a masturbator wrote:
Bathroom Break for Masturbation
I had to run to the office bathroom to get some desperately-needed penis time. For the past few weeks, my days have been a relentless, steady blur of collecting and hoarding porn at work—like a magpie, but for smut. Each morning I arrive at my desk, fire up my terminal, and within minutes I’m hunched forward, my eyes darting between my professional tabs and a seedy constellation of discord servers, ImageFap galleries, and the kinkier corners of Reddit. It’s never just five minutes here or there. I’ll sit for entire blocks of fifteen, twenty minutes—even longer if the office is quiet—scrolling, searching, and compulsively clicking “Save As” every time a photo or video triggers that flare of heat behind my eyes and under my waistband.
The digital folder on my desktop—hidden, but not as well as it should be—is a monument to the compulsiveness: hundreds of files, all the categories a pornhound could want. But it’s the act of collecting them, savoring them, anticipating the next break where I can actually use them, that makes me feel as if I’m a walking, leaking time bomb of arousal. I’m usually hard by mid-morning, shifting in my cubicle, my cock tenting my slacks, leaking pre-cum into my boxers, until the urge becomes so overwhelming that I spend the last twenty minutes before my break time daydreaming about how explosively I’ll cum when I finally get some privacy.
And break time comes, as it always does: a lifeline. I don’t even waste seconds shutting down windows or logging out. I just stride out of my cubicle, down the side hallway to the single-occupancy bathroom—my favorite, because the walls are thick and the lock’s never broken. The moment I’m inside, I turn the lock, yank down my pants and boxers in a single practiced movement, and I’m already thumbing open the latest, filthiest video on my phone before my bare ass has even touched the seat.
Right now, my cock is so swollen and oversensitized it almost hurts. I lean back, angling the phone so the light shines directly onto the screen. The video is perfect: just a simple, brutal close-up of a black-gloved dom’s hand rhythmically pumping a submissive’s shaft, then slapping the head so hard the glans turns white. I shudder and my whole body tenses. Stroking myself, I match the pace of the video, squeezing and edging, letting the anticipation build and build. The walls feel close and safe, and I let out a guttural grunt, not caring if anyone outside hears.
It’s not even about the porn anymore, or the video, or even the thrill of jerking off at work. It’s about the heat, the pressure, and the way my cock looks and feels in my fist: thick, red, shiny with precum, bulging with veins, so fucking alive. Every stroke is a tiny, addictive explosion of pleasure. I’m sweating in my shirt, my tie dangling, my work badge slapping against my chest.
Penis looks very happy right now!
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