Dragon Lady

When I was much younger, in the early part of my career at a well-known Fortune 50 company, I worked for a lady named Joyce who was a total and complete bitch. She was the type of manager who enjoyed making her subordinates feel insignificant, never allowing them to make even the smallest decision. Our administrative assistant, who had worked for her for years, called her Dragon Lady, a perfectly fitting nickname.

Joyce was a red head in her mid-40s and had a very nice figure, though her bitchiness effectively negated her good looks.

One evening we were alone in her office working late together and she was in a rare good mood. She actually broke a rule--first time I'd ever seen that--and lit up a cigarette at her desk. Was that ever unlike Mrs. Policy & Procedure.

We're actually enjoying working together for the first time ever. She was seated at her desk, and I was standing beside her. I used the tool to remove a staple from some documents and it snapped off, going I didn't know where.

A few moments later I glanced down to some documents directly in front of her on her desk, and I could not help but notice that the top three buttons on the peach silk blouse she wore were undone. A professional woman, she'd never before had more than the top button unfastened.

I could see her large 36DD breasts straining against the sheer material of her bra, a front-clasp type so sheer that I could also clearly see her large red nipples. Something twitched in the vicinity of my penis.

Then Joyce leaned forward to tap her cigarette into the ashtray I had just fashioned from an old ink stamp pad when I discovered where the staple went. There the little fastener lay on the bare part of her left breast, just above the edge of the bra. Another twitch in my crotch.

Should I say something to her about the sharp object? It could potentially stick her. No. Saying anything would indicate I'd been looking down her top, which was inappropriate. Let it go.

We continued working, I still standing in the same place and handing her papers as she chatted pleasantly away, so out of character for The Dragon Lady.

The next time she leaned forward, it was to extinguish the cigarette, and as she ground it out, I looked down her blouse again to see that this position caused the top edge of the bra to gap a bit away from her breast and allow it to jiggle more freely. The jiggling caused the staple to slide down into the cup of the bra. As she leaned back, I just glimpsed that the shiny staple had lodged right over her nipple, before the blouse obscured it. Twitch, twitch.

We continued working, and I took a seat in a chair facing her desk. I had never seen Joyce in such positive spirits. She was being such a pleasure to work with this evening. She lit up another cigarette and offered me one. I rarely smoked, but I took it, and she lit it for me.

She leaned way back in her executive desk chair and stretched her arms back. "Ouch, something's bothering me," she said, grasping at her breast. What was I to say now? Certainly not, "Oh, that's just the staple I lost a few minutes ago. I noticed it was stuck in your bra over your nipple, but I didn't say anything."

Apparently, grasping at the site of the pain only poked the staple in deeper. "Oh my God, A spider or something is biting my breast!" She snatched the remaining buttons loose on the blouse, revealing both magnificent breasts nestled within the sheer bra, as she tried to locate the problem. Twitch, twitch, twitch.

Obviously in considerable pain, she cried out again and unsnapped the bra. Her big, full breasts tumbled out like two ripe cantaloupes and, oh, they were picture-perfect, so firm, so nicely shaped, with the brightest, fire-engine-red nipples I've ever seen. Stuck on the left one was the staple. Twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch.

In all the confusion, we had left our cigarettes burning in the stamp pad, which caught fire and was now making like a combo smoke & stink bomb.

At first Joyce tried to pull her blouse together, but then she shrieked (that pesky sharp staple again), and tore off the blouse and bra together in one motion just before I knocked the smoldering stamp pad into the garbage can, which, full of paper, promptly made for a bigger fire.

Now completely topless, she ran into my adjoining office, grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall, and discharged it into the now flaming garbage can. I'd never seen such big, nice tits bounce and jiggle and sway and bounce some more as Joyce's did in that one minute. Twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch.

With the fire out, Joyce dropped the extinguisher and plopped back into her big chair, breathing heavily and boobs heaving. "Well, here I've been bitten by a woman-eating spider, stripped half-naked, caught the office on fire, and acted like a fool," she said, we both laughing hysterically.

Although she did not seem particularly concerned now about being topless, and I was certainly enjoying the view, it was nevertheless awkward for me, so I looked around for her blouse. It was not on the floor or on top of or underneath her desk. She stood up and looked behind her chair.

I checked the garbage can. Ah, there was what was left of the silk blouse and bra, a crispy brown mass of ashes and extinguant, ruined. I picked them up between thumb and forefinger. "Care to slip these back on?" I teased. She and I both cracked up in hysterics again, she leaning into me. My hand brushed her big, laugh-vibrating breast, the big red nipple thumping across the backs of my fingers. It felt good. Correction, very good. On the top of that sizable nipple, I noticed two tiny drops of blood centered in little whelps, presumably caused by the errant staple, that veritably begged to be sucked clean. Twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch.

"I don't know about you, but I could use a couple or three strong drinks right now. Wanna join me?" she posited, jutting her bare tits up and out. She could have not made her intentions more clear had she said, "Let's go fuck, sonny boy." OK. Decision time. "Good idea, but look at the time. I gotta get home to the wifey. I've got an extra company golf shirt in my desk you can wear home."

When I pulled out the bottom drawer to get it, there lay the company Polaroid camera, loaded with film, ready to go. Looking back at Joyce through the doorway, I saw her with a freshly lit Benson & Hedges 100 in one hand and the other cupped beneath her left breast as she gazed down at the wounded nipple, her lips pursed in a sultry expression. Would that have ever made a priceless photograph! But, alas, the camera actuated the flash whenever the shutter was clicked, and I, of course, could not take a pic and incur her certain wrath.

Damn, had I not been married, I would have gone for her, despite her being my boss. Sexual harassment? Since Joyce was my supervisor, it was she who was taking all the risk, and I could have held that sword of Damocles over her to completely change our working relationship. But, then again, maybe a little young cock (not to be confused with a young little cock!) would have altogether cured her bitchiness. Besides, I'd never done a Dragon Lady before. Twitch.