"A compromise solution."

“Okay, girls. I’ve been reading through all your complaints. I understand that the new office policy re. masturbation has been difficult for some of you to handle, and I believe I’ve come up with a compromise solution we can all work with.”

There’s a chorus of “Thank you, boss” from the girls in the open-plan office, who hang on your every word as you address them over the PA system. They’ve been forbidden masturbation for over a month now, and to say they were getting antsy would be an understatement.

“I’m afraid I still think it would be inappropriate to permit self-**** for the entire workforce,” you say, to barely-stifled groans. “And I can’t permit recreational use of the tentacle pit, either. Nor can I compel the incubi to have sex with you. They’re allowed to if they want to, but they’ve been choosing not to do it recently and that’s nobody’s business but their own.”

You hear a few boos, and take down a few names. “But I know you girls need to blow off some steam now and again, so I’ve instituted a lottery system. Please consult the vending machine in the corner… steady on, girls.” There’s already a queue about thirty secretaries long.

Janet shoves her way to the front and snatches the first ticket from the hand of an unsuspecting brunette. “It’s red,” she says, holding it up so everyone can see it. “Does that mean I can masturbate? Boss? What does a red ticket mean? I… eep!”

Mechanical arms have emerged from the vending machine. They grab Janet, hoist her into the air for everyone to see, flip her skirt up, yank down her lacy white panties, expose her peachy pink bottom, and give her twenty-five sharp blows from a paddle. Then they tie her floral dress in a bag over her head and put her back on the floor, leaving her to blunder around in front of the incubi with her panties around her knees.

“To prevent overuse, a failed draw will impose a forfeit,” you say, as another red ticket is delivered into the hands of the brunette. The mechanical arms whip her dress off, leaving her in her pink bra and panties. They pick her up, give her a solid five minutes of tickle ****, steal her bra, and set her back down to make her panty-clad way back to her desk. Florence, next in line, nervously eyes the whirring machine.

She hesitates, but she still really, really wants to masturbate. She steels herself, and punches the big red button on the machine’s face.

It beeps, and spits a golden ticket into her waiting hands.