I work in a large office staffed with close to twenty people. Most of them are women and except for one or two all are married. Happily, I would guess since none of them seems the least bit inclined towards the odd sexual lesion in the janitor's closet. I really can't blame them. That closet smells bad.

Julie came into my office on Monday. She handed me her papers stating she was to be my new secretary. Mrs. Jenkins had finally retired after thirty years. Her replacement was young, nice to look at and her figure didn't hurt any.

"Julie Summers," I said reading her into sheet.

"Yes, Sir Mr. Lewis."

"I like the Mr. You would do well to remember it in the future. I case you weren't told your position with me is temporary upon my final approval of you performance. Is that understood, uh, MRS. Summers?" I had purposely place emphases on the Mrs.

"I understand fully, Mr. Lewis, but if my being married is going to be cause for mistreatment I will gladly leave and seek employment elsewhere."

She had spunk and I liked that. Too many times these day's women tend to be either sexist liberals bent on proving they are better than men or they just roll over and play dead expecting to fuck their way up the corporate ladder. Fortunately, I was much too far down the ladder to have to put up with such nonsense.

"You having a husband means nothing to me, Julie," I said more softly. "I was just testing you. I have no time for women that play games and use marriage as an excuse for not working and giving their all. Do I make myself clear?"

"You are very clear, Sir. Is there more of my personal life you require to know?"

"Any children?" I asked.

"One, a boy of three months."

"Are you sure you should be returning to work so soon?"

"For the most part I have things very well under control."

"I like your spunk and feistiness. I'm sure we will work well together. One more question if you don't mind. It's very personal and I'll understand if you don't wish to answer."

Before answering my question, Julie turned and closed the door to my office. I was certain I heard the click of the lock before she turned to face me.

"Yes, I breast feed my son. No, I don't see any problems arising from that fact. I always bring my breast pump in case I feel pressure and the need. Does that satisfy your perverted question?"

"And what if your pump were to fail?" I asked.

"Then I would have to resort to other means," she replied confidently.

"You have a very nice figure, Julie. Would you be offended if I asked you to take off your jacket and let me have a better look at you?"

Two seconds later, her jacket lay on the floor at her feet. Her thin blouse was filled fully with her large breasts, the cups of her bra plainly showing through the almost transparent material. She thrust her shoulders back and filled her lungs forcing her bust out further.

"Does the size of my bust meet with you expectations and approval?" she voiced proudly.

"42DD cup", I asked. I almost laughed when her face drooped slightly.

"Only 42D I'm afraid."

"When was you last time nursing your son?"

"An hour ago," she said checking her watch.