Syri is still disgusting, but I fixed disgusting writing

“Uuuugh, I hope I’m not fucking late!”   The morning sun shows through the car windows as it’s petite, blonde female driver swerves into the U shaped driveway of an opulent looking manor, sunbeams barely peeking over the hill that it’s perched upon.   As she pulls to the curb, parking and turning off her sleek, black car,  she soon steps out, putting herself in the sunlight.    She’s blonde, and young looking.   She can’t be older than thirty at the very most, her wrinkleless, shining face making her look quite immature.   Her radiant, blonde hair is tied back in a somewhat messy, clearly hastily done ponytail. Her facial features are quite soft, her eyes the prettiest thing about them;  Shining and blue, with beautiful, long eyelashes, just behind small, stylish rimless glasses. Her nose is rather large though, and one could say her chin is a little too strong, although she’s not at all unattractive. Her slim form is dressed in a thick, red sweater, under a stark white labcoat, unstained and free from any stray hairs, lint, or debris, as well as some sleek, tight jeans.

 	She takes one good look at the manor in front of her as she walks past,  It’s certainly rich, to say the least.   It’s sprawling area is at least as wide as Seven of her own apartment put together, not even accounting for the second story.   The steps, and path through the well maintained shoulder of flowers and bushes bordering the house is made of marble, and the house’s siding is a pure white.   It has two, massive, almost overwhelming wooden double doors, carved within them bas reliefs of birds in flight.   The house’s simple, english design looks stunning, vertical lines pronounced in it’s architecture, pronouncing it’s height even more than it should.  The house sits proudly on it’s perch, overlooking the sprawling, futuristic cityscape below.  Through those ground floor windows she can peek at the open living space, a small, indoor pool, comfy looking couches, a giant holodisplay, showing some strange program, and an open kitchen outfitted with anything anyone could ever want, and that’s just the beginning.   She’s almost jealous, but given how eccentric her employer is, it’s likely she did something entirely strange to earn all of this.

She rushes around the side of the house, along a quaint brick path, stopping at the white, wooden fencing at a small, locked gate.   Frantically digging in the pockets of her her labcoat, she finds, and presses a small silver key against the gate’s inlaid lock, her hands shaking until she drops it in the grass bordering the walkway below her feet.   “Shit!   Fuck!”  She mumbles some obscenity, bending over to pick it up, having to fish in the grass for a few moments, baring her modern, white panties to anyone behind her.   Still not finding it, she has to bend over more, thoroughly searching the ground below her, before her stomach grumbles loudly under her thick, red sweater.   A hand quickly jolts to her tiny midriff, the poor girl closing one of her eyes, her discomfort clearly written across her face.  Seems something isn’t agreeing with her today.  Those loud grumbles and gurgles continue for a few seconds, before trailing off. “Mmmn, fuck… what a day.”  Soon enough her hands find that key, and hurriedly she unlocks the door, locking and closing it behind her before rushing to a thoroughly dented metal door on the other side of the house, inlaid into it’s concrete foundation.

The word “LAB” and then a few dozen hazard labels are strewn across it’s surface, some far more legible than others, likely due to exactly how abused this door is.  What’s strange enough is that the dents in both the concrete and the door are inward, and vaguely in the shape of some giant, blunt object, able to hit nearly the entire door in a single swing, or thrust.   Like many things about her employer, the dents, and what caused them are entirely a mystery to her.  She’s sure there’s a story though, considering that the strange woman never did replace that door.   The blonde sighs, adjusts her labcoat, and stands a little taller, sliding her key into the lab doorway, and unlocking it, feigning confidence as she walks into the lab.

“Boss, you there?” She says, her voice entering the room before she does.   Sure enough, she sees the somewhat familiar interior of her employer’s lab, she’s only been in here once before.  She’s a bit of a new hire, but the eccentric genetecist insisted on offering a job out here directly after she graduated,  the eccentric woman had even paid some of her tuition in exchange for remote help on a few projects.  “Boss?”  As the blonde entered the room, the only apparent sounds were that of a light, mechanical buzzing.  The room is dark, only lit by holoscreens projected out of a few walls, displaying familiar measures of genetic compatibility, genome sequences, and possible splice points.   There’s more than a few samples and experiments growing in various cryotubes in one corner, the other genetic analyzers and genome sample printers, there’s even a full body printer somewhere here.  She’s vaguely aware that it’s somehow capable of mindwiping and replacing a mind in a braindead clone, or person with a previous, scanned backup.  There’s also stations for nanite research, but most of it is devoted to using them for remotely or repeatedly triggered genetic changes.  Half of the things in here are entirely unreleased and unregulated technology!  She can’t help but think that all of this is terribly dangerous to have, but all of it made her poor little nerd heart skip a beat when she first saw it, and still does to this day.

As she walks around the center table of the lab, the hundreds of strewn about reports about various recently discovered animals, genetic breakthroughs, research notes of both her boss’s and other geneticist’s makings.  Soon enough she notices something strewn among them, or rather, sticking out of them.    The end of a pale, tight alabaster midriff sticks out of a particularly large pile of papers, almost comically.   The sounds of deep, restful breathing barely can be heard from within the paper prison.  A woman’s pale waist leads into inhumanly wide hips, and a wonderfully shapely rear clad only in a tight fitting pair of jean short shorts that don’t leave much to the imagination.    Those thick, bare, pale thighs look soft and grippable, and with every absent minded motion of that barely contained rear they jiggle just slightly.  Those exposed legs break halfway into some sort of robotic, birdlike prosthetic.  She hadn’t had a chance to inspect them earlier, but they’re avian in general shape and design, their birdlike form.  The way it catches the light seems strange, the artificial chickenskin covering them actually having a strange sheen to it.   Seems this wide hipped woman took a nap just a tad too close to a rather precarious pile of papers, or something similar.   The blonde stares down at the massive stack of papers with an almost tired expression, and slowly her gaze works down that cute, slightly bulging, possibly even slightly bloated midriff, to the harpy’s fat ass.

The blonde can’t help but start to blush seeing that gropeable rear in such an appealing position, but nonetheless she steps up to the table and starts to shift and move the papers covering the girl as gently as possible. “Goddamn it boss, why do your hips have to be so nice, and why do you have to get yourself into these things.”   She could just start work regardless of her boss’s state, she knows exactly what she’s working on, but she needs most of the papers the albino harpy is piled under, and it’ll go far faster if they’re sorted and moved. The blonde seems to sheepishly be stealing glances at that exposed midriff, and that fat rear from time to time as she slowly works at organizing the papers covering the bird woman.  After working through about half of those papers, still stealing infrequent glances at that callipygian ass, she pauses, checking her handiwork.


 She’s already uncovered her boss’s peacefully sleeping face.   She looks just as she did last time, her short, unkempt white hair looking thoroughly washed, but horribly tangled, her cute, young looking face plopped against the desk, with her soft looking, white wingspan crossed under it, cradling her head in soft feathers.  The harpy’s eyes are closed peacefully, and there’s a small smile on her thin lips.  Her tiny, near breastless torso is still covered in papers, but it’s clear that she’s wearing nothing but a small, skimpy crop top from the amount of exposed midriff and skin she’s showing, as well as light blue straps on her shoulders. Whatever she was thinking is stopped when she hears a familiar sound.   A loud groan of a horribly upset length of intestines, bloated with something or other, nearly struggling to contain whatever keeps them roiling and churning.  This time it’s not from her, but from her boss’s tiny, cute little midriff.   The blonde blushes even harder, biting her lip as she slowly becomes more and more aware of that fat ass in the air, and the horrible state that cute, bloated midriff is in.  She can’t help but stare wide eyed, her breath staggered before she gulps.  “Calm yourself Lindsey, this is your boss, after all.  I can’t just…”  She’s interrupted by a small, high pitched, cute grunt from her boss’s half paper covered, sleeping form.  Seems the harpy is biting her lip, her wings straining a little, shifting under her head as her back arches unconsciously… inadvertently pushing that rear into the air... maybe she’s having a bad dream?  “Maybe just like… one squeeze.”