Its Hard to Be a Department Manager

This story is pure fiction. Any similarities to any person living or dead is coincidental. No body got hurt in the drafting of this story.

Its Hard to Be a Department Manager

I am a department manager at the Vortex Manufacturing Company. We make different types of gadgets for other companies, things like ice scrappers, squeegees, and so on. Our machine shop produces almost anything, if there is an accurate drawing with specifications.

I have 30 people as my charges in the Merchandise Control Department. We manage inventory levels of raw materials and the finished products. Its important that we are not over or under stocked in both categories as the first could impede production while the second could find us with no inventory to fill customer orders.

Marty and I were in my office talking one day, she nearly knocked my socks off when she started running her finger nail over my bare arm while giving me that subtle look that only wanton women know how to do.

Now you have to know that Marty is a stunner. She is a blue eyed blonde with a nice set of mammary glands, a backside that swings when she walks. My goodness, if I had a swing like that on my porch, I would be gliding on it all day and the next.

Anyway, not being a fool, I smiled back and said give me five minutes and meet me in the stock room. She smiled back.

I left the office, telling Ruth, my secretary, that I was going to the stock room to take inventory. She giggled and said "Again?"

The stock room is only used by me and kept locked. Other managers never came to the stock room. If they wanted something they would send a requisition, it would be filled and a mail boy would make the delivery.

I went in and waited, and Marty soon followed. I took her hand and led her to a place with an empty wall. I just looked at her for a minute or so, then quickly lifted her skirt and dropped her panties. She said: "Mr. Baxtor (that's me, Jack Baxtor) what are you doing?" I said nothing but quickly dropped my pants and underpants allowing my stiff dick spring forward. She gasped. I lifted her leg to my hip and slipped inside her.

She made an unusually accurate comment: "Your thingie is in my kitty." I nodded and began pumping. Between her breathing hard and gasping she muttered: "You should not do this."

I responded with: "Do you want me to stop?"

She said: "Yeah, but not right now."

Fifteen minutes later found me leaving the stock room to go back to my office. I walked by my secretary, she shot "that" smile at me and giggled.

Later that day, I had to ask Marty a question concerning work. Our customer, RamJack had a hydraulic piston on backorder. I asked her if she knew anything about RamJack and she jerked her head and said "Have you forgotten already?"

"No, no, the piston on back order." She said "Oh."

Vivian is a real beauty with a set of jugs that beat her when she comes around a corner. She is constantly tugging at her bra as it keeps riding up as she walks around with them bouncing. She came into my office and wanted to talk. She began by telling me her periods were unpredictable. They would start and stop, she would miss a month, etc. She said her doctor told her she would never have children, smiling a devious smile. I told her this was not the place to talk about this but we could after hours.

I arrived at her apartment later that night. We began to talk when she started the tugging. I asked her if her bra was uncomfortable. She said it was, so I suggested she take it off.

Well, to my surprise and utter delight, she stripped off her blouse and bra right on the spot. She sighed saying that felt better. I gulped.

She looked at my swelling groin and asked it that was uncomfortable. I said yes. She suggested I free it which I did.

There we stood, her topless, me bottomless.

Enough said, two minutes later we were in her bedroom going at it hot and heavy.

As the saying goes: "The beat goes on." Thirty people working for me with 20 being women. Rarely does the day pass that one of the women gets a little, errr, well, flirty with me. I guess it's time to take inventory again.

I was thinking about renaming the stock room, but to what? Any suggestions?

I suppose the women in my department seem to have the desire to "screw up." Career advancement is important and getting regular rises, (scratch that) raises meant success.

I don't believe upper management would approve a bed in the stock room.

I was walking through the factory the other day and overheard one of the workers say as I passed: "There goes one of those fucking managers." I just grinned and kept walking.