In the sterile office bathroom, lights flicker, buzzing bright,
She locks the stall behind her, face flushed with lust's invite.
Break time's ticking quickly; she can't hold it anymore,
Her panties damp, her thighs on fire, she leans against the door.

Her skirt is hiked, her hand plunges down, past her dampened thong,
Her fingers find her throbbing clit, this really won't take long.
The hum of desks and ringing phones dissolves outside her head,
All that matters now is this: the ache that must be fed.

She rubs herself with frantic need, her breath a stifled moan,
Her middle finger circles fast; she's trembling to the bone.
Her hips begin to buck and grind against her hand's command,
Her body's slick: she bites her lip; she cannot fucking stand.

The pressure builds, she's trembling now; her legs are growing weak,
One hand is lost between her thighs, the other stifles shrieks.
She's close now, so close, her pulse is pounding in her ears,
And then it comes: a wave of heat that drowns her in its tears.

Her knees give out; she stifles cries; she shudders through the bliss,
Her fingers slow but don't let go, she rides it to the kiss.
And when it fades, she breathes again, composing as she must,
She smooths her skirt and wipes her hand to hide the sticky lust.

The toilet flushes, masking proof, and soon she's out the door,
Returning to her desk as if she didn't want for more.
But as she types and answers calls, her composure intact and bright,
Her climax echoes through her core, a warm and hidden light.