The hum of the office fades as Mishulici retreats to his private workspace, the scent of paper and ink replaced by the musky aroma of his own desire. His pants pool around his ankles, his cock already hard, throbbing with anticipation. He spits into his palm, lubricating his shaft as he begins to stroke, the sound of his hand meeting flesh echoing in the empty room. His breath hitches as he comes, his body tensing as he paints the desk with his seed. But the relief is temporary. He turns, facing the wall, and lets go, his piss soaking the wall, the floor, a testament to his taboo pleasure.