Professor Janet P. Kevel is without a doubt the worst boss I'd ever had, and that includes working with some pretty seedy individuals in nightclubs during my undergraduate days. Technically, since I'm now a full member of the University staff, I'm not answerable to anyone short of the principle and the University itself, but of course it doesn't really work like that. I was given the unenviable task of teaching the 1st year course, and Lord High Janet of Stuck-up is the head of first and second year Engineering undergrad teaching.
Perhaps I should have pointed out earlier I'm a Civil Engineer, an area not traditionally over filled with women. I'm cursed, in a way, with being attractive with it. I know I should be happy, plenty of my friends get really annoyed with me, mock or otherwise. . . , when I complain about being attractive, but it can be a serious handicap when you're trying to be taken seriously, especially by men. Nobody ever really though I was any good at any work, they tended to assume I was rather dumb eye-candy that had taken an engineering course to get a man with a good job. At least I'm not blonde. . .
I've had a couple of boyfriends, but they never really lasted long. I'm sick and tired of being patronised by guys who couldn't see beyond my figure and looks. I'm not going out with you to get help with the mathematics and I certainly will not do THAT just to get your inferior assessment answers that are probably not even half as good as the ones I did two weeks ago when it was handed out!
Sorry, I'm flitting back and forth between my current life and my history, I hope you're not getting too confused! I know who I am at the moment is based on who I have been and the things that have shaped my life. Perhaps I should give you a little more of my life story. My name is Dr Jennifer Hawk, I'm 29 years old and I was born and raised in Scotland. I had a happy enough up-bringing, was considered a bit of freak because I enjoyed school - very very silly to admit in the rougher Labour voting socialist areas of Scotland - and generally kept myself to myself. My parents, God Bless them, were never rich, but brought me up without ever really needing anything. There were plenty of things I wanted I never got, either because they were too expensive, or deemed not-for-girls, but I suppose I never really needed them anyway.
It was always assumed that like my elder sister and my parents before, I would go to University. However, it was assumed I would study something a little more lady-like that Civil Engineering. Nobody objected, but it was talked about in hushed tones, like the embarrassing Great-Grandmother who was "self-employed" during her youth.
Nobody at my uni or work ever really took me seriously, and although at the time I didn't think it bothered me, I guess it must have done, otherwise I wouldn't be making such a big deal of it now. I think what annoys me the most is that even by the time I was in my final year they still didn't think I was serious. I had been in the top 5% of my year, every year, and yet still I was treated as the dumb girl only along for the ride. Anyway, that's something I should put behind me, but it's given me this drive to always prove myself, to show that just because I'm an attractive woman I'm not stupid.
Once I'd finished my degree, I managed to find a research post, studying for my doctorate. The only reason I got it was because the professor was convinced that if he had three years to try, he was bound to get in my pants at least once. I don't drink, so his plans at every research group meal or party always failed, and in the end I finished on time, and the filthy old bloke had to accept it was never going to happen.
A few years of bouncing around post-doc jobs and I finally got an interview for a lectureship at a mediocre university. I knew it was working with Professor Kevel, I'd read a lot of her papers, and spoken to her once or twice at conferences. Although she'd never impressed me as a person, her work was extremely impressively, few engineers could boast as high a success rate within her field. Fortunately, it was slap bang in my area too, and when the interview arrived I was prefectly prepared. I had invested in a new suit, I say invested because although I'm usually very careful with money (you have to be surviving on post-doc wages) I'd spent most of my months wages on it. It's difficult to hide my chest, but I was happy with the job it did. Basically, I wanted to make myself as asexual as possible, so it would be my work and skills that the interviewers would concentrate on.
The panel consisted of Professors Kevel, Gern and Owelski, the three heads of school in effect. Gern and Owelski were fine, they seemed nice enough men. Owelski's nearing retirement and you could tell in his manner that ultimately he doesn't really care anymore - but in a happy go-lucky way. Gern runs the whole engineering school, and is 100% motivated by research. Everyone within a university has to do research, there are no purely lecturing posts, and because many academics never visit the real world, where people have real jobs and real lives, they thinks the entire universe runs on academic research, and primarily doing better and harder research that your fellow universities. So in other words, he wanted to know how good I was at publishing papers. Fortunately, I had a wealth of completed projects, and he was suitably impressed.
Janet Kevel, however, was a bitch. Because our fields overlap, she knew all the tiny flaws and problems with my work. They weren't special to me, if you take any results and keep asking "Why?" sooner or later the answer will become "I don't know". I model real world situation in a laboratory, and assumptions have to be made, pardon me for not being able to fit an entire canal into my lab! Her questions were so picky, worse than any post-presentation ones, that I really believed I must have failed her standards completely. I'm not one given to crying, but it was pretty hard to drive home that evening and for the first time in 8 years I was sorely tempted to reach for the wine bottle.
It was a pleasant, but scary surprise, to be phoned the next day by a cheerful professor Gern to tell me I had secured the job, pending one year probation. To be honest, I was so delighted I didn't really question the probation period, and I still haven't, but I don't know if all new members have the same condition. Considering it was Professor Kevel that was going to write my final report, perhaps I should have checked it earlier.
It was a nightmare of a year. I was thrown straight into the deep end both with research and teaching. Janet gave me a completely new course to teach, five hours a week plus organising tutorials, laboratory workshops and assessments. Then, on top of that, she passed me a new research project with a very limited grant that needed results by the end of the year. Now, I suppose a bit like my friends you're thinking five hours a week sounds pretty simple. But it's not, because I had to prepare five hours of lectures, which means at least tens hours of prep, plus the tutorials and laboratory work, which easily brings me up to a full week. Then the additional research, a project that really should have taken 18 months to two years, meant I was doing 70 to 80 hour weeks.
Things came to a head about half way through the year when despite my best efforts to the contary, I was forced to take a day off with a severe cold. I'd tried deperately hard to keep going, but in the end I simply couldn't get out of bed. By the next day I was able to come into work, but only just, and within five minutes of getting into my pokey little office, Janet was knocking at the door.
"Ah, Dr Hawk, made it into work today then?"
The tone of her voice was nothing short of insulting, but I tried to ignore it, and not let her know how frustrated I was with her.
"Yes. . . "
"Good. I don't appreciate last minute absenses."
Perhaps my deep calming breath would have been more effective if I hadn't had to open my mouth like a fish to do it. . .
"The only reason I didn't let the school know in advance was because I hoped I could recover sufficently well overnight. Unfortunately, I did not."
"Well, it's simply not good enough. See it doesn't happen again, you let a lot of people down."
I don't think a even a ten minute calming breath would have been enough this time. I was tired, ill, sore and felt I'd been worked like a bloody slave for sex months. Finding energy I didn't really know that I had, I leapt to my feet and my weakened control snapped.
"Now look here you stupid bitch!" I screamed, "I work damn hard and if you work me so hard I get ill then it's not my bloody fault that I have to take some time off! If you weren't such an uppity cow that never. . ."
The slap rocked me back on my heels; for a small woman, she's got some force. I was dazzed for a second or two, and my cheek stung so badly it was bright red. I could feel the blow had upset my nose too, and I took a second to dab my face with a tissue before turning to see her again.
The slap hadn't really calmed me down and I was all ready to begin screaming again but I stopped dead in my tracks. Her eyes were wide open and staring, extremely shiny, the black pupils looked tiny surrounded by the light blue iris, pin point aimed at me. Her usually tied back blonde hair had come loose and lay around her shoulders, slightly curled, with a lot more definition than I ever expected and her mouth was turned down in a slighty twisted frown behind clenched lips. Despite myself, I had to admit should could have been a far more beautiful woman than she let herself be. And with the amazing speed that thoughts can come in these times, I felt a certain empathy with her, is this what I would become in ten years? Still young, still attractive, but forced to hide it for professionism's sake?
Before I stood any chance of getting even soppier, she snapped back at me, turned and stormed past the crowd gathered at the door.
I was actually forced to ask someone else what she'd said, I'd been too shocked to hear. Her threat was to show me what real hard work was like. . .
"Do you have a death wish?"
Jim was one of the nicer staff members. Married, two kids, rather shy and unassuming he was probably the closest friend I had at work. I think he was the only guy who hadn't even tried to make a move on me, and I was good friends with his wife. On the whole, I liked him, and he wouldn't have been the only man in the school with the faintest chance if he had made move, if he weren't married that is.
"Only for my career. . .She just. . . Ohhhhh, she drives mad"
"You're not the only one, but I didn't tell you that!"
"I knew she wasn't exactly Miss Popular, do you think she was ever nice to anyone?"
Jim paused for a second or two, obviously thinking through his reply carefully.
"She used to be a lot nicer, before her husband left. That'll be about four years ago now."
I'd never even knew she'd been married. Somehow I never associated her as the marrying kind. Jim continued
"Actually, it made your little conflict seem like a pleasant chat"
I replied with a quizzical look.
"He dumped her here, well, in her office. They were shouting the odds at each other, which wasn't all that unusual, but it just got louder and louder and although we knew it was really mean, we couldn't help listening. He was saying some pretty cutting stuff, and she was giving as good as got. In the end, he stormed out, cleared his desk, (he was a lecturer here too, they got married and she got promoted past him. . .)" Jim winced. "Anyway, he was gone. Just vanished"
When I was young, I was convinced my teachers lived at school. When I saw them shopping or, heaven forbid, at the cinema!, I was shocked. Funnily enough, twenty years on but none the wiser, I never really thought of "Kruel" Professor Kevel having a life outside work. There's something voyueristic in all of us. . .
"What were they saying to each other that was so bad?!"
I wasn't really able to keep the eagerness and slight nastiness out of my voice.
"I shouldn't say, I suppose it's personal. Forget I said it. Just accept she's had a hard time too." Jim gulped the last of his coffee, made a poor excuse about having to dash off for a class (at 1:30pm) and left me pondering in my chair. If I'm the product of my past, then so was she. Didn't make her any easier to work with, or any nicer a person, but maybe it explained a lot. I had just about convinced myself I should draw up the courage to apologise when a folder thumbed down on the table in front of me.
"Marking" Kevel snapped.
I turned up to look at her, hair back harshly tied up again, eye's perfectly dry. Before I could protest, she's turned tail and left. I picked up the folder and thumbed through. First year assignments, I'd forgotten to collect them in. Cursing myself, I carried the folder back to my office to try to get some of it done before the afternoon laboratory session.
I couldn't really shake thinking about what Jim had said. Despite knowing I shouldn't I tried to think of all the people not quite so nice as Jim who would spill the beans completely on what had happened. I was suddenly very keen on finding out what had turned an already rather uptight lady into a real monster. Nobody was really obvious, but gradually I picked the brains, little by little, of most of the staff members. Turns out most of their arguments had been about sex and money (even with what little I knew about relationships, this didn't surprise me, well, maybe the sex part concerning Janet!). It was rather juicy, and I felt guilty "researching" it. Antonio, her italian husband, had been having an affair with one the cleaners. I think Janet was as much upset about the fact it had been a cleaner as the fact he was cheating on her. He had claimed it was all her fault since she hadn't slept with him for three years. . . not since the "incident". I found a few views on what the "incident" had been, ranging from an abortion to an orgy. Either way, it seemed to have affected them both. And he claimed the she was wasting money on her addiction. Again, her "addiction" wasn't really certain, but rumours included from gambling, drink or drugs. Seemed like our Janet had an interesting life afterall. . .
Perhaps I would have left it there, content to know a little but not really all that curious, if I hadn't been caught out in a serious jam two weeks later. Relalionships between Professor Kevel and I had continued on a virtually grunting level, but continued none-the-less. The fact she even spoke to me in person at all was considered by the rest of the staff to be a sign of grudging respect, the previous occupant of my post had left after six and half months of silent treatment just for critising a comment in an academic paper.
Anyway, I had got on with my life, managed to find some spare time and organised a friday night date. He wasn't anything special, but he was cute enough. I say "I" organised the date, but actually it was my sister. Her sibling senses had kicked in and decided I needed something to cheer me up, and told me I was going to go out with her friend from church whether I wanted to or not. Nice church lad, how bad can he be? Well, pretty rotten it turned out. He was the elder brother of Karen's (my sister) friend and she didn't know him at all it turned out. We'd gone to the theatre, which I enjoyed but he had to fight to stay awake in, then he took me out for a meal. He admitted he'd been told to take me to a play and given the choice would rather have gone to the football - did I like football?
At the end of the dinner, which was pleasant enough if a little dull, he asked me "Your place or mine?". You go to your place, and I'll go to mine I said, and he wasn't particularly impressed. Why do men think taking you out entitles them to get their leg over? Foolishly I agreed to him giving me a lift home, only he didn't take me home, or at least, not to my home. Having clobbered him round the head, twice, I marched away from his grotty house down his equally grotty street, my heels (slightly stained with his grotty blood) in my hands.
Perhaps at times I'm a little hot headed, but I sure as heck wasn't going to lose my virginity to that tosser. Not that it was something I was hanging on to, just something I'd never really felt the need to give away. No one had ever really turned me on enough. It wasn't that I'd never though of sex, or ever touched myself, I just never found a man who I actually liked the thought of fucking me. I hadn't really given it a lot of thought, I had my vibrator for dealing with my urges, and until such time as I found the right guy, it served my needs just fine thanks.
But having stomped off, I actually had no idea where I was. Getting a taxi where I live in virtually impossible, I remember queueing for hours outside nightclubs in the pouring rain, getting one walking down a narrow lane in the middle of nowhere was almost impossible. I wasn't really afraid until I realised there was a car following me, slowly approaching. I considered running, but my stockinged feet were already sore, and in the short skirt I had worn I wouldn't have been able to go very fast anyway. The car drew level, the window wound down.
"How much, love?"
I stopped and turned to face the driver.
"Blowjob, let me cum in your mouth, I'll pay extra - ain't seen you here before. How much?"
"Fuck OFF!" I replied, disgusted.
"Come on lass, I'll wear a rubber then and cum on your tits, but don't go charging me the same"
"Just. . . FUCK OFF!"
This time I did run. I hadn't occured to me where I was, and I wasn't exactly dressed to give them other ideas. I don't enjoy looking like a piece of meat, but I was wearing a rather revealing top, and I suppose I couldn't blame him for getting the wrong idea. Didn't make me feel any less dirty though.
When I got to the end of the lane, the fear was really beginning to kick in. I looked up and down the slightly busier street and saw plenty of street walkers and curb crawlers. Shit, shit, shit. No chance of getting a taxi here and I had no idea even which way to head home. It sounds stupid, but I'd only been there a year, and it wasn't a part of town I exactly knew well. I was just about plucking up the courage to ask one of the girls the quickest way back to the city centre when I spotted a car I recognised. I was so delighted, it didn't really register as surprising. It was stationary and as I approached I tried desperately to remember who it belonged to, even though I knew I knew the number plate.
Damn it, it was Janet's. Funnily enough, my first though was "Can I face the embarrassment of admit my problem to Janet" rather than "What's Janet doing here?".
I stopped to think for a second, could I really face Janet? The decision was taken for me, I wouldn't have to, but I'd be left with a far larger dilema. One of the girls walked up to the car, a large green BMW, and got in the passenger side. Through the dim light of the streetlamp I could just make out two figures kissing before the car drove off. I watched as it rounded the corner at the end of the street and went out of sight.
"Nevermind, maybe next time", the hand landed softly on my shoulder.
"What?" I spun round, shocked again that evening.
"She'll get to you eventually, likes to try to new girls out, if you're up for that sort of thing?" She winked. If you looked up prostitute in the dictionary, it would have had a picture of this woman, I don't really need to say anything more than that. I couldn't really engage my mouth to reply.
"And I'd recommend that you are up for it." Her face became serious again, "Arn't many as nice as Jane, and she pays well too."
I've sat countless exams, a Ph.D. viva and plenty of grant assessment and never, ever, has my brain whirled like it did then. Maybe I wasn't completely over the cold, maybe the running and the bad weather had got to me, maybe even the strength of the perfume coming off the figure talking to me, but for the one and only time in my life, I fainted.
I came round on a couch in a small but tidy flat. As my senses returned I looked around, trying to get my bearings. The walls were covered in posters of naked women. I'd never seen so much pornography. It took me another couple of seconds to realise I wasn't clothed myself anymore. . . Horror. Sheer Horror. I was lying under a blanket, which at least protected my modesty, and I jumped up, wrapping the blanket around me. Looking around further, I couldn't see my clothes, but there was a small kitchenette and a corridor with down to a front door with some rooms off it. As I walked towards the main door, still unsure what I was going to do and absolutely terrified about what might have happened to me, I heard noises from one of the rooms.
Common sense would have told me to leave well alone, but if there was anyone else here, I wanted to talk to them. I swung the door open. . .
Despite the dim red lighting I immediately recognised the woman I'd been with when I fainted. She was lying on a huge double bed, completely naked, legs apart, while another fully clothed lady lay at the bottom of the sheets, her head covering my view between the prostitutes legs.
"Ah. . . be with you in a second sweetheart, nearly. . . oh yes, lick it bitch! Faster!. . .done" she said, stroking the hair of the girl performing oral sex on her. A complete spasm of shock reaction, I dropped the blanket. It fell to the floor, and I stood completely nude in the doorway, eyes wide open, mouth agap.
The head was now grasped, and pulled tightly into her twat while her pelvis thrusted up and down into it. I could see her eyes roving up and down my body, and dispite the awareness that was returning to me, I made no attempt to cover myself up. In fact, as her cries got louder and and her movement more intense, I could feel the arousal growing in my body; my vagina lubricating itself, my nipples hardening. What the fuck was I doing? Part of my brain was demanding I cover myself up this instant, but another, quieter but more powerful voice, kept staring at the naked form before me, the lovely curved breasts and smooth legs. Almost, but not entirely, subconsciously my hand slipped down between my legs and my fingers began to toy with my moist cunt.
"Oh YES!" mingled with my quiet moans. . .
She sat almost bolt upright, squeezed the head between her thighs, cupped her breasts in her hands and screamed as she came. I wasn't anywhere near that close myself, but just hearing her made my body shake with pleasure. "You. . . little. . .whore. . ." she said, "You. . . drive. . . mama. . .insane. . . ". She was looking at me the whole time she said it, slowly licking her lips between words.
As suddenly as I'd entered the trance like state, I left it. I was aware of my nakedness, and grabbed the blanket and ran back through to the couch, where I sat, completely lost as to what to do. It wasn't long before I was joined by the still naked prostitute, counting a fistful of notes as she walked towards me.
"Wow girl!", she smiled, "I owe you one!"
"Where are my clothes?" I asked.
"Oh, they're drying. I washed them after you fainted, you fell in the mud, bashed your head, so I thought I better call it a night, take you home and make sure you were o.k."
"Thanks. . ." although I kinda felt it was strange thing to say. . . I was going to add that I felt a bit offended her undressing me, but after my show in the bedroom it seemed a bit stupid. . .
"You're new aren't you?"
"Well, I'm not really. . . I got caught in the . . ."
"Say no more, say no more!. I know the story. Don't want to do it, need the money, yackity smakity."
I didn't think it was wise to correct her, I really wanted to get home and try to take in everything that had happened to me.
"You could make a good living her, that's a fine body." I was quite flattered, if a little self-consciously disgusted, I had masturbated in front of another woman. "It was undressing you made me go out and pick up another client!"
I didn't respond to that. . . but she must have read my blank expression.
"Yeah. Yanina ain't going to take advantage of a helpless friend, but damn it, it made me so hot undressing you, revealing your tits and pussy and legs, I had to get some more action." She started unloading the tumble dryer. "And you showing yourself to me back then, wow, really made it for me. Between you and me, she was lacking a bit in the oral department!"
"I have to go. . . "
It was about all I could manage to say.
"So soon? I was hoping to repay you." Yanina winked again, "I'm much better in the oral department. . " her eyebrows raised.
Oh my God! She wanted to lick my pussy! I was still moist, and despite everything my nipples were still hard. All my thoughts from playing with my vibrator returned in a flash, the pleasure, the excitement, the thought of being given all that. Her large, full breast swayed slightly as she walked towards me, carrying my clothes in her arms.
"Come on honey, I want to" She smiled.
Dropping my clothes on the floor, she pulled back the blanket, revealing my nakedness. Her hand slid down my torso, and I didn't try to stop it, and between my legs. . . Her head lowered, mouth slightly open, closing in towards my lips. . . My heart started pounding. . . . .