Corporate Frustration

Thomas thought he would have had it more together by now. For fuck's sake, he was a 35 year old man, accomplished in his field. He had even earned himself an office with a door last year, moving out of the depressing press of the cubicle rat-race outside. On paper, he was absolutely a success. Today, though, he was feeling much more like a teenager. Life had been hectic lately: several projects coming due, subordinates needing mediation, his brother staying over to visit, and his car breaking down, forcing him to use public transit until the repairs were complete. His stress was high. And more to the point, he hadn't jerked off in days. It hadn't occurred to him. He'd been too busy. Until now. This random Thursday mid-afternoon, when peak mid-day boredom should have been setting in. His body had relaxed into a familiar boredom as he clicked around the internet, grateful that the projects he had been managing had been sent off to the next team. Things were out of his hands, and he'd thought he'd had time to finally zone out. He'd almost succeeded, too, but his dick had different ideas. He almost didn't notice it. He was several random web-searches deep before he noticed that a warmth had been growing in his groin. He looked down, mildly surprised, to find a noticeable bulge in his crisp navy work slacks. As if in response to his surprised glance, his bulge twitched. The warm ache in his balls seemed to scream at him about the lack of attention his dick had received in the past few days.

Thomas glanced at his office door with its unfortunate window, the hall outside clearly visible and his team working just around the corner in open cubicles. His dick twitched and swelled more in defiance of his caution, pressing further down his thigh. He bit his lip and pressed his right hand into the growing bulge uncertainly. His desk would at least hide this much, but he absolutely couldn't take it further. Again, his dick didn't seem to care, pushing up into the warmth of his palm, his balls beginning to churn in pent up need.

No.

Absolutely not.

He wouldn't risk his job and the significant pay raise he had only just earned by giving in to his urges like a horny teenager. He could wait this out. He would wait this out. His dick would go back down. He would take the bus home. He would dodge his brother before he could harass him about dinner. He would make it to the one bathroom in his apartment. Then and only then would he indulge in the ache still steadily building in his balls.

He squeezed his cock once, regretfully, through his pants. The throbbing picked up, as if his dick sensed his intent to make it wait. His face felt hot, but he was determined. He was a grown man. He could wait. He would not whip his dick out at work.

He put his hand back on the mouse and tried to resume his aimless browsing. He felt like he was working harder now to appear busy (and not achingly hard) than he had been working on his actual job in the past few weeks. His eyes kept slipping off the screen and towards his bulge. Then to the window on his door. His dick. His door. His dick. His door. He ached. His dick twitched, a generous and warm spurt of precum dribbling from his tip and into his boxers, making them damp. It made everything better. It made everything worse.

His mouse became aimless on his screen, clicking on nothing. His left hand clenched on his thigh, gripping the fabric of his navy pants. He breathed and unclenched his hand. He could wait. He would wait. His dick would wait.

His right leg began to bounce as if of its own accord, rubbing his slacks tightly across his rebellious dick in swift, soft motions that only served to titillate. The sensitive head of his dick pressed up into the rustling fabric. His knee bounced, and he could not bring himself to stop it. It was all he could do to stop his hips from pressing forward into nothing or his hands from flying to his crotch and pressing and kneading into his swollen erection. His dick leaked more as his knee bounced, the cloying moisture and heat in his pants vying for his attention against the heat in his own face.

His knee knocked his desk - a thud that seemed to echo in the silent confines of his office.

He froze, his eyes locked on his door.

An organizer full of pens, precariously placed on the edge opposite him, almost fell.

Almost.

It would have been so loud if he had let it fall. The pens and plastic holder clattering to the floor would surely be heard by someone in the cubicles outside.

Without thought, he stood and grabbed for the traitorous pens. They settled safely in his hand. He was safe.

But he wasn't. In his haste to grab his office supplies, his twitching and leaking bulge had been pressed against his desk. It felt good. It felt so good. A surprised grunt escaped him, and he couldn't force his hips away. His dick had seemed to take this as an admission of defeat on his part; this accidental bit of stimulation was all it needed to short circuit all the common sense he had fought so valiantly for.

Cautiously, he pulled back just far enough to press back again. It was good. It was so good. It could be better. He pressed again, his breath coming faster as he guiltily looked at the window in his office door. He should stop. He needed to stop. But his dick needed him to keep going. He pressed once more, the ache that had been building for days only increasing. He felt his balls pulse with need, stronger than before. His shaking hand let go of his pen holder and reached nervously for his crotch. He could stop now, before he put his hand to his dick. Before he enabled this at all.

His right hand reached down, cupping his dick through his pants."Nnh," he couldn't stop the soft and breathy moan that escaped him as he flipped his dick up, into a more comfortable position. His hips were already pushing forward, into his hand. Into his desk. Fuck, into the air. Anything. Anything at all.

His hands planted on his desk, his head bowed and he pressed his repositioned dick back into his desk. The wood was firm and cool and when he got his overheated dick pressed just right into that unyielding surface, it both soothed an inflamed that days-old ache. His clothed and twitching dick rubbed over the flat surface; his overfull and aching balls pressed against the pressing edge. It was good.

His self control broken, he tried to rationalize his behavior to himself. If he left his dick in his pants, he couldn't be accused of jerking off at work, right? No. He was just standing behind his desk. That's all. If someone came near he would just sit down. Easy. Simple. He wasn't jerking off. Not really. His hands weren't even touching his dick.

His pressing got harder, and his breathing got deeper. He could feel the sweat building on his temples. At this point he just needed to cum and be done with it. Once his dick had gotten what it wanted, he could go back to his normal life. His hips thrust into the desk, the cool and hard wood providing the friction and pressure that he refused to allow his hand to give. His dick was dribbling more precum into his pants, the fabric of his boxers going from "damp" to "soaked" as he feverishly sought his release.

"Fuck. Fuck," he muttered, grinding his hips hard into the desk, his fingers trying to find purchase on his the wood of his desk. His cum was right there. His balls were swollen and full of it. It was leaking up and out of his fevered shaft. He was harder now than he had ever been, but he couldn't cum. His dick was seeking revenge, his fevered mind thought as his hips kept pressing and grinding into the cool wood of his desk. He had tried to deny it, and now it would deny him.

His palms grew sweaty and began to slip along the smooth wood of his desk. His computer monitor wobbled perilously. He momentarily slowed, but not for long. He couldn't slow down, but his orgasm wasn't coming any faster.

"Nng. Ah, fuck. Come on," He muttered, his left hand moving up to the opposite edge of his desk for leverage.

His legs felt shaky and his grinding against his desk became a desperate series of thrusts and presses. He was leaning as fully as he could across the desk, angling as much of his strength and weight into his thrusts as he could. He glanced down at the tip of his bulge, pressing obscenely against the wood of his desk. The tip of his bulge was soaked, his boiling precum having long since soaked through his underwear and making a mess of his slacks. He pressed again, his bulge moving across the desk and smearing a moist trail across the wood.

"Come on, come on, come on," He was almost whimpering, his head bowed in his exertion. When he could bring himself to remember, he would glance to the window in his office door. He never saw anyone, but he was barely even looking anymore. Did he hear footsteps? Was that just his heartbeat? He didn't know. Fuck, he didn't care. He was all out fucking his desk in his office, absolutely ruined in his need to cum.

"Come on, fuck, please," he begged his own cock, the pleasure and pain of days of pent up cum driving him to delirium.

"Ah. Ah fuck. Nnng fuck. Fuckfuckfuck nnnhhhh!"

His hips drove down once, twice, thrice more into the wood of his desk when finally, finally...

SPURT SPURT SPURT. His hips kept pressing, his cum surging up through his raw and angry dick, through his already soaked boxers. It gushed and bubbled through the wet tip of his bulge, leaving a slimy trail on his desk as his thrusting and pressing continued. Spurt Spurt Spurt. It felt like it would never end. His breath stuttered with relief and his hips finally began to slow. Spurt. Spurt. He pressed once more, holding the pressure as his dick continued to buck and twitch. His balls were out of cum for now, but they were not done trying. He could feel his balls clenching in their last attempt to empty themselves. His head bowed and his mouth hung open, panting through the final throes of the strongest, hardest earned orgasm of his life.

He didn't know how long he stood there, bent over the desk he had just fucked. The air was thick with the smell of his sweat and his cum. His shirt was soaked with his sweat and his pants were ruined with his cooling cum. His pens had fallen off his desk in his delirium, as had several stacks of papers. He couldn't bring himself to care. He collapsed into his chair, his soaking erection still noticeable, but deflating in surrender for now. He glanced at the clock. It was 3:56. About an hour left until he was meant to leave. He was sure his team was still outside in their cubicles, and he would have to walk past them to get home. Not to mention the bus ride home.