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In the dead of the day, our horny office drone finds solace in the cold, tiled confines of the public bathroom. His fingers dance over his zipper, freeing his throbbing member. He leans back, eyes closed, losing himself in the rhythm of his strokes, the sound of the hand dryer his only soundtrack. Just as he's on the cusp, the door creaks open, a shadow falling over his illicit act. He freezes, heart pounding, a split-second from being caught with his pants down.