Diary Entry: Evening. Behind my Desk, Alejandro and Sons Computers.


There was only one way to end a boring day at work – jerk yourself and curse the job after you are through.





Diary Entry:


Behind my Desk, Alejandro and Sons Computers.


Every order I get from my boss starts: “Mallory, I need….” Whether the request that follows is a report of third-quarter earnings from the year 2003 or a skinny chai latte with extra whipped cream, an email or text message; it always starts the same. It is infuriating. It also doesn’t help that it is 6:30 on a Friday night and I am in the office working on something my boss springs on me at the last minute.

I try not to dwell on frustration. Instead, I just put my headphones on and queue up a podcast while I work. Thankfully, my cubicle is in the far corner of the office, near the bathrooms and the area is pretty low traffic. I try not to think about my ruined plans for the night, instead I just make my way through my report and try to keep an eye out for mistakes.

“I would hate to be here another hour proofreading this shit.” I sometimes curse under my breath.

Eventually the podcast ends and the app I am using shuffles another one from the library. It goes a few seconds before I realize what I am listening to. Now before you judge me for what I keep on my phone, keep in mind that I downloaded it out of curiosity. Ok, so maybe I thought it might also be hot, but I definitely didn’t expect it to come on at work.

I guess I should explain what the hell I am talking about, right? Well, it is a masturbation podcast. There is usually this guy with a deep voice that persuades you to drop your pants, to give in to the urge, to just stroke yourself wherever you are. At first it is a little weird, like you are listening to some bizarre cult leader. But after a while, it is kind of hypnotic and if you are anything like me, then having someone talking about your dick is like a shortcut to instant erection.

Moments passed and I begin to think about how to get away with what I am doing. Calculating, I know that it is pretty late; everyone has already gone home aside from the few suckers in my situation and possibly my boss. The cleaning crew doesn’t show up for another twenty to thirty minutes. And my cubicle gives me a semi-private area. Despite these, the risk of it sets my heart racing and even though the guy on the podcast is telling me how much I want to stroke it (and I hardly need him to state that very obvious fact) I am not sure that it is possible. That is until I have the genius idea to set up a security system.

The company computers come with webcams for the plethora of useless web-conferences our company conducts, so it doesn’t take much work to swivel the camera around and place it at the far end of my desk, turn it on, and put the feed up on my computer so that if someone starts approaching from behind me, I can easily and quickly go into hands-off mode. Even just setting up the webcam gives me an insane hard-on.

“Am I really going to go through with this insanity?” I muttered to myself.

I take the first step pretty innocently and shift my boner around through the outside of my gray dress pants. Once I have moved it to the side, it cuts across my thigh looking rigid and obscene.

“Just touch it!” The podcast says. “Marvel in it. How hard it is. How firm! Maybe even a little wet by now. It is yours and you deserve to please it.”

I catch myself breathing a bit hard and make myself chill out. But I am hard, way hard, and I can definitely feel a bit of moisture seeping from the head of my cock into my underwear. I rub my thumb across the head and then glance up guiltily at my computer screen. The hallway behind me is still empty.

I pull my chair all the way up to my desk so that my lower half is completely beneath it. Only then do I get a little bolder with my rubbing. It feels really fucking good. My nipples are hard. My close-fitting dress shirt has just a hint of spandex so that it clings extra tightly.

“Get your hand around it. Worship it!” The podcast tells me.

It is already getting sticky in my underwear; my cockhead is drooling liberally as it waits for me to go full tilt. I unzip my pants delicately, staring at the webcam feed as I do and checking that nobody is crossing in front of me on their way to the bathroom. I do everything with my right hand as I type gibberish on my keyboard with my left. I know this has to be quick, I don’t have much of a choice.

My heart is like a turbine in my chest, I can hear it in my ears. I pull my cock through the fly of my pants and breathe a sigh of relief and anticipation. I know my face is probably red as fuck, but I can’t stop now. I give it a few tugs, rub the precum into the tip and check the webcam again.

“Give in. Jerk your dick. Do it!”

I do. I jerk my cock as if I am not at work, sitting in my cubicle, pretending to type. I pound my dick knowing that in a moment I will have to scrub the cum stain out of the dark carpet.

“Maybe,” I think, “I will wipe my hand clean on my boss’ report.” But all that comes later.

Right now, I am cumming, shooting all over the inside of my desk. Each shot lands audibly on the metal and my stomach tightens with the force of it. I stuff my dick, still wet, still hard, still oozing into my pants and let the rest of the jazz drain into my underwear.

I sit there for a few minutes breathing heavily before I turn off the camera, wipe my hand on my stack of printer paper and start to clean up.

“Fuck this job.”

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