A Peculiar Day at Work

You liked to imagine you were more of a middling worker at the financial firm that employed you, but the truth was, you were the gopher, and your bosses favorite whipping boy, and you knew it. When you weren't making coffee runs, or taking minutes at meetings, you were handling the tedious and finicky work of moving important numbers from one data sheet to another. Processing reports. Printing said reports. Then filing those reports to a paper archive. You had wanted to work with a high adrenaline type-A investment firm, but as the more aggressive personalities bullied their way in, or got lucky with a few hedge fund internships, you seemed to lack the same drive, and landed a job with a financial firm that shouldered the grunt work of said investment firms you aspired too work in.... As well as managing the outsourced clerical work of some fast food franchise.

Truly riveting employment.

Youtube videos and Twitch got you through most of the days, but today, time passed quickly for a different reason. Socks. Those fucking socks. You hadn't thought about them much on your bus ride over to your employers high rise. They suddenly hopped to the forefront of your mind on the elevator ride to the middle floors your employer rented. But they practically harassed your mind as you settled in to work.

Those fine knitted stockings sliding up smooth porcelain legs. The band squeezing the thighs tightly to a perfect little bulge. The delicate point of the toe, as they wrapped around an arched foot. God. They were sexy, and you couldn't quite shake the thought from your mind.

"Riley!"

"Sir!" You jolted upright, as the fierce blue eyed gaze of your boss fell on you. "I'm waiting on the mid day assessments."

"Yeah. Sure. They're... ahhh. Here somewhere. Oh. There still in the printer tray."

You pass the files to the man, and watch him leave. He at least resembled the high stakes investor types you'd once aspired to be. A sharp jaw. An intense stare. A clean combed look that reminded you vaguely of Mad Men.

You shook the thoughts from your mind, unsure if it was admiration or something else. Despite yourself a shiver shot down your spine, and for the first time, it wasn't JUST the socks that preoccupied your mind, it was wearing them.

Your return home was hasty and disheveled. You want to see those cotton tubes. You want to touch them. Some allure had planted itself in your mind, a fetish had colored your thoughts, and the same feverish desire you once had when sneaking a Hustler magazine as a young teenager now drove you to those innocuous stockings. Maybe they weren't quite so innocuous as you'd first thought...