Goodman Dorsey Miller

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

*.*.*

Robert Robertson nodded and wished Amy Horner best of luck in her future endeavors. He did promise to give her glowing reviews should any prospective employers call for references.

"Actually, Anthony's kind of, we been talking, with him getting his doctorate and a new position at Myndee? It might be, we might want to think about us starting our family," the bone thin red head gushed happily.

"As big a slut as you are? Surprised you ain't been knocked up by now," Robbie muttered to himself as the former classmate left his office.

Robbie bent to the task of finding a replacement for the Administrative Assistant. Despite his comment about Amy Horner's former actions, in high school, Amy had been a slut, while in his employ, Amy had been an excellent AA. Even though she typed ninety words per minute, she also comprehended what she typed and had caught numerous mistakes other departments had made.

There was a pool of Administrative Assistants that floated from department to department within the St. Elizabeth Public Utilities. Whenever an AA was promoted, retired, was let go, or voluntarily left employment within St. Elizabeth Public Utilities, the executives of St. Elizabeth Public Utilities were expected to first look within this pool of available administrative assistants for a suitable replacement. Robbie Robertson mentally assessed each potential candidate from the pool and scribbled down the names of two of the administrative assistants. There was a third, but Kate Benson had said she wanted Margot Murphy for the Billings department when Kate's current AA left on maternity leave.

Making the two selections, Robbie pulled up the Personnel files. As An executive, he had access to these files.

Crystal Hebert had been Robbie's first choice; her chest was truly jaw-dropping. And she did dress to emphasize her 32E boobs. Her face was pretty enough and Robbie also liked her long brown hair; he could imagine wrapping a hank of Crystal's long hair around his rampant erection and stroking himself until he spurted onto her massive breasts.

Robbie then crossed out Crystal Hebert; her file showed she'd been written up twice, once for insubordination and a second time for *deleted*. Robbie needed a worker, not a problem. No matter her physical attributes, above all, Robbie needed a worker. That was why, when he'd been promoted to his current position in Services and scheduling, he'd consented to having flat-chested, bony ass Amy Horner as his personal assistant.

Robbie was curious about the deleted file. James Jonathon Richards, the CEO of St. Elizabeth Public Utilities was the only one that had authorization to delete any notations in the personnel files. Robbie wondered what would prompt the fastidious, straight laced by the book executive to delete the information on Crystal Hebert's second write-up.

Christine 'Chrissy' Guillory's personnel file had no red flags. Delving a little deeper, Robbie frowned slightly. Chrissy was formerly Christine Ann Theriot but was now married to Stephen Guillory, a former classmate of Robert Robertson. Even though they'd run in the same circles at St. Thomas Aquinas, Robbie had never liked Steve. Steve, or rather, Steve's father was rich, so Steve always had a nice car to drive. And Steve had been a wide receiver for the St. Thomas Aquinas Avengers, so had been somewhat of a star among their peers. Robbie's parents lived hand to mouth in order to afford the tuition of St. Thomas Aquinas so could not give Robbie a brand new car. Robbie had no time for sports or clubs; he worked most evenings as a bus boy/dishwasher at Cowboy's BBQ.

"Well, even if she has shitty taste in husbands, maybe she'll work out here," Robbie decided.

Chrissy Guillory was a very attractive blonde in her early twenties. Although her chest was nowhere near as massive as Chrystal's 32E, Chrissy's breasts did stretch her blouses out quite a bit. Her face was a sweet, angelic face, and her backside certainly looked enticing in her snug slacks. Her blonde hair hung down to just below her enticing rump, but since Chrissy tended to wear her hair in ponytails, her backside was visible when she marched around the hallways of St. Elizabeth Public Utilities.

In truth, there were four Administrative Assistants that had better qualifications, and had been with the company longer, but Robbie reasoned, he would have to look at his personal assistant on a daily basis. One of the better qualified was a militant BLM activist and another was a hardcore lesbian with a severe distrust of men. A third candidate tipped the scales at three hundred and thirty pounds and the fourth candidate was deaf. She seemed like a sweet girl, but Robbie just could not look past her physical limitations.

Chrissy's interviewed well and was delighted to be assigned to a more permanent station within St. Elizabeth Public Utilities. Chrissy and Amy worked well together and by the time Amy's last day rolled around, Robbie was pleased with his decision. And while the training had progressed, Crystal Hebert had garnered a third and final write-up and had been terminated from St. Elizabeth Public Utilities. Robbie was grateful he'd avoided that mistake, even as no one knew what had prompted Crystal Hebert's final write-up.

"Good morning, Mr. Robertson," Chrissy beamed up at Robbie on her first day of flying solo.

The small farewell party for Amy Horner had been a nice little party in the break-room. Anthony Horner was still a geek and a loser in Robbie's eyes; he doted on his wife. Robbie wondered if Anthony realized that nearly every boy in their graduation class had fucked Amy's pussy and mouth; Irwin and Steve had both claimed they'd also pounded Amy's tight little ass as well. But Anthony stood in in the employee's lunch room, smiling proudly as Amy hung onto his arm.

Speaking of Steve, for whatever reason, Steve Guillory had shown up right at six o'clock to pick Chrissy up. Robbie did notice that Chrissy had not looked too happy to have her husband barging into their lunchroom. And Steve did not look happy as he barged into the middle of their little party.

Robbie wasn't sure, but he thought he detected a bit of a smudge on Chrissy's upper arm as she smiled up at him, wishing him a good morning that first morning of flying solo. Robbie agreed and pushed into his inner sanctum.

There were no hiccups as the workweek progressed. Every morning, Chrissy was in her office before Robbie came in and was still at her desk, working hard as Robbie left.

Chrissy's work reflected Chrissy's attention to detail. Chrissy was professional in both work and in appearance. Her clothing was always stylish and neatly pressed; very attractive. Chrissy wore skirts and dresses, stockings and closed toe pumps with three or four inch heels.

"SO, plans for the weekend?" Robbie asked cheerfully as he carried his 4:45 pm cup of hot green tea to his office door.

"No sir," Chrissy said, head down and voice soft.

"I uh, oh, okay," Robbie said, frowning. "Really? No out cutting a rug with Steve-oh, hmm?"

"Really? And miss one minute of NASCAR or football or basketball or whatever's on?" Chrissy scoffed.

"I uh, yeah, remember he was way into all of that," Robbie agreed, opening his office door.

"Some boys never grow up," Chrissy muttered as the door of Robbie's office closed with a 'click.'

At five thirty that evening, Chrissy's phone buzzed from the recesses of the bottom desk drawer. While at work, Chrissy put her phone on 'Vibrate' and stuffed her oversized vinyl bag into the bottom desk drawer. Sliding the drawer open, Chrissy quickly grabbed her phone.

"Yes?" she answered. "Stevie, I told you we have a lot of catching up to do. That Amy girl? God, what a mess!"

She was an hour late walking into their trailer. Steve had already started on his weekend; Chrissy could see four empty Gratchley's Beer cans on the chipped and wobbly coffee table and a fifth beer in his hand. On the television, ESPN blared at an intolerable volume. The television was too large for the small living room. Chrissy had said as much when they'd gone to the O'Neil's Furniture Store's Electronics sale. Chrissy had pointed out the 32" television, but Steve was not moving from in front of the 60: television.

"'Bout fucking time," Steve snapped. "Brick's be here any minute now."

"How much?" Chrissy sighed, digging in her purse for her wallet.

The delivery girl for Brick's Pizzeria was prompt and Chrissy smiled, despite her anger. As usual, Steven ordered what Steven wanted, with no thought to what Chrissy might like to eat. But that was not the delivery girl's fault, so Chrissy smiled and gave the cute teenaged girl a two dollar tip.

"All right!" Steven enthused when Chrissy put his pizza order onto the table. "And they're saying the Storm's fixing kick Connelly's ass."

"How much you got on them?" Chrissy asked, suspicious of Steven's enthusiasm.

Steve did not answer, just grabbed a slice of pizza and another beer. Chrissy asked again how much Steve had riding on the game and Steve raised the volume of the broadcast. Chrissy demanded an answer, though, even stood in front of the television.

"Three," Steven finally admitted, waving for Chrissy to move out of his way.

"Three what, Steven?" Chrissy asked. "Not three hundred? Please, please tell me you didn't..."

"Fuck! It's a sure thing," Steven barked angrily.

Monday morning, Robbie noticed a bruise on Chrissy's cheek. Chrissy simply shook her head when he asked her about the mark. When he pressed her, Chrissy abruptly announced her need to use the restroom and left the office.

On Tuesday, Robbie asked again. Chrissy shouted that the Storm had lost to Connelly, twelve to three.

Tuesday evening, Steven asked Chrissy why she was an hour late coming home. Chrissy stared at him blankly for a long moment, then reminded him that she had been at work. She had a job; she had to work.

"No, no, I know all that," Steve snapped, not taking Chrissy's bait about her employment status. "I mean, used get home at five thirty, maybe six. And now all of a sudden it's six thirty, seven o'clock?"

"Mr. Robertson is an executive, Steven," Chrissy snapped. "Before, I was in the pool. They work different hours, Steven. AA's are not assigned to any one executive, Steven. But now that I am Mr. Robertson's personal assistant, working in the scheduling department, Steven, I work the hours Mr. Robertson works, Steven. Do you understand now, Steven, or do I have to break it down even more for you, Steven?"

"Fuck! Got be such a bitch about it?" Steve yelled bitterly.

"Fuck, got be such a dumb ass about it?" Chrissy muttered as she unzipped her skirt.

"Oh, hey, wait up," Steve demanded, seeing a flash of red.

"What, Steven, what? Shit, I'm tired," Chrissy whined, holding her skirt around her waist.

"Fuck, when'd you get them?" Steve asked, pointing to Chrissy's bright red thong panties.

"Shit, I don't know. Last week? Week before?" Chrissy suggested.

"Spending all kind of money on this new job," Steve complained. "I mean, shit, you ain't making that much more money, huh?"

"Making enough," Chrissy snapped. "Why? How much you lose on them Atlanta Hawks?"

"God damn if you'll ever fucking let that go," Steve snarled bitterly.

"Oh, about same time my pump went out," Chrissy said. "Go to pay for it and, well golly gosh, someone done maxed out the card."

"Got it taken care of very next day. Very next day, but God damn got to hear about it every fucking time I fart, huh?" Steve yelled.

"You didn't get it taken care of, Steve. You didn't. I did. I'm the one called my dad and borrowed the money. I'm the one, Steve," Chrissy growled.

A few moments later, Chrissy returned, dressed in shorts and tee shirt. Her unfettered breasts bobbled and jostled as she loudly, energetically made their dinner. The meal was eaten in near silence. Their forks creating the only sounds. Afterward, Steve found something to watch on their large television while Chrissy read an erotic novel she'd downloaded to her IPad.

Every morning, Chrissy tried to be quiet as she readied for another day at work. Normally, she let Steve sleep those few extra minutes. As part of her accommodating Steve, Chrissy would set out her clothing the night before; rooting around in a drawer, searching for a pair of panties, or a bra did tend to make some noise. Sliding the closet door open to retrieve a pair of shoes, then sliding the door shut did make some noise. Chrissy set out her outfit for the next day, then entered the bathroom. She dumped her sweaty, food stained tee shirt and her shorts into the hamper and readied for bed.

"God damn, you, you wear that kind of stuff for work?" Steve asked, not looking at the sexy baby doll nightie his wife was wearing.

"What?" Chrissy asked, twirling in her skimpy garment.

"I mean, shit, don't never wear nothing like that for me, that's for sure," Steve complained, pointing to the skimpy bra and panties atop the soft gray skirt and white blouse.

"Pay me eighteen fifty an hour, I'll dress like that for you," Chrissy spat, flouncing into the bathroom again.

"Aw what? Going hog the bathroom all night?" Steve yelled, stomping to the hall bathroom.

Sliding into bed forty minutes later, Steve reached over and tried to fondle Chrissy's breast. She slapped his hand away and sat up, glaring angrily at him. She pulled the long tee shirt down further, hiding her panties from sight.

"Jesus, know what? Ever since you got that promotion," Steve complained.

Chrissy's white hot glare stifled the words in Steve's throat. After a long moment of silence, Chrissy rolled away from her husband, fluffed her pillow, and then settled down to sleep.

"Know, can't remember last time we did it," Steve complained.

"Know what? Might want take a look at that," Chrissy snarled, not moving. "Huh? Might want look at why your wife has zero interest in making love with you."

The next evening, Steve could not find his phone. When Chrissy called it, the phone went straight to voice mail; obviously it was either turned off or had drained its battery.

"Well, where did you go today?" Chrissy asked. "Steve, we, you can't afford to lose that phone."

Steve searched his pickup truck while Chrissy searched the trailer. She first searched the couch, confident that Steve had spent most of the day on the middle cushion while endless sports broadcasts blared at him.

A search of the bedroom did not locate the cell phone. Chrissy rankled that the bed had not been made. She blamed Steve's mother; the woman coddled her precious little man far too much. The woman had taught Steve none of the basic skills of housekeeping.

"And, well, thank God he has no idea where the washing machine is," Chrissy said, finding the phone in the pants Steve had worn the previous day.

"Man! Where'd you find it?" Steve was elated when Chrissy stuck her head outside and waved the phone at him.

"Last place I looked," Chrissy said. "But seriously, we need put that 'find your phone' thing on it."

"Oh, hey, tomorrow? Since it's Friday? Helen in Accounting's talking about a 'Girl's Night Out,' just a bunch of us girls from the second floor going out for a few drinks," Chrissy mentioned to Steve as she laid out Friday's work clothes.

"Who all's going?" Steve demanded.

"You'd been listening, you'd heard me say, the girls from second floor, you know, the AAs," Chrissy snapped.

In the morning, Chrissy knocked her cell phone to the floor, causing it to jerk from the charger. Steve woke and saw Chrissy's beautiful buttocks as she crawled on hands and knees to locate the cell phone in the semi-dark room. The lacy black thong cupped her pubic mound and bisected her luscious buttocks beautifully.

When she stood, Steve could see that Chrissy's lacy half-cup bra gave her creamy white breasts an enticing shelf to sit upon. Her light pink areolae and thick nipples were on full display. Neither person said a word as Chrissy finished dressing.

At seven thirty that evening, Chrissy answered her cell phone. The five women from the St. Elizabeth Public Utilities were boisterous and happy as Vermillion's three piece band played lively music. A few gentlemen were buying drinks for the three single women; the two married women had politely but firmly declined any offers of drinks or dancing.

Helen Mouton, a very well-preserved fifty-something woman danced and flirted with the few men that vied for her attention. Whitney Simpson, the horse faced receptionist of St. Elizabeth Public Utilities possessed a phenomenal body and her short skirt and low cut blouse displayed her physique very well. Joy Decker, a beautiful brunette with small breasts and sweetly rounded backside also spent much time on the dance floor. Chrissy, and Jill, an AA that was married to a woman simply sat, chatted, and enjoyed the music. When her phone buzzed and jangled, Chrissy's happy mood evaporated.

"What, Steve? Jesus, where am I? I told you. I told you last night we're getting out for a girl's night out," Chrissy snapped into her phone. "What? Where are...we're at Nunya. As in Nunya bidness. I'll be home when I'm good and ready, all right?"

Chrissy had been in the process of saying her good-byes to her friends when Steve called. Thanks to Steve's boorish behavior, Chrissy stayed another hour at Vermillion before finally telling the four women good-night.

Home in their trailer, Chrissy sighed at seeing the disaster Steve had made of their kitchen. Once again, she silently cursed Edna Guillory, Steve's mother.

"How we get cockroaches, Steven," Chrissy snapped out loud. "How we get cockroaches. Leaving food out for them like that."

She stripped out of her clothes, shrugged on her sleep shirt, while ignoring her surly husband. Chrissy marched into the kitchen and quite noisily, forcefully cleaned up his mess. She knew she should make Steve clean it, but also knew it would never be cleaned unless she cleaned the kitchen.

"I done that find your phone thing?" Steve announced angrily just as Chrissy finished wiping Steve's paw prints from the refrigerator.

"Uh huh," Chrissy said. "You was able find your phone?"

"Think, Chrissy, think about it," Steve snapped. "I didn't have my phone, how would I do the find my phone thingy?"

"The IPad," Chrissy snapped. "But all right Steven; you had your phone, why you needed do the find your phone thing?"

"Find out where you was," Steve said. "Vermillion? Really? That ain't nothing but a God damned meat market and you know that."

"It's a bar, Steve, just like the Dead End or Red's or what's that place you like so damned much? That Sugar Shack?" Chrissy said. "It's a bar. It has a band. They play music, Steve."

"Good weekend?" Robbie asked as he came into his outer office Monday morning.

"Started off real nice," Chrissy agreed. "Ever been to Vermillion's?"

"Hmm? Vermilions? Out on Miller's? No, no, Samantha keeps wanting go there. It nice?" Robbie asked, pausing by his office door.

"Friday's? There's this little band? Plays real nice music," Chrissy said. "I mean, now Foxtrot's? Oh my God, I just love their big band; my mom's mom? She had all those old seventy eights? We'd listen to them for hours! Ellington, Miller, Dorsey; oh, she had them all."

Hmm," Robbie said, actually amused at Chrissy's enthusiasm.

"Know what? I, I'm going see if we can go to Foxtrot's next time," Chrissy decided.

On Friday afternoon, Chrissy bustled into the trailer and dashed for their bedroom. Steve sat, watching television and pumped up the volume to drown out the sound of running water.