Beat the Boss Ch. 01-04

This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18 years old or over.

Chapter 1

You often see 'Fuck the Boss' written on the toilet walls of factories, but you don't often get the chance to do it.

Fast forward. Looking directly into Julie's glazed eyes I merely took hold of the waistband and eased them down to below her knees. I put a hand on each hip and guided her towards me. She was then kneeling with a leg each side of my hips with her knickers around her ankles. I slid straight into her in one easy movement. Her eyes opened wide and startled, she uttered a low grunt. I didn't move inside her but could feel her muscles gripping and relaxing. She seemed to be almost oblivious to the situation. Her body was responding but her mind seemed to be somewhere else.

I let go of her hips and she put her arms behind her on the bed to stop herself falling backwards. I took hold of each nipple in turn and rolled them between my thumb and first finger and then stretched them away from her making her breasts elongate. Her hips were now slowly rotating, mashing her wet lips into my groin like a wet mouth sucking me. I could feel her cervix moving over and around the head of my prick like a hard tongue. I increased the pressure on her nipples; she started to groan loader. I squeezed harder, then very hard and she went ballistic. I hung onto her waist as she bucked and jerked. She grabbed onto my shoulders, and I could see that her teeth were clamped in a manic grin.

My new boss was giving me a hard time. It got so bad that I asked to see her on Thursday afternoon after the daily production meeting. Even that went badly wrong.

Before my appointment with her I was sitting outside the office on Natalie's desk, waiting to be summoned. We had finished the production meeting and Julie (I still couldn't think of her as Miss Western) had kept Doug behind so, I was dismissed to the outer office to cool my heels until she was ready.

I knew that Doug had problems in his department so, as usual, he would be getting his retaliation in first and blaming everybody else. Doug was a weak Manager and could never seem to understand that 'losing' clever people might stop them taking his job but would also prevent his domain ever becoming efficient, and he would always have to find new excuses. For his sake I hoped that Julie would accept his excuses better than the old boss used to.

The boss' secretary, Natalie was a bright curvy 20-year-old who hid her intelligence behind a 'brunette bimbo' persona. I had been flirting with her for about fifteen minutes when Doug came out, muttering darkly about girls doing a man's job. Natalie smirked and leant forward to show her cleavage to the best advantage. Julie didn't come out of her office to see me; she seemed to be working on the principal that you could 'show your power by the length of time that you kept people waiting'.

I was negotiating my daily wager with Nat. Every day the stakes were the same, a cup of coffee. Losing cost her nothing as she used the company hospitality supplies to make me a cup. It would have been easier for her to make me coffee every day, but she did not consider that it was part of her job description so, every day we went through the motions of betting for the outcome.

"I bet that I can make your tits move without touching them," I challenged. She just looked quizzical and leaned back on her chair, took a bite from her doughnut, and licked her tongue around her lips to catch all the sugar. She obviously thought it impossible, so she agreed that the bet was on. I told her to look into my eyes. She held her breath so that nothing moved. I slowly leaned across the desk and brought our eyes closer together. Then I gently put my hand on her breast and shook it.

"But you touched me," she spluttered, sugar and doughnut spraying over her keyboard just as Julie opened the door from her office.

"I guess that I lose today; one coffee that I owe you then." Julie, the boss, had a look on her face that would have blistered paint at twenty paces.

"Come in Donald." She knows that I hate being called anything but Don.

I walked into her office with more confidence than I felt. I could get another job, but I didn't want the upheaval, but Julie looked ready to give me plenty of hassle of her own.

"You wanted a meeting, what is this all about?" she said as soon as the door was closed and then, "I wish you wouldn't upset Natalie; she has enough work to do without having to put up with your rudeness."

I am an easy-going guy, so I wanted to calm the atmosphere if I could. I was old enough to know that you will never win a war with the person who decides on your annual pay award.

"I'm sorry if you think that I upset Nat., she seems to enjoy the attention." The look on Julie's face told me that this smart-arse answer was not a good start. I tried again

"I wanted to discuss our working relationship. You and I seem to have got off to a bad start. I want to explore how we can sort it out."

This was a damn cheek on my part really, if she wanted to behave like Hitler in a skirt there was little I could do about it, but I did want to keep my job if I could smooth things between us. I also had some sympathy for her position, she had moved here from a different part of the organisation. After the previous Plant Manager, 'Teflon' Tony, had retired, she had taken over as the first woman Plant Manager in the corporation; she had a lot to prove. I sat in silence, trying to wait her out. I gave her the strong, silent, trusty look but she just looked back at me. She seemed a little confused.

I tried again, "I am used to doing things the way Tony wanted them done, I know that you'll want to do things differently. When I understand how you want things done, I will try to do them your way."

She just sat there in her 'power dressing' business suit. The tension in the room was starting to get to me. I tried the old trick about thinking of your opponent sitting in their underwear. While Natalie was soft and curvy, Julie was built for speed, not comfort. She was tall and firm with the figure of an athlete. I was determined that this time I would wait for her to speak first and this time I had something worthwhile to do as I waited. Finally, she spoke, and I was startled to realise that I had been staring, misty eyed, at where I imagined her underwear to be most transparent.

"What do mean she enjoys the attention?" My mind raced ahead, trying to catch up with her until I realised that she was a complete conversation and several lewd thoughts behind me.

"Oh right," I said, still trying to match conversations, "Nat. and I have a laugh together - we've known each other a long time." I finished lamely.

"A laugh together; she is nearly young enough to be your daughter and I don't pay her to sit around dreaming about you."

I burst out laughing, she looked furious. Then I started to get angry. "Look, if she and I did anything outside work it would be none of this Company's business. If we were doing anything together, you wouldn't know about it and nor would anybody else." I took a deep breath. "I like my job and I'm bloody good at it. You inherited me with your position. If you don't like the way I do my job, I'll hand in my notice." I was pleased that I had still not raised my voice, but the discussion was not going the way I planned at all. I had offered my resignation! The silence became uncomfortable. I tried the underwear trick again, damn this woman.

"I don't think that you need to resign, I think that you can have a good future here." I looked up at her, surprised at the studied control in her voice, she seemed to be under strain, the job must really be getting to her.

Christ, save me from hormonal bosses. "I don't want to quit but we can't carry on like this." I explained trying to salvage something.

"Like what?" Then her bloody 'phone rang, she wrenched it off the stand, listened and spat back, "When?" then wearily, "Make him coffee and say I'll be a few minutes" She slowly replaced the receiver, turned to me. "Don, the customer's MD is here with a quality complaint, we can't finish this meeting now, but we will after we sort out his problem."

'Don' was an improvement on Donald but by whatever title, quality is my problem and if an MD had come to complain in person, instead of sending his quality manager, then the problem was likely to be significant. The customer visit meant that now I would not even have a chance to skulk away, kick the wastepaper bin and think of all the clever things that I wished I'd said.

"OK?" She said, "Shall we see him?" Without waiting for an answer, she picked up the 'phone and asked Natalie to show in the customer.

The meeting went rather well. The customer was the son of the old boy who had founded their Company. He seemed to want a 'pissing contest', perhaps to show that he was the new power in their firm. He started off badly by banging a few samples on the side desk and calling Julie 'dear'. I could feel her anger switch from me to him and he must have felt it too.

He made a second start and complained about the engineering tolerances of the component we supplied him; it would not assemble consistently with the rest of the machinery that they made. Julie and I started playing 'good cop, bad cop' with him.

Julie quietly reminding him about their late specification changes and reluctance to respond to questions. This gave me the chance to sit and listen to him and ask intelligent questions which he seemed pleased to answer (if only to divert Julie who was now hinting about the unresolved payment terms).

Despite myself I began to understand how she had managed to impress the corporate seagulls. She was charming but left him in no doubt that she was the one in charge. I asked Natalie to call our technician up to the office and told him to take away and measure up the parts in dispute. I studied their assembly drawing and started calculating tolerances. Our technician returned to pronounce that the part was within design specification at about the same time that I realised that the assembly design specification made no sense. I turned to the customer, "You have trouble assembling about 1 in 20 parts, I guess? The tolerance specification you gave us will interfere with some of the mating parts"

The problem was nothing to do with us really, but customers must be looked after, so I suggested what changes we could make within the original cost. I also suggested what they would need to do to make it fit their assembly. Give him his due, he was grateful, and made complimentary noises about my contribution.

"If I had a quality Manager like Don here, I could have sent him instead of coming myself." He blustered to Julie. This brought back my hasty offer of resignation and I saw Julie watching my thoughts forming. There were definite job opportunities outside this firm!

'Teflon' used to take him out to dinner whenever he called but this time the 'young fart' insisted that it was his treat. As he was an MD, Julie really had to be part of the party and he insisted that I go as well. I think that Julie was reluctant to give him the chance to offer me a job; the day was getting better.

He took us to a club where he was a member, the meal was fair, and the high prices didn't go towards sturdy fabric for the waitresses' costumes. At first glance they looked quite demure but as the young blonde bent down to write our order, we could see her nipples peeking above a platform bra that became visible as the loose top of her dress fell forward. When she walked away, we could see that her skirt was cut with the rear hem rising to her waist. She wore black lace panties, stockings, and suspenders. Julie was aware that we were both watching for her reaction, but she maintained a studied calm.

Dinner finished we all did a 'double take' when the waitress said "Everybody F'offy" The 'young fart' guffawed and responded to the waitress's question by asking for two black and one white coffee, all with brandy. He suggested that we carry on to a night club, but I cried off. I gave the excuse of needing an early start the next morning to get his production changes organised before the weekend. Julie gave the same excuse and I left with her as he was ordering a further brandy for himself.

"What a disgusting lecher he is, how do those girls put up with strangers looking at them like that?" Julie muttered as the cold evening air hit us.

"I suppose it is good money and easy work - they seem to enjoy the attention."

"Talking of 'young girls and attention' brings us back to earlier business; do you have time to finish this morning's meeting now, or do you have to get home. I will buy you a coffee and we can try to sort out our problem and your attitude to my secretary."

It seemed like an olive branch, so we set of towards the bistro and arrived just as the waiter was turning the sign on the door to 'closed'. "S.H one T." from Julie, "Now you will lose two coffees in the same day." I wondered how much she had heard of my earlier exchange with Nat., and I would have squirmed except that the brandy seemed to have loosened her up, she sounded almost amused.

I suggested, "Let's go back to the factory, If I am going to give the changes my full attention tomorrow, we need to resolve this tonight." Her good mood seemed too good an opportunity to miss.

"My flat is much nearer; we can talk there," she offered. I was sure that it was not the usual 'come back for coffee' signal but I agreed anyway.

Her flat was predictable, built as 'executive housing' obviously expensive, very tidy, lots of grey, black, and brushed aluminium. Polished pine beams, but instead of a ceiling it had high skylights in the sloping roof. It was comfortable but looked more like a modern art gallery than a home. I sat on the leather swivel chair, and I could hear the harsh rattle of a grinder as she prepared the coffee. I was trying to put my thoughts in order, remembering the various slights and jibes that had characterised our working relationship.

The final straw had been when she had stalked into my office, interrupted a conversation I was having, thrust a sheet of paper into my hand and demanded that I 'sort it out' before she turned on her heel and stalked out. That was the moment that the worm turned, and I had decided to 'take no more'.

Julie now appeared in the doorway, although she still had her work clothes, the shoes and jacket had disappeared. She asked humorously "Anyone F'offy?" I sat open mouthed, and I saw her smile drain away.

I searched for something clever to say but heard a voice, one that sounded just like mine, saying in low tones, "You're overdressed for the part, you need to undo some buttons."

It's the sort of statement that you would never make in that situation if you were

thinking with the head that sits on your shoulders. Her hand started towards the top button of her blouse but stopped and she looked up again startled. As I woke up to what I had said, I realised that my options were now very limited. However much I apologised it would always stand between us and she was able to exact an uncomfortable revenge.

There was only one direction left to go. I more--or-less accepted that my job was gone so I quietly told her to first put down the coffee jug. She did, and then stood with her arms dangling at her sides, looking at them as though they belonged to somebody else. "Undo the top button," I said firmly she looked at me blankly "The girls in the club wore less than that to serve strangers," I said reasonably - "Do it now." Slowly her hands came up to the top of her blouse and she fumbled the top button undone. "Undo them all." I said softly.

Slowly, her hands shaking, she went down the buttons, one by one and she pulled the hem from the waistband of her skirt. She looked up like a rabbit caught in headlights. I quietly told her to bring the jug over; she placed down the cups and poured the coffee into them. As she leant forward, I saw that even my imaginings about her underwear were less erotic than the truth. The fabric of her bra was so shear that it clung like a second skin and seemed to be moulded around her nipples. It was cut so low that every time she breathed in her breasts swelled out and seemed ready flow over the top.

"What about some brandy?" I asked. She turned around and walked away. Reminded of the club waitresses, "And what about the stockings?" She stopped at the cabinet and simply unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. Her self-supporting stockings stopped a hands breath below panties made from the same shear material as her bra. Who wears things like that to work?

I heard the glasses rattle slightly as she bent over to select them from a lower shelf. Her panties were cut high on her hips and disappeared between the globes of her bum. She straightened up and I heard the bottle gurgle as the glasses were charged.

As she walked back to me, I found myself more fascinated by the expression on her face than by the nearly naked, nearly perfect body. She seemed to be looking into the far distance, unaware of her surroundings. She handed me one of the large, half full brandy glasses.

"Turn around." She did, "Have a drink." She took a large swallow, and I took the nearly empty glass from her hand as she stood with her back to me. The room was warm, but I could see small goose bumps on her skin between her stockings and panties. I gently placed my fingers on her skin where her waist curved in above the silken panties.

She flinched and swayed slightly. "Stand with your feet apart, don't fall over." My fingers slid very slowly down, past the cool silk, to the dimples at the top of her legs. I could hear her ragged breathing. The sound of a faraway police siren only made the silence in the room seem more acute.

I slowly and gently traced the extent of the bare skin. Slowly, slowly, following the shape of the high cut panties over the front of her thighs as the silk curved forwards and down. Her breath caught again, I now traced down towards the top of her stockings. As I reached them, I brushed my fingers to the outside of her legs, to the back of her legs and stopped. Still moving slowly, I brushed upwards, turning my wrists so that my fingers followed the inside curve of her bum almost as though I was cupping the cheeks; but still only my fingertips brushed the skin. As I reached the waist band again, I restarted along the same route, following the silk line where legs met belly. After only travelling a few inches, I reversed direction and slid back to the waist band and along the top to the small of her back. I slowly gripped the waist band and started slow firm pressure upward. She gave a low groan; I realised it was the first sound from her since the comedy quip about more coffee. I maintained the pressure and she sunk down on to it. I slowly released the tension.

"Take of your bra." She stood straight again and reached behind to unclip it, dropped her shoulders forward and let it fall. The tiny area of silk and spaghetti thin straps slipping over her skin making a soft liquid 'swish' in the silence. She reached down to her panties, but my hands stopped her. I put the brandy glass to her hand, and she drank the little that remained. I retrieved the glass. "Hands behind your head." There was a catch in my voice; she hesitated, "Now." My voice firmer. One fluid movement and her fingers clasped each other behind her neck; shoulders wide; elbows back. I imagined how exciting she would look if I was standing in front of her.

I repeated the route across her exposed skin; my fingers traced around the edges of the skin between her stockings and panties, each circuit brushing slightly further towards the musk radiating from between her legs. Each time I traced the top of the waistband I held it and applied upward pressure, each time a greater pressure, each time the fabric cut deeper, each time her legs sagged more, and the moan was throatier.