A Dose of His Own Medicine

(Author's Note: A wonderful fan and friend provided me with the inspiration for the following story. Thank you for the idea, Allan! Your imagination is almost as wild and crazy as mine!)

Jim Wilson didn't know it, but he was being condemned. Even as he made his way into his office his fate was being decided by his company's mostly female staff—thirty-seven women who made up the bulk of Wilson Labs, one of the most distinguished pharmaceutical companies in London.

There were a few men in the company—his father, the President and CEO, a couple of outside sales reps, a few freelance copyeditors and proofreaders and himself, the CFO. The work for the reps and editors was all outsourced, so the few men that there were mostly worked from home or in the field. His father only made it into the office a few days a week, preferring to work from his spacious and luxurious home office. Although Jim had great latitude in company decision-making, he was still answerable to his father, and this irked him. It irked him so much that he often took out his frustrations on his unsuspecting female employees. But now, after three years of suffering under his tyrannical rule, these bold women were about to turn the tables on him.

Jim Wilson was the only son of Edward and Sally Wilson. He was a very handsome and elegant man of thirty-one. Some would say that he was fastidious about his appearance to the point of vanity, and they would be correct in that estimation. Physically, he was intimidating at 6' 4" tall, with broad shoulders and fierce, penetrating blue eyes that often flared when angry. His hair was jet black and never seemed to grow any longer than what was considered fashionable for a man so blessed with the features of an Olympian god. Being an only child, he had been pampered and given everything that money could buy. This was not to say that in being so spoiled he was indigent. He wasn't. If anything he had a restless and penetrating intellect, which drove him to question everything. But only toward those things that he felt could be of use to him did he expend his vast energies—he was opportunism personified.

Jim received his MBA from Oxford University Business School, graduating summa cum laude with a perfect 4.0 grade average. Upon leaving school he went directly to work for his father's company as one amongst a bevy of accountants. His father was a disciplined man who believed that his son should know everything about the company, and this meant starting at the bottom rung. Jim resented this at first, but he knew that if he was patient, his father would promote him in due time. And so he waited. In less than two years he had been promoted up the ranks until he had become the chief financial officer of the company, second only in power to his father. Now, in his seventh year of employment at the Lab, Jim was feeling on top of his game. He was rich, powerful, and in total control.

In the beginning years of his employment with the company, Jim was more or less deferential in his treatment of his fellow employees. After all, he was one of them, with little power to control anything more than his own destiny. However, as time went on and his range of powers increased, he became more demanding of his employees, especially the women. He would often make snide remarks to those he felt were not doing their jobs to his satisfaction. Or he would condescend to the older women who had worked at the company for years very happily under the direction of his father, but whom he now felt were getting too old to keep on the payroll. Worst of all was his propensity for sexually harassing the younger and more attractive women. He was not blatantly obvious about it, but he would push the envelope by making lewd comments couched in double entendres or would sometimes touch an employee on her arm or let his hand doodle too long at the base of her spine. Once he even cornered his own secretary in the kitchen, forcing her under the mistletoe so that he could get her to kiss him. The women tried to overlook his faux pas either by ignoring him or letting him off with a gentle warning, but nothing worked. He continued to harass them day in and day out, year after year. The problem for the women was that his errant attentions, as annoying and discriminatory as they were, did not warrant enough concern for them to lose their jobs, especially since the job market was dismally jeopardized by a weak economy. As a result, they endured his tasteless jibes, innuendos, and infrequent physical contact as preferable to being unemployed.

Being a bachelor, Jim had a vibrant social life. He loved to wine and dine rich and beautiful women, and often brought his dates into the office where he would exhibit them as if they were some rare breeds of exotic show animal to display in front of his staff. He spared no expense in making his employees feel less than adequate, either by flaunting his rich debutantes in front of them or by deriding their best efforts at work. As such, he soon grew to be hated by the entire female staff. It's not that Jim was cruel or got any enjoyment from bringing his charges to heel—he didn't. He was just drunk with power and simply and truly believed that he was superior to everyone else—especially the women. The fact that he was still subservient to his father irritated him most of all, and for this the women paid dearly.

It was on a cool, crisp October afternoon that the first stage of Jim's condemnation was being prepared. Mary Douglas, a tall, slender, red-haired, fiery-eyed beauty of twenty-two, and Jim's secretary for the past year, had called for a meeting in the company conference room with all thirty-seven of the company's female employees. Jim had just left the office for lunch after having performed some rude gesture while in her presence, and she was pissed. She did not reveal her displeasure to her boss however, but chose to keep her feelings bottled inside her until, like the proverbial pressure cooker, she was ready to explode. It was now 1:15 p.m. and the conference room was full of agitated women when Mary burst through the doors like a hurricane.

"That fucking son of a bitch!" she screamed once the doors had closed behind her. "Do you know what he just did?"

The bewildered group suddenly fell silent, all eyes pointing in the furious woman's direction.

Without waiting for an answer, she resumed. "He took out his god-damned willy! His willy! Right in front of me!"

A chorus of shocked moans rose from the group as she took her seat next to a tall, attractive blonde.

"I don't believe it!" the blonde said. "He would never..."

"Don't say 'never,' Margaret!" Mary retorted, her eyes narrowing. "I told you he did. Oh, it was only for a second or two but he whipped it out right there in his office. Can you imagine how insulted I felt?"

"That's simply disgraceful!" one of the older women replied. "We can't let this go. Not this time!"

"Forget about all that!" a plump motherly type exclaimed. "Did you record it?"

Mary smiled. "Indeed I did, Jenny! I got it all on my little digital recorder. Every obscene word he spoke to me, that foul-mouthed beast!"

"And the video?"

"Caught it all on my mini-cam!" Mary fingered a little button-type device on her collar that looked like a miniature brooch. "Caught him fondling his bits too! We have the bastard now girls!"

"By the balls, I daresay!" Margaret exclaimed, hitting her fist on the desk for emphasis.

Suddenly, Mary was not looking at her excited colleagues but instead focused her eyes on the empty table in front of her. "Where are all the lab reports? He knows I'm calling this conference to go over these reports with you. If he should come back before we're done..."

"Here they are, Mary!" an eighteen-year-old intern shouted from the back of the room.

"Well, put them on the table for heaven's sake would you please, Angie? We need to cover our arses."

"We should have held the meeting somewhere else, Mary," a woman named Barbara said. "Not under his very nose for Christ's sake!"

"No," Mary replied with some vexation. "This is the perfect cover. He thinks we're having a conference about these stupid reports. Let him think that. Better that than trying to evade his spies all over town. We'd be too obvious."

A pretty brunette girl sitting across from Mary began handing out the reports as they were passed to her from Angie. She nodded her head in agreement. "You're right, Mary. Mr. Wilson is too smart. We have to be careful."

"All I want to know is," said Angie, "did the blighter have one on?"

"Have what on?" Mary inquired.

"Did he have a woody?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "No, Angie. It was as flaccid as a spent Trojan."

The entire group erupted into laughter, but Angie looked disappointed.

"Oh come on, Angie!" Mary scoffed. "You really didn't expect him to be waving his pole around at full mast!"

"Well," the girl replied, "a lot of us were curious about his size. There has been a rumor around here for years that he's hung like a horse."

Angie said this with perfect composure even though many of the women were still giggling.

"Just pass out the rest of those damn reports and sit down. We have a lot to discuss."

It took a short while for Mary to collect herself, still reeling from the psychological blow of Jim Wilson's outrageous behavior. There was no doubt now that something had to be done. After a full year of putting up with her boss's crude insinuations and otherwise rude treatment of her, culminating with this latest vulgar and untoward act, retribution was called for. And she was the perfect instrument by which to initiate revenge.

Unbeknownst to Jim, Mary was his intellectual equal. She too had graduated from Oxford with an MBA and had a very impressive grade point average. She could not, however, find employment suitable to her training, and therefore had to accept a lower position within the company. But she was young and, like Jim, patient. She could afford to bide her time until a better opportunity arose.

Edward Wilson thought highly of her and had told her so on many occasions. He made it clear that as soon as something better came along, she would be the first to know. And she had no reason to doubt him. Unlike his son, he was honest and forthright. Many times she had wanted to voice her displeasure about his son to him, but knew that if she expected to rise among the ranks, she would have to keep her mouth shut. It troubled her terribly to do so, but she saw no other way.

"Okay," Mary said, after quickly reviewing the small bundle of papers in front of her. "This is the deal. We can no longer put up with Jim Wilson's bullshit and we can't complain to the boss—his father—for fear of losing our jobs, which none of us can afford to do. But, we now have evidence to blackmail him with. As such, we can go ahead with our plans."

"I think we should castrate the fucker!" someone yelled from the back of the room.

"No, Paula," Mary said, recognizing the voice. "I have a much better idea."

Mary then turned to a woman seated at the opposite end of the table from her. This woman was impeccably dressed in a smart gray business suit and black high heels. Her sandy brown hair was pushed back into a bow, giving her a strict appearance despite the fact that she was quite lovely. In front of her lay a small black valise, which was stuffed with papers. With a nod from Mary, the woman stood up before her expectant audience.

"Most of you here know who I am," she began. "For those who don't, I am Dr. Bethany Devlin, chief project Director of the Wilson biogenetic research department. For the past several years my team and I have been developing a new drug called Infiritol, which is a fertility drug for men. It has been used to great effect since moving out of the beta testing phase last summer. Men whose sperm count would have precluded them from impregnating a woman before taking the drug, are now able to produce sperm at an astonishing rate. The sperm are healthy, robust and quite voluminous."

"Congratulations, doctor," Margaret said, obviously not very impressed with her revelation. "It's been done already."

"What are you talking about?" Bethany replied.

"Did you ever hear of 'EJAX-472'?"

"Of course. Who hasn't?"

"Well, my point is...why reinvent the wheel?"

The doctor shook her head in dismay. "No, you don't understand. Infiritol, unlike EJAX-472, does not take weeks to build up a concentration in the bloodstream. It is administered via injection directly into the scrotum. Its effects are immediate and quite incredible. Ask Mary. She's seen how it works."

"I have," Mary admitted. "Even a tiny dose goes a long, long way."

"What do you mean?" Angie asked. "What does it do?"

"It acts as a precursor to semen," Bethany answered. "It forces sperm to replicate at up to ten times the normal rate."

Most of the women remained quiet and attentive, but there were a few who found this news amusing.

"I'm not kidding," Bethany stated firmly. "Do you know what the result of such an increase in the sperm rate can do to a man?"

"I'd say the poor bloke is going to have one very tired hand!" retorted the plump, motherly type amidst a chorus of laughter.

"Or he's going to be fuckin' every damn trollop down in the south-east district of New Cross!" Margaret squealed, exciting the group even more.

Mary had to laugh despite herself. "Okay, okay, you lunatics! We're moving away from the purpose of this whole thing. Now Bethany, please continue and get to the point. We don't have much time."

As the crowd's enthusiasm began to quell, the doctor resumed. "Like many of you, Jim Wilson has sexually harassed me. And more than once."

"What did he do to you?" Angie asked.

"Never mind about that. Let's just say it was overt and very unwelcome. Until now, we had to endure his blatant attempts to harass us, but now with the information Mary has acquired, we can nail this bastard to the wall and give him a taste of his own medicine."

Upon hearing this news the women suddenly grew restive, desirous to know more of the doctor's plans for their contemptible employer.

"So, tell us, doctor," an elfin-looking girl said from the corner of the room. "How do you intend to give 'em what for?"

Bethany grinned and removed a tiny vial of black liquid from her valise. "Mary and I have a plan. And we're going to accomplish it with this!" she said proudly, as she held it up for inspection. "Meet the greatest sperm producer known to man! Infiritol!" She held the bottle up high above her head as if she were waving a trophy. "Payback is a bitch ladies, and Jim Wilson is going to pay, big time!"

The complete plans regarding Jim Wilson's fate were laid out for all his employees to savor. Under the pretence of studying the lab reports, each woman was clandestinely initiated into the elaborate scheme that was to absorb their every waking moment for the next three days, at the culmination of which their collective animosity would be unleashed upon their unwitting victim. It was universally agreed that the apprehension of their employer should take place after work on a Friday evening, the time most likely when he would be working after hours. The abduction would be prefaced by a cup of coffee laced with a mild sedative, giving the women enough time to wheel him down to the underground research labs where they would then tie him down onto a medical table for his introduction to Dr. Devlin's wonder drug. The entire procedure would be recorded using digital cameras. Multiple copies of the data, in addition to the doctor's master copy, would be placed in both Mary and Margaret's possession for safekeeping.

On the day before his initiation, Jim seemed particularly out of sorts. He was far more annoying and rude than usual, and all because, it was found, the girl he had picked up the night before at a local bar had refused to have sex with him. As a result, he was in a rotten mood.

"Take this fucking thing away!" he screamed at Mary as she cleaned up his second coffee spill of the day. "I don't want to look at it now!"

The top of the ancient mahogany desk, once the pride and joy of his father, had become a motley tapestry of coffee stains, butter stains, gravy stains—almost every kind of stain imaginable—under his possession. A bevy of secretaries, whose long list of names now lay forgotten in the mist of Wilson's company annals, had struggled in vain to keep their tyrannical employer's desk clean and tidy. It was a futile effort. Jim's slovenliness seemed incompatible with his own assiduous attention to personal hygiene, but the truth was, he had little regard for anyone or anything other than himself. Because the desk was an heirloom, Mary dare not try to use any especially harsh solvent to clean it, which might have removed the stains at the expense of the finish. So, she did the next best thing: she ordered a glass top. But while the glass top may have protected the finish, it nevertheless continued to accumulate stains. And the last of the coffee to find its way onto Jim's desk had landed directly on his copy of the most recent lab reports of which Mary and her accomplices had recently utilized as their decoy.

"I can get you another copy," Mary said to her boss as she wiped up the last of the coffee from his desk.

"No," he replied hastily. "Get the project team in here in about a half hour and you can walk me through it."

"Yes, sir."

As Mary turned to go, Jim took out a nail file from the top drawer of his desk and began to file his nails.

"Oh, Mary," he said, secretly admiring the picture of her lovely derriere. "Before you do that, let's have a chat."

Mary halted in her tracks, her back towards him. "If it's about what happened this morning..."

"No, no, it's not that," he said, quickly trying to downplay any hint of resuming his prior indiscretion. "Sit down, please."

Reluctantly, Mary sat down opposite him. He continued to file his nails without looking at her.

"There is a problem," he began. "And it concerns two of your friends in the legal department—two paralegals, Angie Robinson and Margaret Wainwright. One of them has to go."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you do," Jim said in a presumptuous tone. "Ms. Robinson has been consistently late reporting for work. You are aware of that?"

"Yes, I am. But she explained her situation to your father and he kindly gave her some latitude in that respect. Are you aware of that?"

"I am. But my father has wisely left the matter in my hands. Ms. Robinson has been warned twice before but she continues to be tardy."

"Her mother is very ill and she depends on Angie to care for her. What can she do?"

"I don't know," he replied, reaching for a cuticle scissor. "And I don't care. Now, as regards Ms. Wainwright...well, her work as of late has been less than stellar."

Mary watched him as he slowly, methodically, removed a hangnail and returned the scissor to his drawer. So far he had not bothered to look at her.

"She's going through a divorce."

Jim sneered. "So! Once again, personal issues form the common ground for their rationale! Ridiculous!"

At that point Mary wanted nothing more than to slap his arrogant face. However, she allowed her distaste for the unfeeling cretin to ebb, realizing that anger might compel her to say something that would jeopardize her own position.

"It has affected her work, I admit that. But she's been a diligent and devoted employee for many years. It's just that..."

"It's just that her personal situation has deteriorated to the point that it is affecting her job. Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not responsible for her problems. I am only concerned when her problems begin to compromise her work. And when that happens, it becomesmyproblem."