Overwork - overload

Bambi sighed in the dim office light. The clock had stopped somewhere after lunch, and every sheet on her desk suddenly looked the same. She leaned back, legs parting under the cheap laminate, and reached into the lowest drawer. Her fingers closed around cool silicone—the toy she kept for days exactly like this. She set it upright on the chair, hiked her skirt, and eased down. The stretch made her bite her lip. Inch by inch she took it, eyes half-closed, breath catching each time the curve inside her pressed just right. Slow at first, then faster, the plastic wheels of her chair squeaking against the tile. Her free hand slid under her blouse, pinching a nipple through lace until it stung. Light from the monitor washed over pale skin and the flash of gold between her thighs. She rocked harder, chasing the bright edge, thighs trembling, until the wave hit sharp and sudden and she had to bite the heel of her hand to stay quiet. Spent, she stayed there a moment longer, letting the toy hold her open while her heartbeat settled back into something ordinary.