Karen Ziegler - Her husband_s boss

The magazine, which had started out as a half-hearted effort to keep up with production trends started by other large companies, had become Max's pride and joy, an attractive, glossy testament to the success of Alexander Steel… and it's president! The ruggedly handsome middle-aged executive thumbed proudly through the smart little publication, nodding in pleased agreement with everything that his young editor Henry Cummings, had included so far. It had taken Max a good while to clear all the fancy intellectual notions out of the recent college graduate's head, but finally he had trained the boy satisfactorily.

The magazine was exactly as Max wanted it now, packed with colorful photographs of new plants and operations as well as busty, well-shaped girls to keep the stockholders interested in the meat of the articles. Yes, young Cummings was certainly coming along and, if he continued to remember who was buttering his bread, the boy might possibly have a brilliant future at Alexander Steel.

Max turned another page of the publication and suddenly the expression of smug-faced complacency began to fade from his craggy features. Below the thick mass of greying brown hair, the fifty-three year-old executive's face darkened and his broad chest began to heave beneath his expensively-tailored shirt and suit jacket until his appearance was that of a lion on the verge of roaring out its fury. On the desk before him the magazine lay open at its last page, the headline of which read: "A Message From Max…"

"Goddammit, Cummings, where's my picture?" the enraged bull-like man bellowed out in his spacious office. "How in the hell could you forget that?"

Then, remembering that the palatial office had been thoroughly soundproofed as a result of his own orders, and that no one but he could hear his indignant fury, he rose quickly from his chair and leaned over the highly-polished expanse of desk to jab impatiently at the buzzer that signaled his receptionist in the next room. His tall, still-muscular frame seemed even more ominous than usual as he bent over the call-box, punching his forefinger brutally down on the button until a red light suddenly lit up on the console.

"Yes-yes, Mr. Alexander," a nervous female voice finally chimed in from the speaker on the machine. "I-I was just away from my desk for a minute…"

The girl's obvious terror pleased Max in his sour mood and he found himself smiling evilly as he roared back in to the speaker, "You're damned right you did, blondie! And tell your friends at the water-cooler to break up the tea party and get back to work right away!"

"Oh, yes, sir," she squeaked timidly. Max grinned to himself sadistically as he imagined his deliciously built ash-blonde receptionist cowering at her desk, making frantic gestures to his small battalion of secretaries that they should return to work immediately. He required a fairly large number of girls in his personal secretarial staff because some of them were dead weight and had been hired solely for their looks. Well, what the hell, he thought defensively, what was the good of being president if he could not indulge himself in a few harmless amusements at the company's expense.

"Uh, Mr. Alexander, sir," the timid female voice from the speaker broke in again, intruding on his thoughts. "Did you want me for anything else, sir?"

His fury of a moment ago renewing, Max was just about to instruct the girl to summon Henry Cummings to his office when his wandering gaze fell on the page opposite his own "message" in the magazine. Almost against his will, he stared feverishly at the page headed "New Products" and at the picture of a buxom, round-hipped brunette girl seductively caressing a huge roll of glistening heavy-duty steel wire, one of Alexander Steel's newest lines. Though he tried to maintain his waning anger at the young editor, Max could not help but appreciate Henry Cummings' unerring taste in female flesh. Max wondered for a long moment if the magazine editor interviewed his models personally. Christ, the very idea of all those gorgeous young women clustered in Henry's tiny office, like a whole gardenful of flowers just waiting to be plucked by any man with balls enough to do it, made the steel magnate leer licentiously. It was no wonder that Henry sometimes forgot a thing as simple as including the boss' picture with his address to the stockholders, Max mused with a chuckle. Hell, the poor kid probably had had a hard time managing to think straight all the time.

"Did you say something, Mr. Alexander?" the receptionist asked at the sound of her employer's muffled laughter over the intercom. Max sat there in silence, continuing to stare at the juicy female morsel in the photograph, his temple beginning to pulse and throb.

"Aw, hell, buzz Miss Stillson in her office and have her come in her at once," Max finally ordered. "And tell her to make it snappy."

"Yes, sir," the receptionist's voice came back, a tone of frightened obeisance causing her to squeak a little. It was not two minutes after the intercom had clicked off that a small door marked "Private" sprang open on the far side of Max's office.

"Honey, you know I'm right next door, you don't have to go through a third party," a gorgeous raven-haired woman purred as she stepped into his office, clad only in a revealing sea-green negligee fringed with almost incongruous-seeming lace at the cuffs and down along the deep vee of the neckline. "I could hear you bullying that poor girl out there even over the sounds of the baseball game on my radio."

"Dammit, June, you're on my payroll as my public relations assistant, and you really ought to be dressed by this time of the day," Max grumbled with mock sterness as his glittering eyes hungrily scanned the generous, sexy contours of June Stillson's nearly-naked body. Although Maxwell Alexander's ravishing dark-haired mistress was in her late thirties, her provocative, voluptuous body was always enough to send his blood pressure soaring, and now Max rapidly forgot the younger girls on the pages of the company magazine.

He added with a leering grin, "What if one of my secretaries came into your office, baby? Now what kind of public relations work would you be doing in that kind of outfit? Christ, June, who do you think you are?"

"I'm just me, Max, and I'd be doing the same kind of work I always do," she replied with a confident smile as she began to stroll casually toward him, her full outward-curving hips swaying seductively beneath the sheer fabric of her negligee. "Don't worry, anyway, because I always keep the door locked when I'm like this. I just had a feeling you might want to see me this afternoon, so I dressed for the occasion."

Smiling at him cleverly, the statuesque beauty peeled the thin garment slowly from her sensuous body and, dropping it to her feet, did a small pirouette in the center of the spacious office before she walked nakedly to his desk and leaned her smooth rounded buttocks back on the hard wood edge, wriggling back along the top until she perched gracefully in front of him. Her deep amber eyes flickered smokily with suddenly-ignited lust as she stared expectantly into Max's hard but handsome face.

"By God, you really want it, don't you, baby?" Max growled excitedly at the beautiful woman whose buttocks were already moving slowly in tiny little circles of anticipation on the highly burnished wood surface of his desk, a scant few inches from his leering face. "You little whore, I'll bet you don't think about anything but cock all day long."

"Do… do you want me to think about something else?" June asked quietly, her sultry face suddenly changing to a clouded expression of uncertainty and confusion. "I always do anything you say, Max. With anyone." In her anxiety, her golden-eyed gaze darted nervously around the room. "Do you have some business friends you want me to entertain now? I will, sweetheart. I'll do anything for you. I always have… God, without you…"