The hum of the office fridge is the only soundtrack to his secret indulgence. His tie, once neatly knotted, now hangs loose around his neck, a casualty of his escalating desire. His hand, usually holding a pen, now grips his shaft with familiar expertise, bringing him closer to release with each firm stroke. The dim glow of the city lights through the window casts long shadows, accentuating the rise and fall of his chest as he nears his solitary climax.