Hard At Work

If there are any stereotypes about the kind of people who work in a computer call center, then I fit the one of the lanky guy with glasses and unfashionably styled hair. If I flatter myself for being a reasonably handsome fellow, that opinion only comes from the self-confidence earned through maturity. It was not a view I particularly held at the time, which partly explains why I was still single when I could have and should have been doing rather better.

Naturally, I yearned for a mate, but in the absence of a willing girlfriend to expend my romantic energies on, I filled the void with issues of Penthouse and erotic novels. I was quite shameless in my daily masturbatory habits, but in the confines of my own bedroom, I tend to doubt that my activities were much different than those of any other men. This 'normalcy' would change and evolve over time, as my desire for sexual release led me to greater forms of experimentation and risk than simply jacking off in bed.

The actual job I held was not especially remarkable, and given the true nature of this story I will refrain from giving away too many details. Never especially on the cutting edge of technology, the tools of our trade consisted of a keyboard plugged in to an orange-on-black monochrome computer monitor, a keypad telephone and headset, and several sheaves of reference papers.

I had some very lovely co-workers to ogle, though opportunities for real interaction were pretty rare (not counting my own natural shyness). There wasn't a lot of sexy dress on display, but when you're a randy young man with a dirty mind, even a nice head of hair or a glimpse of nylon-clad calf can be enough to spark a fantasy. Standing up from my chair to stretch my limbs, I'd invariably take a few minutes to girl-watch, quite certain I wasn't making my lascivious attentions obvious. The turn over rate was such that there was almost always a new face (or at least the back of their head) to appreciate.

But that was only a brief and minor distraction, not enough to fuel my imagination during the course of an entire shift. Bringing something to read was a popular option, though not ideal, given the frequent interruptions that work demanded. More typically, I'd bring in some gaming and science magazines to flip through, as well as a sketchbook to help sharpen my modest artistic skills.

Between my libido, and this need to find things to do at my desk to help kill the hours, led eventually to my smuggling in pornographic magazines and books. As long as they were concealed by the covers of more innocuous publications, and largely shielded by the walls of my cubicle, I discovered it was a fairly easy thing to steal long lingering glances at these erotic images or read at my leisure the most provocative literature.

As you can imagine, it was impossible not to get aroused while doing this, and I frankly enjoyed this furtive self-inflicted teasing. It became something of a game, a test of my will to see how long I could go without having to press down into my lap, to tease myself even further with the pressure of my hand through my pants.

On this particular day, I brought a book called, 'A Man With A Maid'. I'd just bought it from the back room of a local used bookstore, which had become a favorite haunt in my break hour. As soon as I saw the name on the spine, I immediately took it from the shelf, eyes wide. If there was one fantasy that was sure to make me instantly hard, it was the prospect of a Victorian maid –a submissive house servant who is bound to please all her masters wishes.

I would soon learn that the story it contained was a bit different than I'd imagined –and, in fact, a great deal better. Having been spurned by his would-be fiancé, the author relates his capture of Alice inside his basement 'snuggery', within which he gradually strips the young woman of all modesty and dignity.

Perhaps all shy, retiring kind of guys have these secret fantasies of control, but whatever the case may be, this book captured my imagination immensely. I was far too impatient to wait until I got home to start reading, and once I'd started, found it nearly impossible to put down. Nearly every detail seemed calculated to have a strong erotic effect, and from the first moment that Alice was bound to her chains, my prick hardened to full erection.

I admit that I was nervous, because while I had done this sort of thing before, I'd never felt so compelled to keep on doing it. Whenever I wasn't typing on the keyboard, my hand was firmly pressed close to my crotch. I could feel the entire length of my cock straining at the cotton fabric of my underpants, and I kept up an unrelenting, rhythmic pressure with my palm.

There was some danger, obviously, but as long as no one was looking directly over my shoulder, I let myself believe it was safe. What might have seemed to be a bit of masculine scratching was really a subtle attempt to directly rub and stimulate my member through the crotch of my pants. It felt extremely good, and even when I as able to wisely put the book aside, it did little to stem the demand for attention from my prick.

By now I'd driven myself to such distraction it was becoming futile to keep on working. So, pulling off my headset, I made an ungainly beeline for the nearest bathroom. I doubt anyone took much notice of my plight, and hopefully assumed a very different reason for my rush to the toilet even if they did happen to spy my obvious bulge.

With the door locked behind me, I finally had enough privacy to give in to what my cock begged for -the contact of bare skin on skin. Undoing my trousers, I promptly reached under the waistband of my plain white briefs, which were clearly marked with a translucent circle of pre-cum.

Pulling my member free entirely, I sighed out loud at the welcome sensation of my hand closing over my too-eager shaft. Applying a little more pressure, I coaxed yet another drop of crystal-clear fluid to emerge from the tip of my penis. Using only the pad of my index finger, l smeared it all around the surface of my glans in slow circles. I was so completely lost in the feelings generated by that wonderful friction on my most sensitive part that I'd nearly forgotten just where I was.

I glanced over at the toilet, thinking how easy it would be to lean over and stroke myself hard and fast, pumping my semen into the waiting pool of water within. It was a temptation I allowed myself to consider for only a moment before regaining my self-control. To ejaculate now would end the game far too early, to deny myself the wonderful warm time of relaxation that comes after the orgasm, and make the rest of the shift only that much duller to get through.

All I needed to do was hang on a couple hours more. Swallowing dryly, I gave my exquisitely hard penis a last few strokes before reaching down to gently tug at my scrotum. My testes had drawn tight to my body, which was another sure sign of how tense and ready I was for climax, but I'd discovered that pulling them down helped ease that tension. As it was, there was no way I could comfortably return to my cubicle without some further adjustment.

Finding little other solution, I pulled the entire length of my cock through the front opening of my briefs. With the way it naturally curved a little to the left, it rested more comfortably against my body once I'd redressed, and I found I could easily reach in and touch it through the thin fabric inside my pants pocket.

Once back to my booth, I resumed my usual work rote, letting the strength of my erection naturally subside as my mind focused on other things. I didn't take long for me to catch up, though, and I once again started flipping through the pages of my newly acquired favorite-book-ever. As I took in the details of Alice's continued erotic torture, I could feel my cock assert itself again, sliding against my inner thigh as it rose. Looking around to make sure I wasn't being watched, I let my left hand drift to my lap.

With the easier access I'd created, I could touch the shape of my glans through the inside pocket, gently pressing and rubbing it with my fingers as I leaned back in my chair, legs still under my desk. With increasingly desperation, I wondered if I shouldn't tear a hole, to get that bare contact with my naked prick. I think only the interruptions of my job prevented me from taking things too far past the point of no return.

My head was pretty much swimming by this point, so I very deliberately put my book aside and concentrated on what I was being paid to do. For a change, the monotonous plod was actually rather welcome, saving me from my own lasciviousness, and I was rather surprised at how quickly the time went beyond that point. Perhaps 'quickly' isn't exactly the right term, since I never stopped yearning for the moment my shift would end and I could reap that reward I'd been teasing myself with for the entire second half of my shift.

When I logged off my terminal it was well past midnight, and I had a long walk ahead of me until I'd arrive home. Taking in the night air, I felt a surge of energy, renewed and refreshed despite the late hour. Freed from my tiny desk, I felt like I could do anything I wanted –but there was only one thing I really wanted to do, and for that, I'd have to head directly home.

Walking along, I realized that my prick still dangling partly out of my briefs. I had the strange luxury of being able to covertly stimulate myself without making the action obvious to the few people who where out on the sidewalks. There was a row of high end fashion stores that happened to be on my way, and every time I passed by there, I always took a long appreciative look at the mannequins in the window. Tonight was no different, and I paused a short while, putting my hand in my pocket as I imagined caressing the smooth plastic thighs of those artificial beauties under their skirts and dresses. I wondered at the practicality of turning one of those things into a personal sex toy; if they were cheap enough to buy, and if it wasn't too perverse a thing to do to fashion some kind of opening between their legs.

These kinds of distractions only served to titillate and delay me, so I hurried on, letting my cock mercifully soften as I got closer to home. By the time I arrived, it was late enough that the people I was renting my room from were asleep. I entered the house with deliberate silence, leaving my shoes at the doorway before padding upstairs to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

Turning on the light, I immediately dropped my briefcase and threw myself on the bed, exhausted but still strangely energetic. Unbuttoning my pants, I quickly shuffled them down off my legs along with my briefs, not bothering to remove my shirt as I cupped my bare genitals in my hands. My balls fairly ached from the long repetition of arousal and denial -a problem that would soon be solved.

I reached over and opened up the briefcase to retrieve my new book, finding the place where I'd let off. The author had an amazing yet maddening way of stretching out the action, lingering in such a way that simply taking off Alice's clothing occupied close to three chapters. I was no longer in a state to be teased, so I scanned ahead to find the real meat of the action, where the tied up young woman would be made to experience more than just feathers and spanking.

My cock swiftly responded to the pressure of my hand and the fantasy of the book. Clasping it firmly by the base, I let it stiffen of its own accord. I stared down my chest as my glans rose to point nearly directly at my face. Putting the novel momentarily aside, I spent a few minutes just watching as I slowly stroked the taught skin of my prick; infinitely glad to be able to enjoy this post-work stress reliever.

Resuming 'A Man With A Maid', I found the bit where Alice was being sucked and licked over her virgin cunt, experiencing the crest of sexual arousal for the first time in her life. Those poor, sexually repressed Victorians; to think that what I was doing right now would be considered unhealthy 'self-pollution!'

Stroking my cock with greater abandon, I milked a drop of pre-cum and used it to lubricate my glans with my thumb. Awkwardly holding the book in my free hand, I rolled onto my side, absorbed in the details of Alice's submission to the author's tongue. Hardly aware of my actions, I rocked my hips back and forth, fucking my fist as I squeezed. My toes curled, and my muscles began to stiffen all through my legs.

I knew myself well enough to know what was about to happen, and despite the fact that my towel was completely out of arms reach, there was nothing I could do to stop it –hell, I didn't want to stop it. Rolling onto my back again, I tossed the book away from me as my hips slightly arched off the bed. Everything became very hot and very tense, and as my hand squeezed and stroked, I finally felt the dam burst. I held the base of my cock hard as the first jets of semen shot forth, landing high on my shirt in thick warm spatters.

I don't think I breathed for the entire length of my orgasm, wonderfully frozen by the long delayed moment, not caring what a mess my pent up procreative fluid was creating. I could live with it; I could live with anything, to experience those waves of pure unmitigated pleasure.

When it was over, I lay there, completely and wonderfully spent. My hand lolled to the side, hanging off the bed. I closed my eyes and just lie there, letting my cock droop wetly on my lap. This was the reward for those hours of work, of teasing, and self-control.

All these years later, I doubt that that job still exists, having probably been shipped over to India. I wonder if some young man over in Bangalor right now is standing up from his cubicle, stretching his stiff limbs, and looking at the young women working all around him. He perhaps lets his mind wander to what they must look like naked under their colorful saris, and if he too feels the strains of an erection begin to grow beneath his loose fitting pants.