Monday dailies

(Omich)

I’m secretly infatuated with my boss.

During Monday dailies,

I tuck my dick in the upward position and sink into a chair.

I look and listen, scratching the paper.

Those lips move, lush and glossy,

Pinkish petals of a corporate rose.

Chest rises slowly with each breath.

Nostrils flare as words slip frоm that juicy mouth.

Hips sway subtly, fingers braced against the desk: I"m the boss!

Those eyes pierce through you;

Parental care laced with wild, untamed fire;

They know everything.

I’m the most attentive attendee in the room,

With an eye for details and the hardest hard-on

On this side of the planet.

I shield my groin with a sales report.

On Monday dailies, sales never go up, unlike me.

I always do.

I never speak, just listen and stare.

When the meeting ends,

I mumble apologies like everyone else and slip into the restroom.

I lock myself in the last stall, squeeze my dick, and start jerking off.

Sniffing office piss, but imagining a neck’s velvet curve, scented and warm.

Pressing the canister, but gripping curved hips in my mind.

Thrusting against the lid, but tearing silk panties to shreds in my fantasy.

I leave the restroom and head down the hall

Where last instructions are being given.

I brush past, grazing those hips,

And order coffee at the vending machine.

When it’s ready, my boss steps close,

A faint perfume lingering.

He thanks me for always being punctual.

We shake hands and return to our cubicles.

Anyway, how do your Monday dailies go?

Copyright © Omich, 10.09.25