Stroke of Genius: The Loneliest Desk Job

Daniel Clause's desk becomes his altar, the cold metal surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. He leans back, unbuttoning his slacks, his cock springing free, eager for his touch. The clinical white walls of the office close in, but he's lost in his own world, his hand moving in a steady rhythm, his grip firm. He pictures the forbidden, the unspoken, the lust that simmers beneath the surface of professional decorum. His office, his domain, his temple of self-pleasure.

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