F.S. Wilson wiped sweat off his brow and looked impatiently out at the Atlantic Ocean. Somewhere out there was Hurricane Debby. Forecasters were predicting it would come ashore later tonight or early tomorrow. Of course, they also were saying it could make landfall anywhere from South Carolina to the Keys so he wasn't taking any bets on hurricane pools yet.

He'd just spent the last three hours with an unimaginative advertising CEO and the imbecile they called an ad executive. Just once he'd like to find someone who saw his business the way he did. He wanted class and understated elegance. Sensuality rather than sexuality was the image he wanted to promote. These people didn't seem to know the difference. Then they'd had the gall to be appalled when he threw the dictionary at them.

It was the topper to a truly horrendous week. All he wanted to do now was go home, take a long dip in his pool, have a nice neat drink and forget that he was heir to the F.S. Wilson Adult Toy Company. Maybe, just maybe, before the weekend was over, he could convince his father and mother, who were semi-retired, that the best thing for all of them would be to take the current offer from the Megalopalis Toy Company and get out of the business completely. His parents would have all the money they would ever need and he'd finally be able to build a nice, sedate, asexual life for himself.

The annoying bleep of his cell phone sounded at the exact moment his pager started wailing. Sometimes, check that, all the time lately, he really despised being the boss.

"Yes," he answered the phone and reached for the pager button to end that annoyance. Seconds later, he parked on the shoulder and looked at his watch.

"No, absolutely not. She's got to be crazy if she thinks she's going to return a gross of those mini penises. The order form clearly states that they are non-returnable." F.S. drummed his fingers against his steering wheel. "Who is this…person?"

He wanted to drop his head on his hands when he heard her name. Deborah Oaks. Deborah Oaks of Daytona Beach. She was one of their best customers. Well, this was a truly fitting way to end the week. Even though he wanted to sell his company, he didn't want it to go bankrupt before he could do it.

"Look, she's got to see reason. Give me her address. I'm in North Daytona now. I'll stop by her house on my way home. I don't think she has a leg to stand on but there's no need to get legal involved yet. Maybe I can talk sense to her."
He paused. "Yeah, I got it. Leg to stand on. Mini penises. Har, har."

Everybody was a comedian.

He looked at his watch and calculated. "She's still on the line, right? Good, tell her someone will be stopping by in less than an hour. Do me a favor will you? Send her account information to my PDA. I want a very clear idea of who Ms. Oaks is and exactly what her purchasing history with us has been."

F.S. snapped his phone closed, then looked both ways and pulled back out into traffic. Daytona Beach had come a long ways from the days when only the rich and famous came to town. It had also come a long way from the sleepy little spot that turned into mayhem during spring break when thousands of students descended with a vengeance.

The Wilsons had come to Daytona right after World War II and had opened up their first adult store right on the beach. As the decades passed, they had grown until they had warehouses all over the Gold Coast. The first sex store still operated at a healthy profit and had almost become a cult-tourist attraction in the area.

Still, F.S. only made trips there when absolutely necessary. As chief executive officer and Chairman of the Board, he handled the bigger picture usually.

Apparently he was about to slum on the customer service side -- at least for an hour or so.

He wondered briefly what kind of woman Deborah Oaks was. It wasn't often they got orders for a gross of their multi-colored mini penises. Sometimes women ordered them for bachelorette parties but then usually only a few dozen. The mini penises were more a gag gift than anything else. Packaged in sets of five per packet, there were fifty packets to a box. Ms. Oaks had ordered 500 boxes.

Whoa, F.S. thought, that meant she'd received one hundred twenty five thousand mini cocks. That must be one helluva a bachelorette party.

He pulled into the driveway of the address his secretary had sent him. It was a large palatial mansion off the main drag. It had a large, wrought iron gate that kept visitors at bay. Well, time to play customer service rep and soothe Ms. Oaks' feathers. He pushed the button on the intercom and waited impatiently.

"Yes?"

The voice was low and husky. F.S. frowned. There was something familiar about it though he was certain he’d never met Deborah Oaks before. He had a photographic memory when it came to names. When his body reacted just to the sound of her voice over the tinny intercom speaker, he exercised ruthless control. She probably looked like a reject from the zoo.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm from the Wilson Toy Company."

"About damn time you got here. Come on up."

Before F.S. could explain, the gate opened inward on a well-oiled glide. He drove slowly up the drive. This was even different than he pictured.

The grounds were exquisitely manicured but she was obviously going for the tropical garden look. There were banana trees mixed in with the requisite citrus and palm trees. Bougainvillea vines were amok with color in various spots around the large yard. Lush green grass covered the flat grounds and looked like it had been groomed with a comb and a pair of tiny scissors.

F.S. could almost see his zoo reject out there on her hands and knees making certain every blade of grass was precisely an inch and a half high. For some reason, thinking of her on her hands and knees sent another shot of desire straight to his cock. Boy, he really needed to take time out for some R&R.

It was a typical Florida mansion, probably built in the 1920s when only the well-heeled and bored nouveau rich could afford to winter down here. It had weathered well or else the current owner had kept up with the maintenance.
F.S. whistled silently. Whatever her sexual proclivities, she was obviously doing well for herself. Well, once she realized he wasn't going to give her a refund for her mini penises, perhaps he'd see if she wanted to invest in his new start-up. That was his true love.

At the moment, the mansion's door slammed open.

"Have you got my cocks?"

For a moment, F.S. was speechless. She was tiny. Probably not even four foot-eleven in her bare feet, which sported, he looked again to make sure he wasn't seeing things, ten different colors of polish on each of her toes.  She was wearing an over-sized tee shirt, which did nothing to hide her bodacious, unbound breasts and fell just below her hips.

F.S. gulped and tried to tear his gaze from her brown legs and school his thoughts away from wondering if she was wearing any panties.

His iron control finally won and he drew his gaze up to her face. She had one of those baby faces--the kind that would probably hide her age even when she was an old woman. Old, certainly she was not now.

In fact, F.S. would have to guess that she was closer to jailbait than gathering her pension.

"Ahhh, Ms. Oaks?" he was stammering. F.S. felt the blood rushing from the top half of his body to the bottom half.

"Yes, yes, that doesn't matter. I hope you brought my cocks. This is an extremely time-sensitive problem. I can't tell you how upset I am about the whole thing."

She turned and went back into her house. F.S., feeling like he was a jackass being led to water, followed. What else could he do? Maybe without those ta-ta's bouncing in front of his face, he could think with his brain rather than the nine-rather throbbing inches between his legs.

When she moved in front of him at a dizzying pace, he got his first look at her ass and shook his head. The cotton tee outlined it perfectly as she moved and F.S. sucked in his breath. It looked like she was wearing nothing but the tee. He closed his eyes for a second then opened them again, hoping he’d been fantasizing. Nope.

Good God, he’d been rocked by her breasts but her ass was truly spectacular. He had a sudden, urgent vision of taking her doggy style, bending her over and spanking those soft globes until they were rosy red and then bringing them both to exquisite release. It took every once of his control not to tell her he had more than enough cock for anything she needed.

F.S. stood stupidly for a moment but realized the vision was already moving like a tornado out of sight and still talking just as rapidly as before. One hundred miles an hour was obviously her resting speed. Again, he had a vision of jumping on her for a quick spin.

Finally she stopped and turned back to him.

“Well, come on. Chop, chop. We don’t have all day.” She frowned. “Wait a minute you should have a hand cart or something. You can’t possibly carry all these boxes of penises. That will take forever. And when you bring the real ones in, make sure you watch your step. The last thing I need is a deliveryman tripping and trying to sue me. Go on, go get your cart.”

F.S. finally found his voice after he gulped down the urge to tell her the only hand job he needed was her tiny one wrapped around his pulsating Johnson. “Ms. Oaks, I’m not here to take your order back.”

She put her hand on one hip and jutted out her pugnacious little chin, glaring at him. He didn’t know which urge was stronger, the one to give her a clip on that chin and take her down a notch or two or the one to push her against the wall and take her like a stallion mounting a mare. At this moment, either option had its own appeal.
“What do you mean you’re not here to take my order back? What the hell else use would I have for you?” She slapped her hand against her chest causing those breasts of hers to jiggle slightly. “Oh my God. Is that company you work for imbeciles or what?”

“Ma’am.”

“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me. I’m going to get on the phone right now and I won’t hang up until I speak directly to the owner. This is the worst customer service I have ever experienced.”

“Ms. Oaks, I am the owner.”

“No, I know you just work for that worthless…what did you say?”

“F.S. Wilson. Owner and CEO of Wilson Toy Company at your service,” he said. Then, he really didn’t know why because it made him feel ridiculous, but he bowed at his waist as if he was meeting her at a pre-Civil War cotillion. When he looked at her again, he couldn’t contain the mirth rolling through him. “And I’ll have you know, I’m not worthless. At last check, my toy company was worth two point five million and counting.”

Debbie couldn't believe what was happening. He was F.S. Wilson? Owner of the Wilson Adult Toy Company? That was just not possible. She expected a dirty old man. You know, the type that walks around in nasty shorts, scratching their balls and picking their underwear out of their asses? This man was anything but.

Dressed in the Florida summer uniform of neat, well-fitting dress shorts and a light-weight polo shirt, this man would have been perfect on the cover of Satin's newest book. She could see how his arms, tanned dark as sin and covered in light brown hair, rippled with muscles. His chest had the perfect amount of musculature in the pectoral region and his stomach, even covered in cotton, was so flat she could bounce a quarter on it. His hips, in those shorts that were a long ways from the baggy, shapeless ones favored by young men, showed every line of his narrow hips and, oh my, hinted at a wonderfully complete package of sexuality. His legs, just as brown as his arms and thick as tree trunks, made Debbie think she could happily just sit at his feet and eat her way up until she got to what had to be a rival model for those M8 dildos.

She fanned herself as a hot flash rolled over her. Man, she had to get a grip…no, wrong thought process because she could suddenly see herself getting a grip on his cock and leading him to her bed. Then she wouldn’t rest until he given her pussy the plowing it was now weeping for. So, she took a deep breath, expelled to release the flow of sexual tension and focused on the problem at hand.

"Well, Mr. Wilson. That's better. I'm glad you had the sense to come yourself. But I don't know why you didn't bring my correct order. I need those here today."

Wilson reached into his back pocket drawing Debbie's gaze to his crotch once again. The hot flash returned and this time she could feel her nipples growing hard and rubbing against her tee. She knew her pussy lips were swelling as well but wasn't going to risk moving her thighs closer together even if her juices ran down her legs. She knew all that would do was cause the strap of her thong to work her tender flesh and any movement down there was sure to send her off like a rocket.

She felt more than a little odd greeting anyone dressed like this. But today was the hottest of the year and, of course, it was the day her ancient central air conditioning unit decided to break down. The repairman had already come and gone after pronouncing it a hopeless cause. They wouldn't be able to install the new system until Monday.

Maybe though he wouldn't notice just how aroused she was getting just standing and looking at him. Maybe he'd just think she was hot because it was stifling in her office.

"I've got a print-out of your original online order here, Ms. Oaks," he said opening the folded paper. "It clearly states that all orders are final and non-returnable."

"Yes, I know that," Debbie said. "But surely that doesn't count when you screw up the order."

She marched over to her desk, terrifically happy to have something else to think about than the way he followed her or the way his eyes seemed to linger on her breasts when she was facing him.

She slapped her hand against the space bar on her keyboard waking up her computer. It showed the Wilson website. She had pulled up the page with her penises on it.

"See. I ordered the eight-inch Mani penis. One gross of them. It's called the M8 dildo. You can see it clearly."
F.S. reached around her. Because he was close to six feet tall, his body completely surrounded her. She felt tiny, trapped and even more ridiculously aroused.

When his hand touched the mouse, Debbie felt like it was touching her skin. She almost gasped at the sizzle that went through her.

He turned his head. Their faces were so close to one another that she could count the pores in his skin. She sniffed delicately. He smelled like something she could happily lap at for the rest of the night. Clean, fresh, tangy and male. Debbie closed her eyes on a wave of longing so intense it felt as if she was about to orgasm right this minute. She had to get out of here, away from this man.

She moved with one thought in her mind—escape. Unfortunately, her retreat plan had some major flaws. She backed up and ran straight up against his hips. The feel of his aroused flesh – through his shorts, her tee, and the thong she wore for comfort -- fit perfectly between her cheeks. When she jerked her head up it connected soundly with his chin.
Then, it was like something out of a slap-stick romance routine.

When her skull cracked against his chin, her reaction to the pain was to bring her foot down hard on his. Now, if this were a true romance, Debbie would have been able to say that her weight, lighter than a feather, was no consequence to him.   Sadly, Debbie was one slice of cheesecake past her prime. So his oomph of pain was a dash of cold water on the entire romantic illusions she had earlier.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she said. His arms were still wrapped around her except now, probably because the pain was making him nearly blind, they were reaching for anything substantial to grab. Those substantial objects were her breasts.

Now, granted, one of her fantasies was to be grabbed by a hot hungry man, but with her nipples still in their elongated, aroused state, it was a little too close to pain for her comfort. Debbie did the only thing possible. She rammed her elbow into him, hoping to hit his stomach and get him to back away.

But, like everything in this caper, Debbie’s aim was a little south. His second whoosh of pain sounded like hurricane force winds rushing through the house.

She could feel him falling and wanted to offer comfort. Instead she felt his arms twirl her around and gravity took control.

For a few stunned seconds neither could move. When Debbie finally got her breath back, she just did the only thing that seemed natural.

She put her lips over his and kissed the living daylights out of him.