Excerpt: Starch Raving Mad

Peter is fairly surprised to find an incredibly hot, incredibly willing woman sprawled out on his desk when he walks in to his office, but he should really be given a few kudos for how quickly he manages to compose himself at the sight. As he slowly approaches her, he establishes a few definite facts; first, that he has absolutely no idea who this woman is, and secondly, that she is flaming hot.

And truly, she is flaming, scorching, smoldering with hot, and she is just lying there on the top of his desk, on her back with her long, smooth, shapely legs draped over the edge of the desk and her heaving, straining breasts facing the ceiling, barely contained in the blouse she has tucked into her black pencil skirt. The blouse is unbuttoned to a severe degree, exposing a good bit of a very expensive, very lacy bra, which in turn is nearly exposing what Peter imagines are two completely perfect and edible nipples.

Peter reaches the side of the desk and looks down at the inexplicably breathless bombshell on his desk, and against all of his ingrained primal instincts, clears his throat and speaks (you know, instead of putting one eager hand inside the barely hidden bra and the other eager hand up the pencil skirt).

"Ahem. Well. I'm not sure we've met, or rather... I'm sure we've not met, and I wanted to introduce myself in hopes that doing so will help me to figure out what's going on here. I'm Peter Stimple." Peter offers a hand, still wishing he had the balls to already have that very hand inside this vixen's panties already.

The woman, breasts still heaving with inexplicable but obvious sexual need, barely glances at the offered hand before taking it in hers and frantically putting it inside her blouse. She moans instinctively as Peter's hand tenses with surprise and inadvertently gives her left breast a hearty squeeze. It's a squeeze Peter is definitely happy to have engaged in, but it's also decidedly unplanned.

What is also decidedly unplanned is that Peter's involvement in this woman's quickly arriving orgasm is limited to that one secretly eager hand in her blouse, because with obvious increased need and and a quickly increasing urgency, the woman puts her other hand down the front of the sexy black skirt and barely settles into a rhythm before her body archs up away from the desk and she emits the type of sound that is typically frightening except when emitted from an incredibly hot woman in the middle of a body wrenching orgasm.

Peter finds himself feeling a bit let down at this point, partly because he had nothing major to do with this unbelievably hot orgasm that just occurred on his own desk, and partly because he was now sporting wood the size of a redwood tree (well, not quite a redwood tree, but you can be assured that it's definitely a species of respectably sized wood in its own right, and would leave any horny female tree feeling perfectly satisfi--- nevermind).

He is also quite disappointed to note that this anonymous woman is also beginning to come to her senses, without any obvious inclination toward providing a remedy to either of Peter's aforementioned unspoken complaints. Surely, this woman was not going to simply use his desk as a prop for what was undeniably the hottest act that had ever occurred in any office in this building and then just compose herself and walk away without any sort of explanation or introduction?

Sadly (for Peter), that is exactly what happens next. Without a single explanation, a name, or a thank you for the use of his hand, the woman rises to her feet, straightens her blouse, and before walking shakily from the room, notices Peter only briefly and says, "Sorry about that. Just keeps happening every few hours or so."

Peter is still frantically trying to find a response to this bizarrely matter of fact apology when the woman disappears from the room, leaving him with a splitting headache and a species of wood very comparable to a redwood tree.

This day is simply not going to go his way, no matter how hard he might try.