Hard Day

“I’ve had a hard day,” he says.

He shrugs off his coat as he come inside.
I’m on my knees in the hall, ready to oblige
knees spread wide, waiting for his attention.
Eager for him to fuck my face, relieve his tension.

At no point does he make eye contact.
Not as he opens the door, nor as he removes his coat,
nor even as he turns to face me, one hand on the fly of his jeans.
He unzips, with a sigh. As if this ritual –
this cocksucking – is as much of a chore.

He unzips first, as if he’s about to take a piss.
Thumbs his cock out from the opening at the front of his jeans,
His semi-hard cock appears, I take it in,
His is standing like he's at a urinal, and I begin.

“I’ve had a hard day.” he reiterates.

His cock twitches as I wrap my lips round it.
He takes a tiny step closer and leans further towards me,
Leaning in the way he’d lean towards a urinal after four or five pints maybe.
putting one of his hands on the wall behind me.

The ‘aaah’ of satisfaction when I suck him
down to the back of my throat,
is the same as the ‘aaah’
of that piss of the drunken Friday.
Not pleasure, but relief: he’s had a hard day.

I use my hands to open his jeans further,
yanking them down along with his underwear.
All the while his cock is in my mouth, growing harder.
until it fills my mouth and throat, stretching further.

“That’s it,” he tells me and “good girl.”

When I try to use my hands –
for grip around the base
or to form a cup at the head of his dick
to drool pools of spit into it.

he smacks my hand away.
Instead he grips my hair,
and yanks me forward onto him.
the signal is very clear.

He drags my lips down his shaft
until my nose and mouth are buried
in the post-workday scent of him.
of sweat and piss and all manly greed.

“Good girl,” he murmurs again, as I choke on his cock.
“Good girl,” again, as I gag and swallow him and cough.

His one hand on the wall behind me, for balance.
and one hand on the back of my head,
to get his dick as deep inside me as possible.
to fuck my mouth till I am red.

“I’ve had a fucking hard day.”

He's had a hard day, which is bad
he doesnt deserve it with due respect.
Every worry, every frustration,must be
sucked out of him in every aspect

The pointless one-hour meeting which didnt pay
The conference call which didn’t go his way.
The email from accounts querying his expenses and fine,
the stress of delivering a huge project on time
add to the fact that the coffee machine ran out of pods again.
and his colleagues are stupid and useless and lame.

“I’ve had a fucking hard day for no fucking reason.”

It is not my fault – none of it’s my fault.
But it’s all my job to fix.
To get the stress out of his system,
To soothe and satisfy him with every lick.

My job to be the one on whom he takes out
his sadness and rage and frustration.
The translator who turns it all into
" feel-good-on-his-cock." sensations.

“I’ve had a hard day,” he says." but now it feels better"

This is how I want to greet him.
not with hugs and kisses and sympathetic frowns.
not stroke on the shoulder and a soothing ‘poor thing.’
not with a cup of tea and slippers in the lounge.

I want to greet him open-mouthed and wet-eyed
and desperate to gulp down his dick.
I want to be the equipment on which he takes out his frustration.
The hole into which he squirts his spunk.

I want him to grip my hair, so tight it tingles,
Fuck my face so hard, it almost mingles.
I don't need love or kisses, just to be used,
To be his relief at the end, my purpose fused.

Fuck my face the way he hangs his coat on that hook
or winds up the cord on his headphones: functionally.
Knowing full well that everything has its purpose,
and my purpose is this basically.

To open my mouth wide and let him fuck my face ,
while my eyes water and I drool and choke and gag.
To look up at him as he stares into the middle distance,
then swallow every drop of his come as he grunts in satisfaction.

In the world of simple language, this I say,
Being used by him is what brings me joy, come what may.
To serve, to please, to be his relief,
This is how I want to greet him, my belief.

At the end of a really hard day.