Chapter 6

Junior was sweating....

More sweat oozed from his pores when I leaned over him and let my breasts nudge his shoulder, pressing their soft weight against him.

He sat on a stool in front of a work table in the design department. On the table in front of him were samples from next season.

But Junior was conscious only of the sample I was giving him.

It was early in the morning, a little after ten but never too early to turn on the magnetism to allure such as Junior.

Junior was a strange boy. I call him a boy even though, at twenty-five, he's actually a year or two older than I.

There's nothing wrong with his looks quite the opposite.

He's actually rather handsome. He's tall, over six feet, athletic, with broad shoulders and a fine physique.

He has strong well formed features, with a head of dark curly hair parted on the side, dark brows, hazel eyes, beak-like nose, strong chin and jaw, clean shaven.

But his gaze usually looks confused. He doesn't have rag trade smarts. Basically, he's a simple, uncomplicated jock type.

He draws a large salary, and holds a very important title in the company. But his position is more complicated than that.

He has a large office, and a small staff, but in reality, for all his imagine titles and airs, he holds next to no real power in the company.

Marge, his nominal secretary and assistant, is actually a kind of guardian, appointed to see that Junior's bad judgment doesn't harm the company.

Our company? KLENCO CLOTHES.

The KLENCO is short for "Klenetsky

Company." Our founder, fountainhead, and supreme boss is the big man himself, Irving Klenetsky.

Junior's full name is Irving Klenetsky II.

With family connections like that, it's obvious that no matter how much he fucks up, he's in no danger of losing his job.

Not that he has much chance of fucking up. He's too closely monitored for that.

When he first graduated college and came to work for his dad, after failing in a few aborted enterprises of his own, he had more responsibilities.

Irv, Senior, is a hell of a man that you have to respect. His is the basic American success story.

Starting out as a poor worker at the bottom of the industry heap, he worked his way up to become head of one of the leading manufacturers in the industry.

Irv is shrewd, tough, canny. He came up from the streets. But his kids grew up in upper class luxury, and can't hold a candle to the old man.

Junior isn't the only Klenetsky kid. There's a much older married sister, and a sister in her teens, a pretty little bitch named Jennifer of whom more later.

But Junior is the only male offspring, and the carrier of the family name.

His father has him work at the company since it's the best way for him to keep an eye on him, and make sure that he stays out of trouble.

Junior isn't dumb, it's just that he's, well, abstracted.

He's earnest and not unintelligent, but he has zero business sense, like a few other people around here I won't name.

When it comes to something that interests him, he comes alive. Ask him about the NBA rankings or hockey penalty box totals, and he'll tell you all about them.

But when it comes to business, he's a flop, if a likable one.

Generally his keeper, Marge, keeps him out of trouble. She has to handle him with kid gloves, since Junior doesn't quite realize that he's not an invaluable member of the company ruling hierarchy.

Every now and then he makes noises like a boss, which gets troublesome.

But I didn't mind it, not one little bit, when he came into our department this morning, saying that he wanted to look over the new samples.

Things were humming along nice and efficiently in the department, and there was no real press of work to harry us.

In fact, we were in a slack time, so that

Billie had gone to a fashion industry trade fair on the West coast, in LA.

I was kind of in charge of things in her absence, but I knew enough to keep out of the way of the creative people and not stifle them.

I was keeping a handle on the management aspects, overseeing the smooth flow of activities and dealing with other departments as liaison.

One of my duties, then, was to deal with visitors to the department, a heading which Junior came under, since he had come for a visit.

A visit which I encouraged.

It isn't all just sports, games, and fast cars for Junior. I forgot to mention one of his biggest interests sex.

He's real hetero and goes out with a lot of girls. He's engaged to one girl, but he has another steady, and he plays the field, too.

Sometimes, he dates or has little mini-affairs with some of the young ladies who work here at the company, although Irv Senior tends to discourage that practice.

But, he figures that if his boy is involved in chasing skirts, it'll be that much less time for him to spend on company matters.

And Irv Senior would infinitely prefer to have Junior fucking broads than fucking up the company finances.

Junior was aware of me, since he had seen me around the office, and knew me as a friendly acquaintance.

Billie has no patience with outsiders, especially not when they come into her design domain and take up her valuable time.

Junior was intimidated by her, and wouldn't dare just drop in for a visit if Billie was present ... but this week, she was away.

I had let him know that little fact, mentioning it in passing, and inviting him to drop in to look Over the line.

It had already gone into production, but he hadn't seen it, since in most company matters. Junior knew less than the lowest paid clerks.

So, there he sat at the work table, while I leaned over and into him.

I wore a sleek long-sleeved gray silk blouse, a black skirt, pantyhose, loafers.

The blouse was sheer and clinging, and molded to my figure, especially my bosom. It had a V-neck and was decorated with a gray kerchief of the same silk fabric of the blouse, which was knotted into a floppy bow falling on my breasts.

At the office my policy usually is to avoid showing too much skin, but in honor of Junior's little visit, I opened a few buttons.

Not many just enough to open the V-neckline to the top of the valley of my breasts, affording a little glimpse of the round breast tops.

Junior tried valiantly as he fought to keep his attention on the designs.

But he was just too aware of me, standing over him and slightly behind him where he sat on the stool, so close that I touched him.

He covertly glanced up from the samples and the drawings, to look at the mounds of my breasts in the blouse.

He got a funny kind of slanted squint in his eyes, the result of his efforts to move them so he could look more down my blouse.

I knew what he was doing. I leaned closer and rested the undersides of my breast on his shoulder, letting him feel their warm weight.

He started chewing his lips.

I really laid on the charm, and played him like an angler reeling in a hooked fish, netting him by the end of his visit.

I had just finished going over the department designs-and heating him up by nudging my breasts against him.

I did it discreetly, not too blatantly, and while I did it I kept a perfect lady-like demeanor, my voice never skipping a beat.

I had him a bit confused, so that he couldn't quite be sure that I was touching my flesh to his on purpose, or whether it was by accident.

An entry at the door was the arrival of Marge, come for Junior.

Marge was a divorcee, mature, blowsily attractive, sharp as a tack.

She was in her late forties and had been in the garment industry all her life. Her job had outlasted her one and only marriage by a decade.

She had brown-red hair, stiff and straight and styled with a little flip where its edges brushed her broad shoulder.

Her face was wide, thick-featured, with bright watchful eyes, a thick nose, wide lips, and a strong chin.

She was short, yet big-boned and buxom, if not voluptuous. She wore a tan blouse this morning and a rust-colored skirt.

She had an ample bosom, stout middle, and wide hips. Her appearance was such that she would not overly tempt young, horny Junior.

He fancied the hot young chicks as did his father.

Senior's new bride, only his wife for a year, was a real hot tomato.

His first wife had passed away some years before, and he had long gone without remarrying. But Beverly was the woman he had to have.

I had glimpsed her once or twice in the office, and she was a stunner!

Which goes to show that the taste for fine female flesh ran in the family, father and son. Senior appointed Marge as Junior's discreet keeper.

And here he was now. Somehow he had slipped her leash for a half-hour or so, and it had taken her until now to find him.

She bustled into the department workroom, all aggressive energy.

"Stewart, there you are!" she called.

Stewart was Junior's middle name. He hated the name Irving. Nobody called him Irving, but they didn't call him Stewart much, except for Marge.

I greeted Marge and we exchanged tight smiles.

She took Junior by the arm, explaining that he had to get ready for a meeting later on in the day.

I thanked Junior for coming by and invited him to drop in when he pleased. I did it all very properly, thank you, in a business-like fashion.

He said so long, then went off, firmly escorted by Marge.

I had cast my bread on the waters, and back to me it came, richly buttered, at the noon lunch hour, when Junior sought me out.

Usually, I don't go out for lunch, but take my lunch at my desk in the office. It's usually cottage cheese or yogurt or something similar.

But this lunch hour, before I could begin spooning out my yogurt, Junior stuck his head into the department and peered in.

He looked around, and he must have been looking for me, for when he spied me sitting at my desk, his face got all flushed.

He came in and came over to my desk and invited me to lunch.

An offer like that was too promising to refuse, so away went my yogurt, and off I went with Junior, out the workroom and out of the building.

In the area were many restaurants doing brisk lunchtime trade from the Seventh Avenue folk. We went to a little place down the street.

I ordered a small, diet-conscious salad. A girl like me must always watch her weight, always, since my physique is one of my prime assets.

Junior was surprised when I insisted on paying for my half of the meal.

He walked me back to the office and the department. Everybody in the place knew Junior, and quite a few of them looked slyly at me.

I knew what they were thinking, seeing me with the boss' son and they were right in thinking that the girl from the design department had designs on him.

When we paused in the hall outside the workroom door, Junior asked me if I would like to go out with him sometime, socially.

I said that I surely would, but I slipped away before he could pick a date to go out on I didn't want him to think me too eager.

That afternoon, a little problem developed in my department, one which I decided to nip in the bud by taking a firm stand.

Martha usually is a quiet, soft-spoken young miss, very dutiful. But ever since I had come back from lunch, she had been sullen and sulky.

Martha is younger than me, only twenty, and looks younger. She's tall and willowy, slight, with a pale sensitive quite lovely face.

Usually she's very sweet, but she had an attitude this afternoon. She glared at me and frowned and pouted.

When I spoke pleasantly enough to her, she would answer me in grudging curt monosyllables, and she kept frowning.

It came to a head when I politely requested that she bring me some forms which were at her work table, which I needed to consult.

Sighing with exasperation, as though called upon to perform some mighty task, she snatched up the papers and stalked across the room with them.

She flounced to my desk, long skirt swirling, and all but threw the papers down on my desk, then turned on her heel and started to walk away.

"Martha!" I called.

She halted in mid-stride and stood there with her back to me, body stiff with indignation and anger.

I got up from my desk, went to her, turned her around.

She tried to give me a mean look, which came out as kind of comical, since that child hardly has a mean bone in her body not like me.

Her behavior was so out of the ordinary that I was determined to get to the bottom of it. Even her jealousy of Billie and me was much less than this.

"Come with me, young lady," I said. "I want to talk with you!" , "You can talk to me here!"

"In private!"

I took her by the arm and pulled. With that kind of encouragement, she came along.

Only a handful of folk were in the department we have a small staff, with everybody doing the work of two.

They glanced up from their desks to see what was going on.

At the end of the workroom opposite the door, was a small room which served as a kind of walk-in supply closet.

I opened the door and pulled the string which switched on the light, a lone bare bulb dangling down from the ceiling.

It swung like a pendulum, casting crazy sliding tilted shadows.

Shelves lined the walls on either side of the door, and those shelves were stuffed with bolts of fabric, scraps, scissors, rulers, T-squares, etc.

The floor was wide enough for two people to stand abreast, while the room was about ten feet deep. In we went, with Martha marching in beside me.

I closed the door behind me. It didn't have a lock, but I knew we wouldn't be disturbed. And we were too far from the work tables to be overheard.

Martha turned to face me, while I folded my arms over my chest.

"Well?" she said. "What do you want?! "

"Martha, what's gotten into you?! "

"I'm quite sure that I don't know what you mean!"

"I'm quite sure that you do. Ever since I came back from lunch, you've had a terrible attitude. Now, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"Obviously something is disturbing you-what?"

"Nothing! Why don't you just leave me alone?"

I'll

"Because your bad attitude can't help but effect everyone else ... and because I don't like to see you so unhappy, for whatever reason."

"Hah!"

I asked, "What's that supposed to mean?", "Like you really care about how I feel-or anybody else!"

"I think you'd better explain that remark, miss!"

"The only person you care about is you! You don't care about me or Billie or anybody!"

"What does Billie have to do with this?"

"Huh! How do you think Billie would feel if she knew you were playing up to Junior, huh? You wouldn't do it if she were here!"

"Playing up to Junior?" I gave a little laugh. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"Oh, you weren't coming on to him, huh? I saw you this morning, hanging all over him, smiling at him, laughing at his stupid jokes-"

"That's what's known as getting along with people, Martha a skill in which you seem sorely lacking! There's no harm in being pleasant to people."

"Oh, so that's what you call it, eh? Being pleasant! Hah! And I just bet you were just being pleasant with him at lunchtime, too!"

Martha is a few years younger than me, but much more slight physically, and much less emotionally mature, with a lot of girl in her.

She's a type that you see a lot of in New York-young, creative, intense, quasi-Bohemian, educated, sensitive.

Her light brown hair was worn in a pair of braids which hung on either side of her long delicately featured face.

Her hair was straight, fine, silky, and she would have worn it free, except that there are machines in the work room, making long hair dangerous.

So that long fine hair of hers was done up in a pair of braids which, if allowed to dangle freely, would have reached below her breasts.

Instead, they were done up, wrapped at the top of her head in a kind of bun which accented her face and made her look more youthful.

She had a high forehead, warm dark brown eyes which now blinked furiously behind a pair of thick-lensed tortoise-shell spectacles.

Make-up? Martha wasn't the type of young lady to wear such frivolities as make-up. Her face was pale and scrubbed and fresh.

She wore a turtle-necked black sweater and a long brown corduroy skirt whose hem brushed her ankles. She was barelegged and wore loafers.

She flinched when I stepped forward and reached for her.

I took hold of her by the shoulders and unleashed the full force of my personality on her. Her eyes widened behind her glasses.

She hadn't expected this, and she was intimidated scared, to put it bluntly.

"Now, you take a good hard listen to me, young lady," I began.

"Let go of me!"

"When you've heard me out. First of all, Martha, for your information, I don't belong to Billie not like you."

She gave out a little gasp, red spots growing in her cheeks.

"What do you mean?! "

I laughed. "Don't play coy with me, miss! I know all about you-and I mean all about you! Billie's told me a lot about you!"

"She didn't she wouldn't!"

"Of course she did. How else am I going to take care of you while she's away? And I can see that you need a lot of taking care of!

"Billie is hardly gone a day, and already you're acting up, whining and sulking like a little spoiled brat, Martha.

"Well, I know how Billie deals with naughty little girls who don't mind their manners ... naughty little girls like you!"

"I don't believe you! Billie wouldn't let you-"

"If you don't close that saucy little insolent mouth and button your lip, Martha, I'll have to do something drastic."

"W-what?! "

"I'll have to take you out into the work room and discipline you, in front of all your co-workers in the department!"

"Y-you wouldn't dare!"

"No? How little you know me! You're very small and thin, Martha. Physically, I can handle you like the little girl you are.

"And if you make me give you discipline in public, I'll take down your little panties and spank your bare bottom in front of everybody!

"That is, if you wear panties or are you too bohemian for such luxury items? Either way, it doesn't matter, since you'll be spanked on the bare bottom."

"S-s-spanked?! "

Her voice was thin and rasping and cracked comically in mid-word.

"Martha, Billie told me all about what she does to you when you've been bad. And in her absence, I'll take care of your discipline needs!"

She still seemed defiant-I would put her in her place.

"I see you still don't believe me, Martha. Actions, as they say, speak louder than words, so I'll prove it to you that I mean business!"

I started pulling her toward the door.

"What what are you doing?! " she gasped, white-faced now.

"I'm taking you out for your punishment!"

"No, don't! You can't!"

I took hold of both her wrists, which were thin, dug in my heels, and dragged her to the door, while she struggled in vain.

"Let's let everybody see how bad girls with bad attitudes are dealt with!"

"Oh, no, please don't! Please!"

I held both her wrists in one hand while I reached for the knob with the other.

"Please, please don't please!"

She was near tears now, moisture welling up in those rich brown eyes.

"The more you fuss, Martha, the more strict your punishment will be!"

"Don't, please, don't, I'm sorry for the way I acted!"

"And will be a lot sorrier ... now stop all this fuss!"

"Please give me another chance!"

I turned to face her, letting go of her without opening the door. She was caught off balance and stumbled backward.

She slipped and fell, lurching against one of the shelves. She sat down hard on the floor, long shapely legs extended.

"What a little baby you are, Martha! I'm surprised Billie tolerates such antics! Or is it that you act this way with me, but not with her?

"Well, no matter. I'm inclined to give you one more chance. But even though you will not be publicly punished, not at this time, you will be punished.

"Punished privately, in private by me," I stated.

"By you?! "

I could see that the concept was equally attractive and threatening to Martha. And I had decided it was high time that I had her.

"By me, Martha. Now, get up and go back to work."

I leaned over and assisted her to her feet. She was nervous around me and shrank away from me when I stood close.

"While you're working, Martha, you can spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about all the things I'm going to do to you after work!"