A penis of course. You are Richard Smith, a 27-year old IT tech

Your penis is hanging from the surface of the QEBP. The intensity of the situation has made you slightly erect, bringing you just a notch above flaccid. You tentatively poke the dick in front of you and simultaneously feel it in your crotch. The possibilities are endless.

It's almost time to go to work, so you focus on the QEBP and make it return to normal. Your entangled penis retracts and disappears into the ball; the feeling of your penis going from out in the open air to exclusively stuffed back in your pants is slightly jarring.

You put the QEBP into your backpack and head out the door. On the bus to downtown you think about how normal this feels to you. Shouldn't you be freaking out a bit? A mysterious, though reliable you're sure, woman shows up in the morning and hands you some kind of sci-fi sex toy, and you calmly read the manual then go to work like it's no big deal? Shouldn't you... Call someone? Like a scientist or something? The police?

Nonsense of course, there's no way you'd give this up, and the police would just hang up on you. But shouldn't you at least feel something other than excitement for trying out your new toy? Should that worry you?

You almost miss your stop and rush out the doors. No time for introspection.

You swipe your card to let yourself into the building through one of the less public doors to your office building. Corp. Inc. is one of the world's largest suppliers of a very small and very important type of screw, and you work at their busy head office. Admittedly, as an IT technician with an "office" in the basement and just slightly less authority than the storage janitor. At least he gets keys to everything.

You make your way through the service corridors and over to the basement elevator. Another swipe of your card and you're waiting for the car to arrive. Then your phone rings. Your work phone, for standby emergencies. You fumble it out of your backpack in a panic and put it to your ear.

"Yes hi hello yes this is Richard" you blabber

"52nd floor, first office on the left, hurry it up" a female voice says and hangs up

How rude. But not uncommon. Most people in the company think of you the same way you think of this elevator: a button to push, a service rendered and the rest is a boring inconvenience.

You get in the elevator, which only goes to the 20th floor. There you have to switch to the fancier elevators that go to the upper levels, where the important people work. Your elevator has a broken lamp that goes out when the car shakes, and sticky buttons that you prefer not to think about. The fancy elevator has floor to ceiling mirrors and gold fixtures. You can barely even tell it's moving.

Getting out on the 52nd floor you take a left and knock on the first office door. These floors are carpeted, and their doors look like mahogany. Your floor is cracked concrete and your doors could charitably be called plywood. The door in front of you has a bronze plaque with a name on it, "Viveca Holdenbuch". Even their names are fancy.

The door opens, and a woman who couldn't be more than a few years older than you stands there. She's wearing a professional black skirt and blouse, heels that put her at eye level with you, a Bluetooth in-ear headset and a scowl. Her long, dark, wavy hair is slung over her shoulder, framing a rounded face with large, olive eyes, a small mouth with thick lips in a slight involuntary pout. The blouse is not cut to show any cleavage, but it doesn't hide her impressively large bust. You could swear one of the buttons are straining.

"Yes?" she huffs, "What do you want?"