In the stark, fluorescent-lit office, our insatiable wife finds her refuge in the quiet hum of the copy machine. Her fingers dance along her inner thighs, inching towards the damp warmth of her pussy. She's a vision of restraint, her pencil skirt hiking up as she leans against the machine, her fingers rubbing her clit through her lace panties. The room echoes with the rhythmic whir of the machine and her soft, stifled moans.