Female perspective · solo play

Wanking Away the Lunchtime Banality

Some days, an unforeseen wave of lust just…hits me. It’s then I just know I’ve got to give into the temptation of a good, solid wank.

Slap bang in the middle of the work day.

Whenever the fuck that is.

And I don’t even try to resist.

In those fleeting moments of horniness, I’m glad to be home-based, away from the prying eyes of others. Of course, I wouldn’t choose to get myself off before a live audience, in an office space or otherwise, but being stuck in a place like that all day every day would significantly hinder the opportunity to orgasm in peace.

Ideally, I’d prefer to work on some titillating project that requires a certain amount of brainpower. If anything, I thrive on being organised and focused, so it’s really nice to get stuck into an assignment where everything is crystal clear. But, as it happens, things don’t always flow so swimmingly. Most of the time, it’s boring as fuck.

All I want to do is distract myself, lose myself momentarily in the pleasure of an intense clit-fiddle. Then I’ll go back and give those mundane tasks another go. And I’ll be even more effective as a result.

It’s really all about the physical stimulation, you know?

That shit can be addictive.

Those menial, minute tasks play on my mind like clockwork. Things just seem to go that way when it’s all quiet on the western front. And these hands, they’re all worn down from endless typing, clicking, formatting, you name it. Admin is such a brain drain and that level of banality requires something totally different to break it.

I know it all too well. A wank fits the bill perfectly.

The inner voice of temptation I know all too well whispers to me. It reaches out and curling around my earlobes like thin wisps of smoke.

Go on, you know you’ll feel better if you do, it persuades me.

These words echo around and around in their invisible, determined circles, incessant and cajoling in their persistence. And in an instant, my hands spring back to life. The blood pumps through them as they twitch with a renewed sense of anticipation. It’s like there’s a direct line running from my brain telling them to snap into action again, no holds barred. I flex my fingers and they give a small crack when I extend them outwards. As I reach down to unbutton the slightly-too-tight shorts I’m wearing, I let out a small sigh of relief. It’s at least thirty degrees inside this place and the humidity is ridiculously high. Drips of sweat creep along the small of my back. In reality, I’m dying for a drink of water but instead, the desire to get myself off completely takes me over and I forget, for a split second, that I actually should stay hydrated.

Casually, I brush the tips of my fingers over the zipper and inch it down to reveal the Brazilian-style knickers I’ve been hiding beneath; they’re so figure-hugging. Yet the way the soft material digs into my buttocks doesn’t cause me even the slightest amount of pain, not like some styles. The elasticated rim does leave behind marks, but it’s oddly satisfying and plays right into some utterly warped sense of personal comfort.

I slip the soft, stretchy cotton over my sticky, sweat-drenched thighs, and a mild yet wet friction arises from the crux of where underwear caresses skin. A damp patch of excitement lingers in the pit of those cotton huggers, and as I remove them, a line of juicy, translucent liquid runs between my pussy and the fibres of the knickers. Clit throbbing, I bite my lip as I slide a finger inside that waiting, dripping orifice.

This is only a short lunch break. Not that I’m counting down the seconds until the non-existent buzzer sounds, but really, there’s no time to spend on incessant fingering when the vibrator is sitting so prettily over on the side table. Its curves lure me in, just wanting to be caressed and used like it was meant to.

So I want to make absolutely sure I use it to the very best of its ability.

 

 

 

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