I'm a 49-year-old man who works from home while my wife is out at her job all day.  I try to keep a professional attitude in order to be productive.  That usually includes being responsible enough to get fully dressed.  But sometimes I don't bother with such formality.  I'll march into my office and sit at my desk wearing a t-shirt, briefs and socks.  I make the excuse that work might go better if I'm comfortable.  Underwear is enough to regulate body temperature.  But when the work pace slows, I start thinking about how long it's been since my wife was last in the mood.  I picture her and some of our good times together in the bedroom.  Without noticing it, I absentmindedly reach down to give my briefs a rub and a tug.  Then I look down and notice the growing bulge.  That reminds me further of how horny I've gotten while waiting for an opportunity with my Mrs.  How long has it been now?  Wow, no wonder my balls are feeling so full.  Oh no, I'm starting to pitch a tent.  Hey dick, don't stiffen up while I'm working.  Maybe if I rub this thing it will go down and stop bothering me.  Oh man, I bet I look ridiculous sitting here with my penis at full mast in my tighty whities.  It doesn't help that my t-shirt and crew socks are the same bright white color.  And now I'm touching myself like some nerdy, dorky masturbator who's been denied by his woman.  I didn't realize just what a frustrated husband I am.  I maneuver my penis and testicles out through the fly of my briefs.  My rod points up waving in the air, taunting me and daring me to grip it with my bare hand.  Okay, I'll make a deal with my my manhood.  I'll stroke it for a while and then get back to work.  But there shall be no emission of semen.  I promise to save ejaculation until coupling with my lady.  In fact, edging is a way to honor her presence in my wife as the best thing that ever happened to me.  However, I doubt she would approve if she came home early and found me here with my pecker poking through my fly.  wasting time when I'm supposed to be earning a living.  The urge to masturbate suddenly draws my attention back to the erection visibly protruding from my briefs .  I yield to its demands as my hand goes into motion.  Soon, the world of work and responsibilty fade out.  I'm aware of nothing except my hard member, my own hand and the contac being created between them.  The swimmers in my tanks would like nothing more than to escape.  Since my balls are out of the fly as well, the material acts as a snug ring around the base.  The desire for release begins to challenge my will power.  It can throb and tingle all it wants.  My balls can tighten and ache.  I'm the boss in charge of my horniness.  Nobody can talk me into ejaculating.  My hand continues to piston up and down.  My job is to keep the pump primed without spilling.  I suddenly prank my own dick by removing my hand.  The poor thing was getting so close.  I must not feel sorry for myself.  I deserve the consequnces of my actions.  I shove everything back inside my briefs.  The tasks on my desk are getting behind.  Perhaps I shall edge during my next work break.  In the meantime, I'll remain the edged, frustrated and denied husband working away in his snug briefs, crew socks, and t-shirt smelling like a man who is repeatedly worked up into a horny state.  Perhaps next time I'll be extra naughty and edge my penis while stripped down to nothing but atheltic socks.  After all, socks are just underwear for the feet.