tagHumor & SatireIt Goes Without Saying

It Goes Without Saying

byMysti Fox©

"Good morning Shithead," enjoined my secretary, Ginger, in a tone that my unerring telepathy told me I had already, or was about to do, something wrong.

As if I could give a shit.

"Ginger...any mail?" I asked, as I stood in front of her desk and assaulted her inbox.

"Nothing important," she answered, "but it's the thirteenth."

"Not today," I replied, "maybe tomorrow."

"Goddamn it Dick, don't give me that shit," demanded Ginger, "A deal is a deal."

"Ahhh Jesus! Alright all already! Fucking cunt!"

I walked around behind her as she bent over and rested her elbows on her desk. Pushing her sweater over her head, I unhooked her bra, letting her tits fall free.

I liked Ginger's tits, they were big, but one was just bigger than the other and her nipples didn't match at all and one of them wasn't centered right. Truth is they were ugly. That's what I liked about them. I sometimes wonder if her husband likes them as much as I do.

"Ummmmfffffff! Ohhhhh!

I had just gotten Ginger all lubed up and had settled into my rhythm when I saw the "Dick Green - Private Investigations" sign on the little glass pane in my door change from backward to forward and "she" stepped in carrying a big gym bag.

"Ohhhhhhh! Yeeesssss!"

"Without so much as raising an eyebrow, she took in the scene and sat down on the couch across from Ginger's desk as I humped and Ginger groaned. She looked around for a moment and then looked me hard in the eyes. We understood each other. She needed a son-of-a-bitch. I smiled inside. If you do it right, there can be a lot of money in being a son-of-a-bitch.

"Ohhh! Ohhhhh! Ohhhhh! Fuuuuuuuck!"

She had it all... beautiful, blond, rich and smart. She wasn't born rich though. I could tell by her feet. No pedicure. She couldn't bear to make a working gal wash her feet. She'd been there. Besides, a blueblood would have picked up a magazine just to show how sophisticated she was. This dame was much more sophisticated than that. We were doing business. It was the kind of business where you don't need words. In fact, it was the kind of business best done with no words allowed.

"Ohhhhh! Yeeeesssss! Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhh! Goddamn!"

So what was it? What kind of hyena was loose in her back yard? It wasn't her old man. She was too classy to have a sugar daddy and too wise to be intrigued by some bad boy. It wasn't something out of her past. Sure, she had a past, but she was too smart not too have leveled with anyone that counted long ago.

"Ohhhhh! God! Ohhhh! Shit!! Dickkkkk!

She didn't blink an eye as I began to really look her over and it didn't take to long too to figure it out. The little flaw in her right eyebrow from the hairline scar, the scar on her upper arm that looked like a smallpox vaccination, but was just a little too small and a little too low, her slightly crooked left little finger. Piece of cake. Her daddy was somewhere down in the Big Easy still beatin on someone. The little sister was my guess. I got a warm feeling inside, even warmer than my dick. This son-of-a-bitch was going to kill another son-of-a-bitch. There's really good money in that.

"OOOhhhhhh! Diccckkkkk! Ohhhhhh! Yeeeesssss! Yeeeeesssssss!

I gave her a knowing nod and she took out a small piece of paper and began writing on the back. Walking up to the couch as casually as she had walked in, she held it real close for a moment so I would know what I needed to know and then put it in her mouth and smiled as she chewed a long time before swallowing.

"Sweet taste of revenge," I thought to myself, "My kind of gal, except way too much of a looker."

Turning on her heels, she descretely placed the gym bag behind the couch and left as quietly as she had came.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!! Dick! I'mmmmmm CUUUmmmmmmmiinnnnggggg!!!!!!!

"Fuck!" I complained to myself as Ginger did her thing. I always try to come first and leave her hanging, but it almost never works out, "Now, get the fuck out. I've got stuff to do."

"Dick, you fuckhead!" exclaimed Ginger, as she fumbled around trying to get herself back together, but not doing well at all since I was busy pushing her across the room toward the door, "At least you could help me with my sweater."

"Fuck off, bitch," I answered, as I shoved her into the hall, her skirt still up and her sweater still over her head.

"Take a few days off," I added as I threw her purse after her and locked the door.

"DICK! YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!! YOU GODDAMN DIRTY ASS PIG FUCKER!!" Ginger carried on as she pounded on the door and I opened the bag to count the money.

Ginger would go away in a while. She always does. She would come back too. She always does. I hate to admit it, but she's a good secretary...not that I like her all that much.

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