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The hum of fluorescent lights and the distant chatter of coworkers can't distract him from his task. He's a master of his craft, and today, that craft is pleasuring himself. He spits into his palm, lathering his length, his grip tight and steady. His hips thrust forward, meeting his hand, his breath hitching as he nears the edge. He doesn't stop, not until he's painted his desk with his hot, creamy load, a satisfied groan echoing through the empty office.