The secret rhythm of the cubicle

Unbuttoning his shirt, he leans back, the cool leather of the office chair pressing against his bare back. His hand, rough from years of manual labor, wraps around his stiff cock, pumping slowly, building a rhythm. The office, once a place of mundane tasks, now pulses with his heartbeat, the fluorescent lights flickering in time with his thrusts. He's just a man, alone in the office, fucking his hand, chasing his release.

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