Lunchtime came, and so did I.
I was stowing my Glee lunchbox back into my rucksack. This usually takes a while due to the volume of books and stuff that I also have in my bag, but it always manages to fit somehow. Today, due to the simple expedience of me taking all the books out first, it fit in easily. Mulling over which bit of dross to start working on during what remained of my lunch break, my stomach gave me the usual early-warning twinge that I would need to use the toilet soon. Rather than starting on something new, I thought I may as well walk to the toilet then and there, in order to make the rest of my break... well... last without a break.
Upon entering the toilet (a clean one, one of the few things I like about this new building we're in), I noticed that one cubicle was being avoided by all and sundry. A quick check confirmed why; there was no light. Well, there was a light, but it was either broken or not turned on. Our company is moving HQ in a week and there's very little point in attempting to rectify that if it's only one cubicle. But I decided to chance it, so I headed into the dark, shut and locked the door behind me, and perched on the toilet seat.
It was like being in another place entirely. I'm not a fan of the dark, but in my little cubicle, my eyes adjusted quickly, and there was a shaft of light coming from beneath the door. I quickly became accustomed to this small space of my own - somewhere nobody else would want to be. I also was quick to ascertain that nobody realised this cubicle was occupied at all; I heard colleagues coming and going about their daily business, and even a client at one point, talking on his 'phone, although how he got into our toilets I'll never know. But nobody noticed me, not in my little sanctuary, safe as I was.
As I gradually came to this realisation of glorious isolation, my penis began to twinge with the need to come and play. I have been neglecting it, and despite the presence of a reminder of soft porn via print media yesterday, and the weekend I had a few days ago wherein my girlfriend's tongue served as a cleaning implement for my chest, I knew exactly what it wanted. It's been done before. And so, listening for footsteps as I went (out of habit, nobody would be able to get through a locked door), my hand closed around the shaft of my cock, feeling its size and weight in my palm, and letting it pulse against my skin for a while as my mind conjured up the usual brazen images - including a few new ones.
It took a while, but by the light of my digital watch, I kept track of time. As I took full advantage of my solitude, my mind playing along with the movements of my hand and the stiffness of my penis, I felt myself topping towards the edge. The moment came, and I refrained from letting it take me, holding out just that second more... before letting myself go, cum coating the back of my hand as I delicately balanced it, careful not to let any drip into my shoes or touch my shirt or jumper. The perfect, sweetest crime.
Grabbing some tissue and cleaning up my hand and the head of my shaft, I rearranged my clothing, flushed the toilet, and stood there in my sanctuary for one final moment, my heart beating a drum roll against my chest. My 'phone lit up, and a quick check confirmed that my girlfriend had recently had an orgasm too. Maybe we'd come at the same time. That would have been a feat. I grinned to myself.
I checked the time once again, ascertaining that I had just under half an hour left. I clicked open the lock, pushed open the door, and stepped out of my sanctuary, back into the blazing light of the corporate world.