What do I hate most about going back into the office on Monday morning?
Getting
torn from my cosy weekend reverie, and being forced to acclimatize again to the
mind-numbing, soul-destroying tedium of the 9 to 5? Having to deal with all the
people I don’t even want to know, let alone have to make all that phony small
talk with?
Or is it the thing I really most love too? Having to endure yet again the excruciating ordeal of the raw sexual power that is Terri? She who, perhaps unwittingly and certainly with apparent effortless ease, creates utter chaos within the uncharted hidden realms of my deepest psyche, and randomly incites all these throbbing, aching erections in my drab work trousers.
The onslaught is merciless. The sheer undaunted savagery of her sensual energy assaults my mind, provokes my loins into raucous desire, pillages my soul with a primal yearning which feels entirely spiritual in nature, as well as utterly tumultuous, and thoroughly unbearable. What’s a poor boy to do?
I’m not sure she actually flirts as such, certainly not with me anyway. But fuck does she dress to impress! Fearlessly brandishing all those fulsome curves. She doesn’t show a lot of cleavage if at all, but it’s the way it’s all packed in there, full and compact and threatening. And those pencil skirts. Oh for fuck’s sake! Come on now!
I should point out, Terri’s demeanour is very professional and business-like. Always direct and to the point. In fact sometimes, towards me at least, even a little abrupt. Which, I have to confess, simply conspires to exacerbate my predicament. I like how she subtly keeps me in my place. Mr. Amenable-and-Compliant. Covertly slain by her aura. I have no defence. Monday to Friday, nine to five, is an arena of perpetual slaughter.
One time she accidentally brushed against me in the mutual confusion of trying to negotiate a tight space in a small, crowded room after a meeting. It was the slightest, most paltry and delicate glancing graze of cotton shirt over cotton shirt, with barely any contact actually made at all as I tried to make room for her to pass, but anyone present with x-ray specs would have witnessed me instantaneously exploding into an ethereal cloud of lust-glitter. After that I was pretty much done for, just completely useless, unable to focus, couldn’t concentrate, communicate or even think properly. Think I just about managed to hide it, and fortunately it was near the end of the working day, and as soon as I got home I enjoyed the longest, sweetest, most indulgent wank I think I’ve probably ever had.
Another time she ran straight onto me as she dashed back through the front doors from the sandwich van as I was heading out. I nearly came on the spot as I struggled to camouflage the moan of ethereal joy escaping my lips. I was pushed back against the door frame by the momentum of her body and she had to take a moment to catch her balance and step back off of me. She tried to make light of it with a sheepish sort of half-smile as she apologised, but the troubled frown furrowing her brow at the same time gave away her embarrassment and consternation.
She quickly shook her head and brushed it off and continued rushing back into the office as if nothing had happened, but that brief, inadvertent impact in the doorway had catapulted me into an orbit of flustered delirium. The fabric of the cosmos had ruptured. Life alchemized for the fortuitous flash of a split-second into something it could never be. And I was the only initiate of the secret equation. Though it was anything but equal. Oh the weight of her body against me! That was the first time I couldn’t wait until I got home. Shortly afterwards in the Gents I had to alleviate the overwhelming erotic compulsion she had accidentally inflicted upon me. I had no choice. Please understand. It was like an electrical charge rampantly seeking out any route of release it could find. In the empty toilets, locked away in a cubicle, as I furiously jerked off I could still feel the robust press of her warmth infiltrating my nervous system. I came so fucking hard my jizz sprayed all over the place. It was joyous but it took a bit of cleaning up. However, even the ignominious clean-up gave me an extra shiver of delight.
And in fact I understood clearly from that moment on that my furtive shame is all part of the thrill of being secretly enslaved to her charms, demonstrating so vividly to my pride as it does just how defenceless I really am against her, how desperate I am for her, and how futile any thought of resistance is, all simply serving to underscore my reverence for her power and fuel my exasperating lust for her.
So, although that was the first time I was reduced to spilling my seed across the inside of a cubicle at work because of her, it certainly hasn’t been the last. In fact, I so crave that kick of indignity in my yearning veneration of her that it has become something of a ritual.
Even as I’m sat there at my desk and feel myself succumbing to those first scintillating flickers of arousal, I know my fate is sealed, aware that even from across the room her presence will soon drive me to distraction. I watch my inwardly flustered discomposure intensify and intensify until it is an uncontrollable inferno burning through my veins and I can no longer bear it and have to yield and make that surreptitious dash for the toilets.
And only once there, concealed away again in that little cubicle, raging stiffie in hand, is my torment quenched as I pleasure myself to the visions of Terri’s alluring magnetism to which my inner self has become addicted. That bright cheeky smile amongst her mates. That automatic dismissiveness of me and the routine coolness towards me that borders on rudeness. Her sensual vibrancy. That chest! Those lips! That arse! That glorious arse I dream of getting my hard cock in, hearing her moan because of me, and feeling her tremble in my hands.
But alas,
it’s all just delusional daydreaming. I’m but a poor miserable fool wallowing
in my own private perverted paradise. For all intents and purposes she has no
knowledge of me, invisible and desolate as I am in the shadow of her wake. I
have to endure this all the time at work. But somehow it’s always toughest on
Mondays. Hits me like a freight train. I can see it coming but I can’t get out
of the way. It’s hopeless. Utterly intolerable.
