Dr Vixen Sinclair Searches for the answer

As per usual, Dr Vixen Sinclair was up to her eyeballs in dick.

Not literally unfortunately, she reflected, though it hadn’t been that long since her last gangbang, the highlight of which was a hot moment when four rather boisterous male students from the school had moved from circle-jerk swiftly to straight into blowbang, with all four of them joining in to repeatedly slap their sticky, bloated dongs all over her face. With the tips of the lengthy rods smacking into her cheeks, eyes, and forehead, she then really well and truly had been up to her eyeballs in dick.

She sighed. That was a rather more enjoyable occasion than this one, which was more in the way of an insoluble work-based problem.

In her lab-cum study, situated in a shiny modern wing of the school for her own special brand of pioneering experimental work, Vixen was poring over the accumulation of data that had arisen from her years of study into penile growth, or ‘Monstercock Monumentalism’ as she had coined it in one of her early Phd theses.

Hard at work, there were three computer monitors in front of her, each displaying lividly and lewdly a profusion of enormously engorged mammoth slabs of man meat. Indeed, the desktop wallpaper for each was a collage of what she referred to as her ‘greatest works’: namely, bloated, scientifically improved dickshafts of staff and students in the school alike. To the untrained eye, there was no meaningful distinction between the wallpaper that served as a backdrop for her work terminals and the data that she viewed on it, which was, surprisingly enough, a configuration of different photographs of brawny, inhumanly huge cocks that she has already succeeded in coaxing degrees of growth from. The desktop background of the centre screen had a photograph which featured Vixen’s own face in the centre, looking upwards at the camera, surrounded by not less than 15 gigantic cocks, each pointing at her and crowding against the others like some incredibly vulgar dial on the face of a clock. The picture had been taken to commemorate the particularly special occasion of pushing a whole class of male students over the fourteen inch mark. One of the byproducts of that success was the alluring and whorish acts and promises that a lot of the female students were making to ensure that they were selected to be put in that class.

It was all very nice, but, a **** to her intellect, it wasn’t what Vixen would call real achievement. As usual, Vixen was working in her office, spending her time developing ways to make those penile transformations, bigger, harder, and longer lasting.

There had been advances in unexpected ways. When the ditzy school nurse – a woman, Vixen reflected, with no credible medical training - had overdosed a supply teacher a few months back, she had unwittingly created a veritable Frankenstein-like effect where the moderately well-hung Ian White had been turned into an eighteen-inch monstercocked stud and run wild fucking the female staff and students into oblivion for weeks, been lauded beyond belief, given a permanent post and ended up the hit of the campus. The results were anything beyond which Vixen had dreamt. Ian White was clearly a special case. But getting anything to replicate the enhancement effects that had wrought such monstrous changes was a problem.

Vixen had managed to get enough lab time with Ian to study the effects, and had, over the course of a couple of intellectually invigorating but alarmingly sticky sessions, been able to ascertain some small tweaks that might be given to the enhancement pills to stimulate similar growth. So far the results were unconvincing. Charles Woodcock-Splatterwell, the charming but paralysingly introverted head of science, had responded best to the treatment, and had reached a comparable size to Ian White. That was encouraging, and, to Vixen’s mind, a great pleasure, since it gave her the opportunity to have her pussy and asshole stretched as equally as interaction with Charles did to her mind. Vixen sighed as she toyed with her pussy, her gaze sliding to the screensaver that had flicked up on the second screen. It featured her face, her mouth open and her tongue stuck out, while Ian and Charles’s shiny purple bellends rested on her tongue, the smooth tips touching, their prodigiously brawny and vein-sprouting lengths disappearing off over each side of the picture.