It’s the last weekend of the month, which normally means an Anonymous Sinful Sunday post. Unfortunately I fucked up this time, and only posted reminder tweets this morning; with only one submission sitting in my inbox, I’ve decided to postpone till next week. If you’d like to submit a photo for inclusion in that post, check out all the details here and drop me an email.
In lieu of an Anonymous post, I thought I’d share the following photo instead…
My job is project-based, and that means spikes of stress as deadlines approach. I’m hands-on in the way I work – I don’t expect to sit back and light a cigar while my team does all the heavy lifting. I’ll roll my sleeves up, put in the hours, and sleep soundly afterwards in the knowledge that I’m not enjoying the credit for someone else’s hard graft.
I’m not one to crack the whip, and I believe the carrot always works better than the stick. It’s better to be collaborative than dictatorial; to encourage rather than demand. It’s how I get results professionally, and while I view it as a conscious choice, I also don’t think it’s something about myself that I could easily change.
It’s different with sex. With sex I’m more flexible: I know that there are times when the stick works best. When the best way to encourage is to be demanding; dictatorial. When rolling up my sleeves means something very different…
There was a point last week, between conference calls, when I caught myself tapping my foot impatiently against the floor under my desk, and drumming my nails on the notepad I’d filled with crabby scrawl. I shifted on my chair and felt my cock stiffen in my suit trousers. More than anything at that point, I wanted to take it out on someone; to release all the irritation I felt at my client in one long, calming burst.
I didn’t want to shout, or scream, or throw things at my colleagues. No.
What I wanted was to unzip my trousers in a meeting room or toilet cubicle. To see the artificial light gleaming off my belt, and my cock twitching in the cool air. To wrap my hand around it and feel the hot skin under my palm. To run the fingers of my other hand through someone’s hair; to pull and twist, just – just – enough for it to hurt.
What I wanted was someone to kneel.