I've always considered myself an honest, righteous and faithful man. I love my wife, always have and always will. That's not up for debate. Likewise, I'd never thought of myself as a breast man more a connoisseur of ass. Nothing like a pert little bottom in tight jeans or a short skirt, to get my juices flowing. That was until yesterday.

Yesterday, something changed and, or should I say, someone, that someone being Angela, or even more specifically, Angela's magnificent bosom changed all that.

What can I say about her and them?

She's our factory floor manager and to be honest, she's very good at her job. Without her, this place would grind to a halt. I won't say she's the best thing that's ever happened to this place, but she's not far off. However, that doesn't mean I like her.

Okay, she's tall and attractive... No not actually, more a handsome woman. She carries herself admirably and has a good sense of what's right and wrong. Of course, having a figure like hers always helps, and she knows it, and that's probably why I wasn't fond of her. She's tall, taller than me and at 5'10" I'm no slouch. A lot of that had to do with her legs. They're long, incredibly long and well toned. That and her thin waist are impressive enough but what really sets her apart from most of the women that work here are her breasts.

It's a magnificent rack. Full, firm and quite large, I know for a fact they're enthusiastically discussed by many of my colleagues. Actually, she looks exactly how I have always imagined Queen Boadicea to have done. Actually, it's a shame her character isn't as pleasing as her appearance. Down to earth, confrontational and abrasive, she might get things done, but not in a manner that's congenial to making friends. Does she care, I don't think so. Results are all that matter and in her book, the end justifies the means. So, if you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

Up until yesterday, I'd managed to avoid any confrontation but it was clear from the moment she entered my dingy workshop, she was gunning for blood.

As the head of maintenance, it's my job, together with my team of mechanics, to keep all the machines running. It sounds easy and would be easy if I was allowed to buy all the parts needed. However, with management keeping their fingers on the purse strings, I'm only allowed to order replacement parts and not stockpile. That fact was of no consequence to Angela. The main packaging machine was down and she wasn't happy.

"When are you going to fix that fucking machine?" she demanded, storming into my office like an unwelcome whirlwind. I was seated behind my desk, reading the emails that had been sent during the night shift.

"Good morning to you Angela," I replied politely, doing my best to ignore the aggression she exuded. She towered over me, leaning on her balled fists, her nostrils flaring and her eyes blazing as she regarded me like I was some hideous insect that had the impertinence to emerge from under a stone, spoiling her fancy garden party.

"It's Mrs. Smith to you, you... you..." it was obvious she was too angry to think straight.

"Good morning to you then, Mrs. Smith," I interrupted deadpan, knowing full well how much I was irking her. "Now what can I do for you this lovely, sunny morning?"

"I need 'pack-one' up and running... not tomorrow, not next week, today. Do you hear me? Today! I've got a shit load of product and I need every packaging machine up and running," she yelled furiously, spittle forming on her beautifully made up lips.

After weathering the storm, I raised my eyebrows sardonically and turned my computer screen towards her. Then I pointed to the emails from both the night manager, who reported the breakdown and my mechanic respectively who went to fix it.

"According to my guy, your people were in too much of a rush and screwed up. Now the secondary flux roller bearing is completely fucked up... which if true means you can shout and scream as much as you like because unless I can find a replacement, you're fucked." Even as I said it, I knew I'd gone too far.

Her face grew puce and her chest heaved powerfully as she built up her head of steam.

Now normally, I'm immune to the feminine charms, because if I wasn't, neither I or my mechanics would get any rest, it's as simple as that. We'd be run ragged by the constant requests to fix this and fix that, but Angela was different. As I've already described, she's an attractive woman, a surprisingly trim figure for someone who's barred three teenage kids, and those tits. Jesus, they seemed to defy gravity.

I always thought I liked small natural breasts, especially in an age where lots of women think it perfectly normal to pump them so full of silicone, that they look like balloons ready to explode. In fact, I do like a nice pert little bosom but looking at Angela's generous rack forced me to amend my opinion.

I'd heard she had sometimes jokingly referred to them as her 'devastating duo' and she was not wrong. They were devastatingly beautiful.

Wonderfully crafted mounds of firm, joyful tanned flesh. Full, heavy and pendulous, but without sag, they were topped off by her almond colored nipples. They were more than a handful and mouthful as I found out.

Of course, even the best masterpieces need to be presented correctly and Angela knew exactly how to show off her assets. Although her business suits never varied in style, they did come in different shades of black, blue and grey to break up the monotony. Likewise, her blouses came in various colors although the cut was always the same. Long-sleeved, tight and always seemed to be missing the top few buttons.

And so, while she was leaning over my desk, glaring at me for being honest, I was having a very enjoyable moment, secretly looking down the gaping neckline of her burgundy red blouse. The soft swell of her breasts was easily discernible before disappearing into an invitingly deep cleft, one that simply begged for something, no need to guess what, to be placed between them. At the front of each breast, just visible beneath the edge of the frilly white lace, was a hint of darker colored skin, which was causing a riot within my imagination. And although I could only see glimpses of it, I later found out her bra was obviously chosen to display her assets in the most fortuitous way.

I've often wondered if engineers ever really studied the in's and out's of the humble bra. On the face of it, it's a pretty simple design, but when you consider the stresses and strains this unassuming piece of clothing has to deal with, all day and every day, then it really does have to be called a miracle of engineering.

From handcrafted, sexy, figure-hugging lingerie to mass-produced work-a-day bras, they come in all sorts of shape and sizes. Push up, low cut, flimsy, and sports to name just a few, they can be made from almost anything, and are made from almost everything. Okay, not everything is to my taste, in fact, some are damn right fucking ugly, but some... Well, they could give a dead man a boner, and the ones Angela wears definitely belong in the last category.

The frilly lace edge that encompassed the heaving chest in front of me was, and I can categorically confirm this, definitely designed to awaken and keep alive an admirers interest. And interested I was. In fact, I'd go as far to say, I was positively captivated by the sight in front of me, and as such, much needed blood was rapidly disappearing from my brain.

"Jesus, those things are fucking magnificent," I mumbled wondrously.

"How dare you speak... wait a minute. What do you mean?" she demanded angrily.

I stared in horror at Angela. Unsure whether she'd heard me and was demanding I repeat myself, or she wanted an answer to my statement about her being up a creek without a paddle, I didn't know what to say. I took a gamble.

"What I mean is," and I stared at her unflinchingly, "since management, and that includes you," she didn't flinch at my pointed finger, "decided to cap my budget, I'm not allowed to keep expensive parts like that on the shelf. The only things we keep in stores nowadays are bits and pieces that need regular replacement, nothing like this. In fact, I'm not sure where I'll find one on this short notice. I'll have to ask around and see if I'm lucky."

Her eyes bulged, and her chest heaved at my inclusion of her in my accusation, but I continued before she could speak.

"I've sent hundreds of emails and memos, explaining the short-sightedness of this policy but did you listen. Oh no." I was on a roll and I was going to press home my advantage. "Oh no, you wouldn't have it, would you. There was no way the lowly Mr. Daniels from maintenance was going to tell management how to run this place. Who does he think he is? We're the boss and we decide what goes on around here, and common sense be damned." My monologue was worthy of Sir Olivier himself. "And now, Mrs. Smith, now... your chickens have come home to roost, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Bu... but, but," she blustered, the wind fairly and squarely taken from her sails.

"Not my problem," I protested, waving an arm dismissively.

"Well maybe you're the wrong man for the job," she countered viciously. "Maybe it's time we looked around for someone who can get the job done." Spoken like a true management bitch, one who has all the authority to get what she wants, but with absolutely no understanding of the matter in question.

"Good luck with that then," I replied offhand, infuriating her, even more, judging from the way her eyes blazed.

Then as if comprehending what I'd said, she suddenly stood up straight, removing the glorious view that I'd been secretly enjoying, and looked at me thoughtfully. If she had noticed me ogling her boobs, she didn't let on, something I put down to her being too preoccupied with 'pack one.'

"So it can't be repaired today?"

Her unsure, conciliatory tone was pleasing.

"No."

"No, just no. Not even a, sure I'll try Mrs. Smith, leave it with me." Her exasperation was audible.

"Of course I'll do my best," I said a little defensively, "but don't expect miracles."

"But I need that machine."

She spoke softly, looking through my window at the sprawling mass of machinery and people on the work floor beneath us.

"Like I said, Angela, I'll do my best," feeling a bit sorry for her predicament.

"Thank you, Thomas, I'd really, and I mean this sincerely, really appreciate that."

*****

Around lunchtime, I approached her in the canteen. "Good news, Mrs. Smith. I've found a replacement part for 'pack one,' and as soon as the payment has been authorized, we can pick it up. Should be here this afternoon or tomorrow morning, if somebody in accounts doesn't pull their finger out."

She finished the mouthful of salad she was eating and nodded. "That is good news. We're swamped down here." She eyed me curiously. "Okay, Thomas, you sort out the transport, and send me the details, I'll make sure accounts plays ball." I gave her a curt nod.

"Will do." As I turned on my heels, she asked me to check in with her before going home.

"You know to let me know how things are proceeding." She flashed me an enigmatic smile and returned her attention to her meal.

*****

At five o'clock, before cleaning up, I kept my word and approached her door. Angela has been as good as her word. Payment has been immediately authorized while one of my guys was at the supplier and an hour later we began replacing the broken bearing.

"Come in."

I entered the extremely nicely decorated office, and compared it to my dingy hole. Bitter thoughts about my shrinking budget flooded my mind seeing her sitting, relaxed behind her bureau. She looked up and smiled. For a second I thought I saw a something in her eyes but dismissed it as a figment of my imagination.

"Please sit down Thomas," she said and gestured to the expensive chair opposite her. I looked down at my greasy overalls and decided against it.

"I'll pass," and pointed to the filth by way of explanation. She looked me up and down and smiled. A strange, wry smile and I wondered what the hell was going on.

"So how are things looking, Thomas?"  she asked pleasantly. Surprised by the unexpected politeness, I responded in kind.

"If everything goes to plan, then 'pack one' will be up and running in the next couple of hours. My guys are busy, even as we speak, and I'm confident once it's up and running, we'll encounter no further problems."

I was rewarded with a nod of appreciation.

"Good. I'm so glad you were able to fix the problem. You can't imagine the pressure I'm getting from upstairs to get the orders out the door," she said, the thankful tone gratifying to hear.

In fact, it surprised me. I'd always thought she was upper management but although she still swayed the scepter above my head, it was now clear to me that her head was also on the block.

"Maybe management will listen to us lowly workers, after this scare..."

"I doubt it," she interrupted me, "I've forwarded your objections over the last few months but they don't want to know. The only thing they worry about is the shareholders."

My jaw dropped.

She wore an amused expression. "What's the matter Thomas, don't you think I listen?"

Under normal circumstances, I would have said, "No," but that would have been insulting. All I could do was smile sheepishly and shrug my shoulders. Fortunately, she waved a dismissive hand. "Water under the bridge, Thomas. I'm just glad we got through this relatively unscathed. Once 'pack one' is up and running, we'll soon get things back to normal, well as normal as things can be around here." She flashed me a warm smile. Then she stood up and walked around her desk.

I honestly thought she was getting ready to go home, like me and certainly wasn't expecting what happened next.

"In fact," she continued walking to her office door, "I really think I owe you an apology, for my behavior this morning," then locking it before turning to me, "That, and a very big thank you."

That's when she removed her jacket and tossed it onto one of the chairs and began sauntering towards me.

"Is there anything you can think of, that will help me make amends, Thomas, or can I call you Tom."

Now I might not be as intelligent as Angela, and I might, no, let me rephrase that.

Although I was enjoying the sight of her flat belly appearing as each button was quickly dealt with, the shock must have been clearly visible in my eyes.

"What's the matter, Tom? Aren't these beauties what you wanted to see? You couldn't get enough of them this morning when I was in your workshop."

Shit, she had seen me ogling. I felt my cheeks heating up as a feeling of shame swept over me.

Angela was down to the last couple of buttons and the bottom half of her white lace bra was visible, as were the voluptuous mounds of flesh contained within.

"What's matter Tom, cat got your working class tongue," she asked tauntingly as the last button succumbed to her deft fingers, and her blouse fell wonderfully open. "Luckily for me, your working class cock doesn't seem to mind. My, my, that bulge does look promising.

I bet it did. I'd been right about her bra. What an exquisite piece of clothing. Sublimely designed by someone who had a lot more understanding of the feminine form and sexy lingerie than I had, but magically knew what I liked. The garment was a low cut thing with a layer of sheer wispy lace covering the most interesting parts. To my mind, it seemed too delicate to contain the full, heavy breasts occupying it, but that was clearly not the case. The hint of brown areola I'd seen this morning, was now revealed in its entirety, and my eyes were drawn to the pair of pertinently erect nipples, distorting the translucent fabric.

All in all, seeing her standing there, in this state of erotic undress, my blood didn't just flow to between my legs, it positively cascaded and my prick was rapidly thickening.

Angela stood provocatively in front of me, our bodies so close, barely a sheet of paper could pass between us. I swear the air between us was so highly charged, sparks were figuratively bridging the gap. She bent her head forward, her mouth brushing my neck, and her breath warming my skin as her mouth moved towards my ear. Like her exotic perfume filling my nostrils, her sexy whisper filled my ears, and her hand reached for my crotch.

"Hmmmm, your cock's nice and hard. I like 'em like that. Shall I show just how much I like 'em?" She pulled her head back, looked at me encouragingly and licked her lips seductively.

"Are yo... you sur... sure you wa... want t... t... to do thi... this Mrs. Smi... Smith?"

Okay, I stutter when I get nervous and at that moment, my heart was racing faster than Lewis Hamilton's Formula One car.

"Oh, no need for the working class hero modesty, Tom. I think you may call me Angela," she whispered huskily, her fingers urgently squeezing my engorged manhood. "And I've been thinking about this all day."

My eyebrows shot up so high, I could have used them to paint the ceiling. Angela didn't seem at all phased by what she was doing. She pressed herself against me and without the slightest bit of difficulty, she tugged open my overalls and slid her hand inside my boxers.

"Oh my God," was all I could mumble as her hard nipples pressed into my chest, while agile fingers gripped my rock hard flesh.

"Oh, God, indeed, Mr. Daniels," Replied Angela between feverish kisses. "You had me so turned me on this morning, I've virtually done nothing today. Well nothing that'll be of any use to anyone, that's for sure." A naughty little giggle escaped her lips.

"Mind you, fantasizing about what I wanted to do to you, could be seen as keeping the workers happy, don't you think?" Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "What were you thinking about when you were staring at my tits?" she demanded breathlessly, extracting her tongue from my mouth.

Standing there, with Angela wanking my throbbing cock, after fishing it out of my pants, I realized I'd probably never get another chance like this. I decided to go for broke.

"How much I'd enjoy sticking my prick between your tits."

Taking a step backward, she looked at me hungrily. "I think we can arrange that, Tom, but is that all you want?" I must have looked a dumbfounded. "I'm pretty sure you told me I was fucked, this morning." I nodded dumbly, remembering my outburst. Silently I cursed my big mouth, and I began apologizing. "Look..."

Her lips brushed my ear. "Well, I wasn't fucked this morning, and I haven't been fucked this afternoon, but I want to fuck you right here, right now." While I silently nodded, her grip on my cock tightened as if to emphasize her words.

Then she slammed her mouth onto mine forcing her tongue past my lips. When she stopped to take a breath, she spoke. "If you're wondering why this is happening, Tom, don't. Let's just say, it's been a long time since anyone has spoken to me like that, and to be honest, I like it when a man shows he has a pair of large ones. Now, why don't you show me how big they really are."

We kissed again, only this time I wasn't just a spectator. I reached behind her back and grabbed her firm buttocks, squeezing them hard while simultaneously pulling them apart.

Like I said, I'm actually an ass man. Luckily Angela didn't seem to mind me manhandling her bum like that. In fact, the saucy squeal of delight left me in no doubt she was thoroughly enjoying it.

"That would feel sooooo much better if my skirt wasn't in the way," she confided while reaching for one of my hands. Guiding it to the zipper in her skirt she whispered huskily, "Come on, Tom, hurry up, I can't wait much longer," In a flurry of clumsy fingers, I managed to complete the task she set me and with a little wiggle of her hips, which I enjoyed immensely, the obstructive piece of clothing fell around her ankles. Still playing with my cock, she stepped out of the discarded garment and made a grand gesture of, 'this is yours.'

Seeing her standing there, naked from the waist down except for her panties, stockings and heels, was very invigorating. The slight discoloration of her smooth panties, not a matching set but still very sexy where it stretched over her labia, made my heart beat faster. She moved closer.

"Why don't you feel how wet I am," and pulled my hand towards the sodden apex. We kissed passionately while I traced the outline of her sex through the saturated material and was rewarded with a low, breathless moan. With her free hand, she cupped a gorgeous breast and pointed it at me.

"Don't forget these, Tom," she cooed huskily, playfully squeezing the proffered mound.

I reached out and grabbed hold of it. Just as I'd imagined. Soft, full, heavy and wonderful. I pulled at the delicate fabric and watched her nipple spring free. I began flicking my thumb over it softly when she demanded me to pinch them. Not wanting to disappoint her, I did as she said and was rewarded with another soft feminine moan.

"Bite it, Tom," she ordered and I willingly complied. Trying to contain the huge fun bag in my hand, I lowered my head and guided the tight nipple to my mouth. I felt her grab the back of my head as I took the erect nipple between my teeth, forcing my face harder into the squishy mound of joy.

"Hmmm, I love when a man sucks my tits, she said, reluctantly pulling my head from her breasts, "but now it's my turn," and after demonstratively licking the nutty brown nipple, she promptly dropped to her knees.

"Do you mind?" she asked and licked her lips suggestively.

Did I mind?

Is the Pope Catholic? Just the idea of what she was asking caused my mouth to dry up, and aware I would probably only croak if I tried speaking, I simply shook my head. Watching me, Angela grinned hungrily and set her succulent lips around my glistening helmet.

Nearly all my misguided preconceptions about upper management were banished from my mind in about thirty seconds. Although there was nothing at all normal about what was happening, credit must be given where credit is due. I've always thought they were a bunch of cock suckers so why I was surprised that Angela was so good at it, I don't know. All I can say is, she gave head in the same way she ran her departments. Hard, enthusiastically, savagely and, it has to be said, with consummate skill.

I'd never been blown like that before and I doubt I'll ever experience it again, but one thing was certain, she could teach my wife a thing or two. She used every trick in the book guaranteed to make a man cum. She deep throated me while squeezing my balls, she licked and sucked before demanding to face fucked, and in between all this, she spat on, swallowed and devoured my cock and testicles, as if her life depended on it. Still not satisfied, she then played her trump card.

She grabbed her fun bags and scooped them out of her bra, pushing them together and presenting me with a very tempting sight.

"Here you are, you horny bastard," she said, hawking and spitting a huge glob of saliva into the welcoming crevice in front of her. "Why don't you slip your cock between my tits."

I didn't need telling twice, and after demonstratively slapping each erect nipple with my throbbing member, I pushed it between the sweet soft mounds and into the warm viscous saliva.

"Ooooooh that feels so good Tom. So much easier with lubrication." She wasn't wrong. She pushed her boobs together, enclosing my prick like it was some sort of exotic hotdog and looking up at me expectantly, she mouthed, "give me your hot spunk, Tom."       

I started moving my hips, slowly at first, smoothing the warm saliva along the entire length of both the warm crevice and my erection.

"God, this is so fucking horny," she exclaimed wantonly, watching with avid interest as my bulbous dome kept appearing above her breasts.

"I don't know how long I can keep this up," I grunted, pumping my cock powerfully between her fun bags. "I'm close," I panted, feeling the sweat running down my temple.

She looked up at me, lust coloring her eyes and told me to let her have it.

"I wanna watch you cum all over them," she added huskily. Then she looked up at me, watching my face contort in concentration as I pumped my cock vigorously between her tits. Although Angela wanted to see me cum, I was doing my best to delay my orgasm, afraid that I was of disappointing her, but she kept up a tirade of slutty remarks and horny encouragement which only made my task more difficult.

I  looked on in stunned amazement as she bent her neck and opened her mouth. Every time my engorged helmet pushed past the delicious swell of her breasts, her succulent lips enclosed around my excited dome.

She was driving me mad and I couldn't hold out much longer.

"I'm cumming, you bitch. I fucking cumming."

I kept thrusting and seconds later my body stiffened, spasmed and started jerking uncontrollably. My prick expanded and a huge stream of spunk flew from my little piss hole. Angela's tongue was waiting for the salty bitterness, but my aim wasn't short-sightedness. Instead of landing in her mouth, the streak of semen splashed up the side of her cheek and across her lips.

A squeal of delight resounded around the sparsely furnished office, and then an erotic moan followed as the next salvo dumped another huge load onto her neck and chest.

"Come on, Tom, give me it all," she urged hungrily. My hips jerked again and a third blob landed atop one of her boobs, before trickling down into the crevice encompassing my pulsating manhood.

Without warning, Angela grasped hold of my cock and began furiously to wank me off.

"Give me your spunk, Stud, I know you've got loads more in those big balls," and her hands moved in a blur.

Like I've said, Angela is a person for whom, results are the only thing that matter and if you can't stand the heat then get out of the kitchen, so seeing the look of grim concentration on her face, I knew I wasn't going to be let off easy. My body jerked and convulsed under her heavy-handed treatment, sending the rest of my ejaculation flying all over the place.

It went everywhere, finishing up on my overalls, on the carpet, over Angela's face, legs, and chest, and there were even few drops in her hair. Finally, my balls were empty and like a pistol with no more bullets, I was done. Not that it deterred Angela. She kept tugging at my cock, each movement causing me to convulse violently as her hand roughly passed over my sensitive rim. After begging her to stop, she took pity on me, although the teasing licks she flicked over my dome, let me know she clearly wasn’t finished with me.

She looked at the gooey semen pooling between her breasts and scooped some up with her fingers. Then she made a show of licking them clean, her tongue hungrily flicking around her sticky digits. “Hmmmm, not bad for starters, Tom. Now take off your overalls because I’m not finished with you yet.” She stood up and turned around. Then, bending forward, she slid her knickers down over her buttocks, giving me my first real look at her dripping sex. Wiggling her delightfully pert bum, I also caught a glimpse of her tight little starfish, and my cock throbbed in anticipation.

What can I say? I’ve always been an ass man.