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I'm very much a fashion-conscious woman. So much so that following my divorce I decided to use the best part of the settlement to open a fashion store catering to women.

I employed an assistant called Paula Armstrong, a woman younger in years to that of myself at 34. It's true to say, we got on pretty well together, making a go of it.

After completing a monthly stock check, I noticed that I was almost £3,000.00 down from shoplifters, and for the third month in a row.

"That bad?" Paula said sullenly.

"That's it!" I exclaimed.

"I'm going to hire a security guard. No matter what the cost," I announced, and so it was that I had CCTV surveillance installed and interviewed prospective candidates for the security guard jobs before hiring 22-year-old Brian and 24-year-old Giles - one on the shop floor the other in the CCTV consolee room.

A month went by until the next stock check. Having completed it, the loss figure was £1,000.

"It's down, just not all the way down," I told Paula, while the combined cost, the loss plus the security guards' wages were almost the same.

I decided to check on Brian. See if he was operating it correctly, despite having no knowledge myself.

So as not to disturb his concentration, I crept into his security console room as quietly as I could, only to notice something untoward. Something that shocked me.

There, on the monitor, was a close-up of my assistant's tits. ‘The randy bugger,' I thought to myself as he gazed at her shapely DD charms.

It was quite warm for July and so we both wore an open-neck blouse; hers electric blue while I'd opted for a mauve one. Because of that, the rise of our tits, mine a fashionable 38D, was visible.

"What are you doing, Brian?" I shouted, finger pointing at the monitor, and he jumped.

"Is this why I'm still losing money?" I fumed as I made my way over to him.

"S...sorry, Miss Roberts," he trembled at my wrath.

"I don't pay you to look down my assistant's or customer's blouses now, do I?" I made my point before adding, "Don't let it happen again, okay." My voice quite stern.

"It won't happen again. I promise,"

"It better not do," I told him, watching for a few minutes before leaving him to continue until he and Giles switched over.

When I returned to the shop floor, it was only right that I told my assistant about what I'd seen.

"Really?" she said, voice surprised, far from what I'd expected.

"I can't blame him. They are, after all, what gets me noticed by men. God, I'm wet just thinking about him ogling my tits," she smiled, even going so far as to bunch them up in her hands, as if her bra wasn't giving them extra lift already.

"Paula!" I exclaimed, taken aback by her forwardness.

"You're right. The perv needs to be punished," she said, at which point I nodded my agreement.

"After work," she announced, a minxy smile on her face, before going to help a customer.

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