Knock Me into Next Year

Denise Roman hadn't fallen asleep at her desk since high school. Back then, getting up for 7:00AM and working eight-hour shifts every weekend day felt like an intense schedule. Even in her spirited youth, she sometimes could not resist the sandman, even when putting her head on that cozy, long-lasting melamine-sealed particle board.

Of course, maybe the class was just that boring. How these teachers could make math sound so uninteresting, they must have possessed a real talent. Denise loved math, mostly because she had a knack for it. This is what lead her to a career as a financial examiner for a reasonably large financial corporation.

Denise's schedule over the last year was much tougher than the last time she'd slumped over exhausted at her desk, and there was no school bell to awaken her this time. Everyone at her company was working like crazy to meet a certain goal for the year. Unlike more sensible institutions that ended the financial year in March, her company went by the calendar: January 1 to December 31.

This is why Denise had gotten in early, about six in the morning, to try to reach her personal goal before year's end. She hadn't procrastinated; the team could barely keep on top of it. Denise worked from six to... she couldn't remember. She didn't even know what time it was now. She didn't even remember finishing or setting her head down.

Denise brought her head up from her desk, tucked so comfortably in her folded arms. Her bracelet had left a divot in her cheek. She shifted her glasses to rub her eyes. It sure was dark in the office now. All the office lights were off except the emergency lights, a little street light trickling in from the windows... and her monitor. Half her screen was her open email client, a blinding field of nearly completely white. The other half was her empty desktop and the colorful picture of distant space from the Hubble telescope that she had set as the wallpaper.

She threw her arms into the air, fingers interlocked, reaching out far above the prefabricated cubicle walls. She scratched the back of her head and looked around her desk. There was something new that wasn't normally there. It was a plastic disposable plate with a cube of chocolate cake on it, a plastic spork sitting beside it. A blue sticky note was next to that. The note read, "happy new year," with a tiny heart drawn next to it.

Denise chuckled. Did she have a secret admirer who couldn't restrain themselves for the six weeks to do it on the proper day? No, this was the handwriting of her assistant Julienne. Always one to catch things that she might have missed, or remember things that had slipped her mind, Julienne had apparently secured a slab of cake from the New Year's Eve celebration downstairs before it was all consumed. Julienne left it there for her to discover once she awoke. She'd even got her a corner piece with a complete strawberry standing up off it like one of the domes in St. Basil's Cathedral... because Julienne knew how much Denise loved strawberries.

Before she could pick up the spork and take a well-earned celebratory bite of cake... Denise thought to herself, "What time IS it?" Sleeping in the evening had left her completely disoriented. She looked at the little clock at the bottom-right of her work monitor.

The time was 10:27PM, on December 31.

To an outsider, this might not have sounded like a particularly scary time, but it sent a bolt of fear right through Denise's heart. Yes, she had done the work and qualified her and her team for the bonus... but there was one more thing she had to do before the year came to a close.

Denise looked under her desk. Her handsome leather work bag was there, undisturbed by Julienne or anyone else. From within, she retrieved her laptop. This wasn't one of the flat, featureless IBM Workpads that her office would issue. This was a hefty laptop with lots of pointless angles and red accents that made the lid look like the hood of a sports car. This was her personal laptop for private use.

She slid away the office computer's wireless keyboard and set her laptop in its place. As she turned on the laptop and waited for it to finish booting, the fan already whirring away, Denise got herself ready. She pulled the hair tie out from her blonde hair and loosened it around her shoulders. She dug in a hidden compartment in her bag and found her contacts. She put them in before adding some dark eye shadow and glue-on fake eyelashes.

The laptop was ready, and now so was Denise. She loaded up her broadcasting software, seeing the laptop camera's picture of herself looking back at her. It really was surprising how different those lashes made her look.

In the modern era of 'streaming,' some of the hosts made the resolution to stream every day. It was a good way to build an audience and to prove to someone that they were serious at turning this hobby into a side hustle. At the start of the year that was about to conclude, before this yearly bonus was hung over her head at her full-time job, Denise had decided to start a stream of her own. The service promised those who streamed every day their own bonus at the end of the year.

There was about ninety minutes left in the year. By her calculations, it took Denise about a half-hour to drive home, which would not leave her enough time to do the hour-long stream she had promised. And she certainly couldn't do it while driving.

Needless to say, the previous year didn't contain that much leisure time. She took her vacation time like normal, but never traveled far. She had to be able to loose up at least one hour a day to get back to her home and laptop and entertain her audience. She didn't work at the office on Christmas, but she DID stream for anyone else lonely on that day. And yet so close to the finish line, she'd almost blown it by working herself too hard at her other job.

There was still time, she thought. She just had to broadcast... from her office. She turned on her VPN and logged into the office Wifi. She might not normally expect the office's Wifi to support video streaming, based on how her 'virtual meetings' were filled with dropped calls and terrifying video glitches... but with nobody else using the network, it should work fine. (The same logic made her think that MAYBE she could actually get home in time for an hour stream if she sped, but the police would surely be out in legion waiting for drunk drivers tonight. She couldn't take the chance. She could stream inside from her car, but the Wifi coverage was too weak in the giant concrete parking garage.)

Denise looked again to the preview window on her laptop. The background was a sea of black. Nobody could tell where she really was. The monitor from her work computer was lighting her up nicely around her laptop screen... though it was accentuating the bags under her eyes. She pulled out a silver canister a little larger than lipstick and applied something under her eyes to help reduce this. The box it came in described its purpose as 'anti-aging,' which didn't make Denise feel great, using such a thing in her twenties.

Then again... the reason she had attempted this marathon in the first place was to make as much as she could in her youth... especially before her beauty faded beyond what the Internet appreciated.

Denise turned back to her laptop. The bags under her eyes were less noticeable. With the limited lighting, there might not be anything else she could do. But she couldn't waste any more time. The clock was ticking.

Before the countdown was finished, Denise noticed the webcam on her work computer was still sitting on top of her monitor, staring at her. Rather than clip the privacy shield down, she reached behind her computer and unplugged the USB connector from the back. This way, she could neither be seen NOR heard by the computer.

She checked her appearance again. This wasn't like her normal stream setup, but... it would have to do. She had to get this show on the road, or else this last year was all for naught.

The countdown continued on, reaching one minute. This allowed watchers to slowly populate the chat as they realized she was broadcasting. It felt longer than any other New Year's countdown Denise had ever faced, like a red light that stubbornly would not change.

The clock reached zero, and the stream began. Longtime viewers who were used to seeing Denise's bookshelves or her bed's headboard behind her were quick to comment on her new location.

"Hello, everyone." She gave a short wave. "Happy New Year's Eve. Does anyone say that? I feel like I can't say Happy New Year until it's actually the new year. But hey, we made it, right? Another year in the books. How many of you actually managed to complete your New Year's resolutions?"

Chat filled with a few stories of failed attempts at self-improvement. Those who made easily achievable goals, like taking a vacation at a particular destination, proudly declared so. Apparently, successfully navigating Expedia.com was cause for celebration. Denise read out a few familiar names and their own resolutions. One frequent watcher known for their groan-worthy puns said their resolution was 1920 by 1080, which seemed a little low in the modern era of 4K monitors. At least he was honest about his inadequacies.

"So yeah, if you can't tell..." Denise said. "I'm not at home right now. I got dragged away to this lame office New Year's party by someone."

Perhaps that was stretching the truth a bit. She could say she got 'dragged' to the office by her boss. Where was her boss right now, anyway? She couldn't really see her at the party with everyone else. Dancing, making small talk, eating snack food... that didn't sound like the untouchable Miss Florentine. She was probably at home having her own fun... or hard at work at her desk. Both were equally plausible.

"I found this quiet area where it was unlocked to set up my computer and start a stream..." She said, sliding her plastic plate into frame. "But not before I got myself a piece of cake." She cut a corner off the cake with the spork and brought it to her mouth, relishing the little mouthful a little more than she normally would. It was partially to make some alluring moans that her audience would appreciate... and partially because she was really hungry. She had slept right through dinner. Maybe she could fill up on leftover canapes or whatever else would still be available after midnight.

"I'm glad you all are here watching me tonight." She smiled. "I thought everyone else might have something to do, but that's what I thought on Christmas, and that was actually quite a show. I should have known. Everyone has it off work... except me, of course. But streaming barely feels like work. It's a lot of fun. Thanks for being with me the last year!"

A chat message came through: "I can barely see you."

Denise looked down. She was wearing a black button-up shirt, black skirt... even her shoes were black, not that they were in frame right now. The walls behind her weren't black, but they almost might as well have been with how dim the lighting was.

She looked back at her screen. "Someone is saying they can't really see me." She said. "I see what you mean. I'm afraid I don't know where the lights are in this room, and even if I did, I don't want to have anyone walking in on me, wondering why the light is on at ten-thirty. Maybe I didn't ask permission to sneak around like this..."

A shy smile changed to a mischievous grin as chat made an obvious suggestion: if they couldn't see her in her dark clothes... then she should take them off.

Denise's left hand moved up to her collarbone and undid the first button, revealing a little triangle of flesh. She undid the next two buttons, leaving only the last two near her navel. The harsh front-facing lighting that made the bags under her eyes so pronounced that she looked like a raccoon... it emphasized her cleavage beautifully.

"Can you see me better now?" Denise half-whispered. Her left hand went to her breast and pulled it out of her shirt. She giggled a bit. She'd done similar shows every day for an entire year... but always in the privacy of her apartment. Doing it in a new environment, a somewhat public place... it was much more exciting. She'd never had her heart start thumping from just taking her breast out before.

This was indeed Denise's "private" laptop.

"Someone in chat is noting my lack of a bra today." She said. "Here's the truth. I usually just put one on for stream JUST to take them off for you fine folks. When I'm out in real life, I don't bother. That's why all my bras are lacy and sheer. Purely decorative... and all for you."

Denise plucked the intact strawberry off the top of her cake. She brought it to her mouth and licked the frosting off the wide end, gently teasing the little fruit as she stared at the audience. She flipped the strawberry around and rubbed the small end around her nipple before sucking on the strawberry. She was not nearly so endowed to bring her nipple into her mouth, so this would have to do.

"Mmmm..." She moaned. "I love strawberries... I wish I had a bowl of cream to go with it." She took the strawberry and wiped a little of the dark blue frosting from the top. "I guess this will have to do..." She licked the frosting from the strawberry. She went back for another dollop, bringing the frosting to her nipple. "Oh, gosh, I missed my mouth. I'm such a silly careless person..."

Denise leaned her chest in towards the camera. "Would you like a taste? Come on, give it a little lick. It's nice and sweet." Much as her audience might want to do just that, a few more seconds of teasing gave way to her wiping it off herself and licking her finger clean.

"Someone out there is saying they don't like frosting." Denise said. "I understand. I'm not much for cake, but if it's free, I'll have a slice. Now FONDANT is a different story. Let's make beautiful cakes that taste like edible Play-Doh." She took another sporkful of cake and ate it daintily. "I'll take plain old vanilla sheet cake over that any day. Even without frosting."

Denise took another bite, letting out a long hum as she drew the spork through her lips, spinning in her chair. She turned back towards her laptop and read another question from chat. "Are my panties black tonight?" She looked down. "You know, I don't remember. I guess there's only one way to check..."

She stood up from the wheeled office chair she was sitting in. Reaching up her skirt, she pulled one side of the panties down, then the other side. She turned away from the camera, showing the panties slowly move down her legs and to the floor. She stepped out of them and held them with a pinched finger and thumb. The garment vanished into the background until she turned a bit to set it on her desk.

Turns out... they were black after all. Denise hadn't even coordinated that on purpose. It was just the pair she picked out of her panties drawer. But nobody was really looking at them anymore.

As Denise turned around, she held her skirt down with both hands, but something was pushing them up. Between Denise's leg and pulsing upwards, she had a large cock rising up and bunching her skirt up as it grew hard.

"Oh! Oh, no!" Denise moaned. "Once I took my panties off, I just couldn't hold back anymore. Oh, this is so embarrassing."

After weakly 'fighting' her erection with her skirt, she eventually released it, her cock bouncing off her stomach and standing at its impressive full length.

"Oh, jeez... I hope nobody comes in here right now... how would I explain this? I wasn't even looking at naughty pictures like I constantly do." Denise looked around the darkened room. She was hamming up the likelihood of being interrupted a bit. There probably wasn't anyone else on this entire floor.

Denise shrugged. "Well, my skirt certainly isn't hiding anything right now, so what's the point?" She unzipped the side of her skirt and slipped it off her legs. She set her skirt down on the cushion of the office chair and sat on it.

"I guess we know that THIS is why you all tuned in for." Denise said. "You wanted to watch THESE balls drop, huh?" She pawed her balls with one hand. "Well, it's not quite midnight yet, but here's a nice big tower for everyone to look up at." Denise spread her legs apart and put up her feet each side of her corner desk, hooking the shank of her high-heeled shoes onto the edge of the desk.

"Ooh, I like this corner desk." She cooed. "I feel like I'm in stirrups. I can just put my feet up and relax with my huge boner standing out like this. This is nice. I should get a desk like this at home."

A few chatters were excited that Denise had finally graced the stream with a pair of lovely high heels. Here we go, Denise thought. There was a small subset of her viewers who were obsessed with her feet. Well, probably not just HER feet. She didn't see what the big deal was. Almost everyone had feet. Not everyone had a nice fat cock. She knew which one really brought in the money.

"I've got some cream now for my strawberry?" She saw chat suggest. "That's not a bad idea, but... I've got nowhere to put it. I guess that's going to be a problem one way or another. Let me check this person's desk and see if they have anything I can use."

Denise looked through the desk as if she didn't know what was in every drawer. She had no vessels or anything that could realistically hold any quantity of freshly made 'cream.'

"Nope, nothing here. That does make me wonder... if I do make some cream, which I'm obviously going to... what do I do with it? There aren't even any tissues here... there's a waste basket down here..."

Denise took grip of herself with her left hand. "Oh, well. Maybe I'll find some before I get close. But I have to put on a show for everyone first, right?" She pulled on her cock a few times softly, rolling her hands into a few different position, rubbing her palm across her tip.

She couldn't help but giggle. Whipping her tit out at work already was pretty exciting. Whipping out her cock and tugging it was much more fun out here. Even with all the chatters talking about how hot she was and etc. etc., all their eyes became one as it went through the black lens of the webcam. The threat of getting caught was tiny, but much more than it was sitting in her own home. This should lead to an exciting finale for this year of on-camera masturbation.

Left to her own devices, this show would end up being very quick. Of course, she had never done it fast in the last year. Everyone wanted a long show... they didn't get bored of watching her masturbate for an hour or so. Sure, each session turned into a Q&A session where she'd answer whatever the chat was asking, even if that meant she'd answer the same questions almost every day. It would seem repetitive, maybe even boring...

But not compared to her day job. Nothing exciting ever happened in this office. Numbers were predictable little things, easy to control. THIS was definitely the most amazing thing to happen in this building all year, and that included the party. Nothing could surprise her while she sat at this desk.

Without warning, the lights came on.

Denise yelped, bucking back too far in her chair, her legs leaving the desk and tipping completely over, onto the floor and out of shot. All things considered, it was a pretty soft landing for her. But it was definitely not quiet.

"Is someone in here?" Asked the janitor who had just entered the room. He looked around in the general direction of the sound. He saw a cubicle bay that didn't seem to have a chair at it. It was the only one in his sight line with a chair missing, so it stood out. He slowly pushed his cart towards it, wondering what the commotion was all about.

When he got to the cubicle, the chair had tipped over onto its back, but nothing else looked amiss. He wasn't sure why the computer was still on, but that was above his pay grade. God forbid he turned off an important backup server or something. He picked the chair up from the floor with both arms and put it back where it belonged.