There's nothing quite like walking into the workplace with a wicked boner a-bouncin' and a-boingin' in your trousers. Grab coffee, turn on computer, pleasant smile, make light banter with boss, with co-workers, maybe with clients if you're lucky.
"How was your weekend? Really? Sounds fun. I did a lot of yardwork on Saturday, but on Sunday we went hiking near Boulder..."
All the while, your terrible secret is safely hidden behind your untucked shirt and your brain feels like a super-charged capacitor ready to pop, overloaded with images of incredibly naughty women of all types, performing all types of godless acts -- womens in sheets, womens on bikes, womens in the back seats of abandoned cars, five womens, six, maybe more; womens on top, on bottom. Womens! Womens! Womens!
"Yeah, the weather was great, although it did sprinkle a bit during the afternoon. Not that we minded, it was so warm."
Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!
"Did I what? No, I haven't gotten to that yet. It's my first priority this morning. I'll be wrapping up that project today."
Little fucker's trying to chew through the zipper! Down, dammit! Down! Jesus, that feels good... Tight as a fucking drum, they don't call it wood for nothing.
Meanwhile, coworkers and colleagues go about their business as if they don't have maddening erections. They take no notice of the massive, pulsating, vibrant, jaw-dropping member (if it had a voice, it would SCREAM!) barely concealed in your pants (are those jeans stretched to their limits?) But in truth, it's more likely they suffer from a similar shameful affliction 'cause they're all a bunch of freaks around here, anyway -- only they have smaller dicks.
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