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The office's hum has long faded, leaving only the ticking of the clock and the distant purr of the city. In the dim light, a man, his broad chest bare, leans back in his chair, his hand wrapped around his stiff, veined cock. He's alone, yet the risk of discovery adds a thrill. His strokes are slow, deliberate, his thumb tracing the sensitive ridge of his crown. He's close, his body tensing, his breath hitching. With a final, low grunt, he comes, his cock pulsing as it paints his hand and desk with his warm, white seed.