal evidence that their might be an unreported problem with the drug and halt my trials, trials which both I and this university have accepted money to conduct, on the basis of that rumor alone. A week to find evidence that some problem you claim exists, yet not a single one of the trial participants has ever reported, isn't related to the drug. Are you on some sort of drug yourself? You'll be lucky if I don't go to the Board of Trustees with your attempts to sabotage the millions of dollars my research brings in on the basis of your personal vendetta and unscientific hearsay."
He stepped closer to her, thoroughly violating any sense of personal space she might have, "Bring me documented, scientific evidence of an actual side effect, and then I might shut down the trial, but I doubt it. We are being paid to document those side effects, not shut things down the moment side effects occur. And so far, all you've brought me is a pile of statistics within acceptable norms. In case you hadn't noticed, you stupid whore, we are an extremely competitive university, renowned for how difficult it is to get a degree from us. A full 25% of our senior class every year cracks under the pressure and either drops out or flunks out. That my test subjects are among them means NOTHING. Until you have some hard science to present, get your frigid ass out of my lab!"