Going Down

It is three in the morning and I can’t sleep. The second-hand air conditioner in my window rattles and hums, fitfully blowing tepid air across my body. I lie atop the sheets naked except for an old pair of white panties. Is the coffee I drank in the afternoon keeping me up? Or is it work-related stress from the job I hate and I feel like I’m on the brink of getting downsized out of? Is it the stifling heat that has settled on top of New York City like a heavy wool rug? Is it the fact that I’m approaching thirty, adrift and single, and not even really trying? It’s probably all these things put together, plus the fact that I have to be up at seven, and if I don’t get some sleep soon, I am going to be a disaster in the morning.

I peel off the ratty panties and toss them onto the floor. I have a respectable toy collection: several different vibrators, a couple of nice dildos, and lately a large black silicone butt plug that I’ve taken to inserting when I whack off. But I’m not going to get the toys out now, not at 3:15 in the morning. I simply let my fingers do the walking.

My slit is furry, warm and moist. My clit is swollen and sensitive. I trace my fingers up and down, round and around, and think about getting stuck in an elevator. This is my stand-by fantasy, an old favorite.

He doesn’t look like a rapist. But then again, who ever does? He steps in beside me and presses the ‘down’ button, thumbs it repeatedly for emphasis. He is wearing a grey tweed business suit, double-breasted. It looks well-cut and expensive. He wears a low-key, wide tie. A gold band gleams dully on his left hand. I feel his body heat next to me, and I can’t help sneaking a glance at the bulge in his crotch.

It is easy to get away with staring at his package, because the walls of the elevator are mirrored. Presumably to make the tiny car seem less claustrophobic. It is one of those ancient New York elevators, small as a coffin, rattley and shakey and creaky.

He has a thick, veiney neck, big hands, hairy forearms. His package bulges in the front of his trousers. He doesn’t look like anyone I’d ever date, not in a million years. He looks like he’s got a pretty big dick, looks like he’s really proud of it. He probably drives a shiny black SUV, an Escalade, or possibly a Hummer. Played football in college. Just made vice-president, and won’t get any further up the corporate ladder. Gets half drunk on Bud in sports bars, yells at his mousy wife in public. Plays a decent game of golf. Intimidates his subordinates. A prick.

He stabs the door-close button, and the down button again, in rapid, angry succession, and at last the doors slide shut and the car begins it’s rattle-trap journey down to the ground floor.

And stops, with a lurch. We are somewhere between the fourteenth and fifteenth floors, stuck in the shaft. I look at him. He looks at me. My palms are sweaty, my stomach is tight and nervous. My cunt tingles and salivates.

A long minute, standing inches apart. The elevator car does not move. I can see myself in the mirrored walls in three separate reflections: paisley patterned summer dress down to my ankles, panty lines visible, open-toes shoes in defiance of the company’s dress code. No bra, nipples clearly visible through the flimsy light fabric.

He smiles, and I feel adrenaline course through my veins, the kind of rush a junkie must feel when she shoots up. He grabs me by the face, pinching my mouth in one giant hand, my own teeth cutting the insides of my cheeks until I taste blood; he forces me down onto my knees, cuffs me across the face with the flat of his hand, yanks down the front of my dress so that my tits spill out like an overturned cart full of melons.

He laughs out loud, a nasty, barking laugh. Unzips, fishes out his gear. He has a monster cock; stupid big, shaved bald, a pink glans that looks like an afterthought. The shaft is thick and riddled with veins. He could be a porno star, the kind of mainstream porno with a disco soundtrack that I loathe, the kind that always ends with the guy jerking off onto the girl’s face. I bet he bought his wife a boobjob for her birthday.

He crams that big dick into my mouth and I can’t breathe. He pulls my hair, fucking my face, making me choke and gag. Morbidly strong hands on the back of my head forcing me down his length, cramming that cock down my throat, past my tonsils, halfway down my neck. He reeks of stale sweat and cheap cologne. His balls are fat and plump, like grapes on a vine. My windpipe is blocked. I can’t breathe. I struggle and swallow convulsively as he callously fucks my throat.

Just as I start to think that I can take no more, that I am about to pass out, he yanks his cock out of my mouth without warning, leaving me coughing and gasping for air. He chuckles as he pulls me up onto my feet again, each of my erect nipples pinched between his thumb and forefingers like a pair of industrial vice-grips. His oversized dick is red with excitement, slick and wet with my saliva. He hikes my dress up, pulls my turquoise panties to one side, muscles his way in between my legs, and rams his penis straight up my cunt.

I am wet and slippery, and my pussy accepts the invasion almost without resistance. He fucks me hard and selfishly, slamming me up against the elevator doors. I watch us, almost abstractly, like seeing a porn film through the window in someone else’s apartment. His pale ass clenched tight, he, fucks my cunt like a rutting animal. I realize that I am crying out, realize that against my own will I am going to come, and when he sees this he grins, fucking me even harder, so my toes are lifted off the ground with every thrust.

I feel him come, his cock twitching, flooding my hungry cunt with semen. I am almost there, and he leaves me dangling. Withdraws his reduced, come-slick dick, tucks it back into his pants, zips up. I finger my clit shamelessly, and he sniggers.

With a sudden lurch, the elevator car starts up again, resumes it’s plodding way down to the lobby. My dress is a mess, my tits are still hanging out. I finger myself ruthlessly, strumming my clit like a demented banjo player, holding my breath, my lips curled back into a convulsive snarl.

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open just as I come. I come, gasping and panting, trying not to scream, tremors rocking through my body. He exits the elevator, striding off into the crowded lobby as I slide down the wall, landing in a heap on my ass, crying with relief, his sticky white come still leaking out of my juicy cunt.

Oh yeah, that did it. Now there is a wet spot on the sheets, but I am way too tired to care. I close my eyes again, inhaling the scent of my pussy’s excitement, and drift off into a few precious hours of deep, dreamless sleep.

Work is stupid. There is not much to do there besides send out résumés and pretend to work. Bella halfhearted patrols the cubicles from time to time, pretending to care what we are doing. I keep a spreadsheet open for appearances sake, but I mostly just play solitaire. At one point I walk past Leah’s workstation and notice that she is browsing porn. Looks like she is into spanking stuff: blonde, waif-like highly tattooed models with big tits and pierced nipples getting bent over convenient furniture by stern-looking men in suits with large hands, wielding cruel-looking whips and canes and scary paddles. Not really my cup of tea, but I admire the spirit. She should really be more careful though. I make it a policy to stay away from porn at work. I need this stupid job.

After work, at long last, I go home and change clothes. My mom thinks I should be dating: get a hobby, join a club, post a personal, go to a bar, something! It is all too depressing for words. I pull on my baggy dungarees, an oversized sweatshirt, trail runners and a battered old baseball hat worn backward on my head. I take the cross-town bus and walk the final three blocks to the underpass where the gay boys like to cruise for anonymous sex.

There is a pretty good crowd there already, in the dripping dark, amidst the empty beer cans and the condom wrappers. It is hot, unrelentingly hot, and the humidity makes it feel like standing in a lukewarm swimming pool. A constant roar of traffic overhead drowns out any attempt at conversation. I try not to think about rats.

I find myself standing close to a skinny, fair-skinned boy. He might be painfully young, it is hard to tell in this low light. Our hands join, his body presses against mine, we kiss a little bit, and then my hand is rubbing the front of his jeans, up and down, feeling his hardness underneath the zipper, feeling his eagerness as I extract his cock.

I maneuver myself behind him so that my crotch is pressed against his tight butt. My fingers encircle his penis. He is stiff, hot, smooth and silky. I jerk him off in the grimy, crowded darkness, playing him like a musical instrument, varying my tempo, building, building, slowing, teasing, building again until he is trembling with excited tension. I bite the muscles of his shoulder as I go for the final crescendo, sliding my hand up and down his hyper-excited cock, faster and faster, his breathing raspy as I bring him to a shattering, long-delayed release. He shoots semen into the night air in a clean, mathematically-defined parabolic arc, and I am already detaching myself, moving away into the crowd.

Another boy. This one is kind of fat, wears a little goatee. We kiss and grope a little, then he unzips and delivers me the goods. He wants me to suck it, but I am not getting down on my knees in this environment. I stroke his cock with my hand, enjoying the texture, enjoying his hardness. His dick is on the small side, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. My hand is wrapped around his penis, pumping happily away.

He wants to feel me too. Evasive action fails, and his hand worms in through the open side of my dungarees, down inside my boxers. I feel his consternation and surprise at what he finds and does not find down there. He pulls away, and I lose my grip on his penis.

‘False Advertising’, he whispers in my ear. I giggle coquettishly and shrug. His dick is still hard, still hanging out there, wagging like a dog tail in the subterranean gloom. He whispers to me again, his goatee tickling my ear. He wants to fuck me in the ass. I ask if he has a condom. He does, so I say okay.

I unclip the shoulder straps and my dungarees fall in a heap around my ankles. I pull down my boxer shorts. He stands behind me, hands on my hips, breathing hard on the back of my neck as he maneuvers his erection between my butt cheeks.

He doesn’t actually fuck my asshole; he is too eager and over-excited, and I am not relaxed or lubed up enough. He tries for a little bit, and then gives up on penetration, and concentrates on sliding his cock up and down my ass crack, like a bratwurst sliding up and down a hot dog bun, until he comes. It feels really nice, and I catch myself wishing he wasn’t wearing a condom. When he does come, he squeezes his body really hard against me, and I can feel his cock twitch against my anus as he convulsively squirts hot come into the condom wedged between my cheeks. We stay like that for a few heartbeats, and then he disengages, melting quietly away into the crowded darkness, leaving me to pull my clothes back on.

A couple more gay boys, a couple more handjobs, and I am through for the night. My arm muscles ache, my clit is humming and impatient, and my cunt is drooling down my legs. It takes forever for the bus to arrive, and by the time I get home I am exhausted and frustrated. I skip the porn, and land directly on my bed, naked and horny. I insert the butt plug, and apply the vibrating egg to my swollen clit, and indulge in another elevator fantasy.

I have to work late, and by the time I leave the office, the only thing on my mind is Chinese take-out and the half-full bottle of red wine sitting on my kitchen counter. A trio of workers in navy-blue coveralls gets into the car a couple floors below me. Repairmen or technicians of some sort; two guys and a girl. Are they electricians? With the phone company? I don’t really give the matter two thoughts. The doors slide closed, and the car glides down toward the lobby.

And stops. Someone groans. One of the repairmen pushes the ‘Trouble’ button, and a few seconds later a lit-up button informs us that ‘Help Is On The Way’. He sighs and slumps against the elevator wall. He is black, tall and rangy, with ropey muscles and short, tight dreads. His partner is white, shorter, curly hair and an angular face like a weasel. He is chewing gum loudly. The girl is about my age, stocky and thick but not what I’d call fat, a clunky leather tool belt perched on her hips, glasses balanced on an upturned nose and heavy-looking breasts like two-liter bottles.


All six eyes are fixed on me. It is suddenly uncomfortably hot and close in here. I feel self-conscious in my white blouse, heels and slacks. The girl yawns and nudges her partner, the weasel-faced white guy. Black dude stretches and lazily unbuttons the top of his coveralls, exposing a smooth chocolate chest, nipples like Hershey Kisses.

I am kissing his pecs, the hollow of his sternum, nuzzling at his nipples. He tastes nice, sweaty and spicy. I can feel the other two watching, and it only makes me wetter, knowing that I am being minutely observed. The coveralls slide easily down his body. He is not wearing anything underneath.

He has a tight, ripped body. Very short, very kinky black pubic patch, big fat knobbly dick, uncircumcised, with a purple head like a ripe plum peeking out from underneath the foreskin. I drop to my knees, doing my very best to swallow him whole, which isn’t really practical, but is a lot of fun to try. I try a different approach, slathering my tongue up and down his shaft, slurping his fat testicles, pulling back the foreskin and tracing the topography of his glans. His cock is rigidly hard, craning eagerly upward, hot and juicy.

 Someone is unbuttoning my blouse, and my breasts hang pendulously down as my bra is unclasped. The girl is standing next to me, her tool belt level with my head. She pats me on the head like a dog, tousling my hair. Someone, it must be Weasel-Face, is tugging my pants off, groping and pawing at my cunt. I am soaking wet, hot and slippery and horny as hell. I raise my knees one by one, my mouth full of cock, and kick my panties aside.

Dreadlocks pulls his dick away, and I come up, panting. The girl chuckles, “What a horny little slut she is!” She tugs my hair fondly, and I wiggle my ass in response. The boys rearrange themselves.

Weasel-Face is standing in front of me, his jeans unzipped, his cock projecting straight out. His dick is pale, pink and white and blue, and it is crooked, bent like a scimitar. It fits nicely into my mouth, and I suck at it greedily. Meanwhile, Dreadlocks is behind me, maneuvering himself in between my thighs. I jump and startle as his big dick rams up against my cunt. Weasel-Face wraps his fingers in my hair and commands my attention, vigorously humping my wide-open mouth.

I am lavishing attention onto Weasel-Face’s thrusting cock, and trying to breathe, as Dreadlocks spreads my cunt wide open and crams his tool home. The sudden invasion makes me gasp, electrifies me, as I am suddenly stretched wide and full of dick. He starts fucking my cunt hard, slapping my ass in a casual way, every second or third thrust. I try to concentrate on the dick in my mouth, but it is getting more and more difficult. My head is lolling back and forth, I am humping back against Dreadlock’s fucking, grunting like a pig with the pleasure of it. Weasel-Face has withdrawn his cock from my mouth, content with the occasional slurp I remember to give him, and is now jerking off into my face.

Dreadlocks comes suddenly, slamming himself into my cunt and emitting a series of cut-off shouts: ‘Ugh-ugh…uhh!’ I feel his dick swell and spasm inside me, feel his hot semen flooding my vagina, spilling out and running down my thighs, dripping onto the elevator floor. He slowly withdraws, and I feel suddenly empty.

“Your turn” the girl says. She has one hand stuck down the front of her pants.

“Sloppy Seconds” Weasel-Face comments.

“Fuck her in the ass,” the girl says. Her hand is busy down the front of her pants, “You know she wants it.”

He smears the gooey wetness that is drooling out of my cunt up and down my butt, and around my anus before rudely jamming a finger into that tight, sensitive hole. I yelp and jump, but I certainly do not object as he works his forefinger in and out, twisting it around inside me. Besides, Mr. Dreadlocks has come around front again, and is busy feeding me his soft, salty, come-flavored dick, and playing with my breasts, pinching and squeezing my erect nipples. It is really quite distracting.

I guess Weasel-Face figures he’s warmed me up enough: he suddenly withdraws his finger, leaving my asshole gasping. I glance over at the girl; she is working her hand rhythmically back and forth inside her work pants, making the tools on her belt jingle. She looks down at me with a sneer. “Go ahead and sodomize her,” she says, “Horny little slut.”

Weasel Face takes careful aim, and works his crooked dick up my ass. It is kind of tight fit getting in, but once past the tight ring of my sphincter, he slides right on in. It feels wild, amazing, out of control. He starts fucking my asshole, sliding in and out, slowly at first, and then harder and harder, faster and faster, grunting with the effort.

I can’t take it anymore, I have to masturbate. I let Dreadlock’s cock slip out of my mouth, reach between my legs and shamelessly play with my swollen, aching clit. Dreadlocks takes matters into his own hands, masturbating himself onto my face. The girl is masturbating hard, leaning back against the wall of the elevator car as Weasel-Face pounds my poor little asshole.

We all four come at about the same time. Dreadlocks growls like an animal and splashes a relatively small amount of sticky white come onto my face; Weasel-Face buries himself in my ass, filling me to overflowing with what seems like pint after pint of his hot semen; the girl comes silently, her face screwed up in an ecstatic mask; and I go off bucking and screaming, wracked with pleasure that breaks over me again and again like storm-churned surf, until I am left a limp, sweaty, sticky mass on the floor of the elevator.

Without warning, the elevator car starts smoothly up again, and slowly descends to the ground floor as my technicians quickly tuck themselves back into their work clothes. The exit the elevator without a word, leaving me naked on the floor, soaked in sweat, dripping come and reeking of sex.

Work drags on and on. Bella has given up all pretense of trying to keep us on-task. There is an atmosphere of impending doom all over the office. I am tempted to follow Leah’s example and surf a little porn, but the fact is that I really do need this job, and I don’t want to give them any excuse to fire me. I know it is only a matter of time, but at least it is air conditioned in here.

At last it is over. I go home, take a shower, have a drink, have another one, change into my boxers and baggy sweatshirt and baseball cap, and fire up the internet. I turn on the webcam, and surf on over to the gay boy chat rooms, misrepresenting myself, flirtatious and coy, trying to get them to show skin without showing any of my own.

An hour or so of this, and I am drenched and edgy. My boxer shorts are sodden, I have soaked all the way through them and made a big wet patch on the computer chair. The keyboard is sticky with my own juices. I turn off the webcam and shed my clothing, flopping naked onto the bed. On my knees, ass thrust up in the air like a cartoon sex kitten, I carefully insert the well-lubed butt plug. I savor the sensation of fullness, the pressure on my pussy from the inside that makes my clit stand up like a little beacon. I run my fingers up and down my vulva, allowing a finger to slip inside and feel my warm, wet tightness, before I concentrate on my clit, slipping into fantasy as I draw tiny concentric circles round and around my sensitive button.

It is just the two of us in the elevator, him and me. I don’t recognize him, he got on at a higher floor. Cute, the body of a long-distance runner, or maybe a cyclist. He wears a low-key suit, and glasses. Kind eyes, easy smile. Looks a little shy, maybe a year or two younger than me. Nice hands. I automatically check; no ring.

He coughs and gives me an apologetic smile. I smile back, what I hope is a friendly little smile. He’s cute, just my cup of tea. The door slide close, and my stomach lurches slightly as the elevator descends.

A boom that is felt more than heard, almost sub-sonic, the shock waves passing through our bodies and upsetting our internal organs, making the whole building sway. The elevator stops so suddenly I am knocked to the floor. He maintains his footing. The lights go out, it is pitch black for a long, long moment, and then the emergency lights kick in. A whiff of acrid smoke. Sirens, dimly heard.

Time passes. Nothing happens. Cautious small talk, ginger attempts at humor. Still nothing happens. Fear and claustrophobia are slowly giving way to boredom. Horny boredom.

“We may be stuck here for a while.”

“Looks like it.”

“It’s hot in here.” Which is true, it is hot in the car with no air conditioning running, but it probably isn’t strictly necessary for me to be unbuttoning my blouse, stepping out of my slacks.

“I’m not sure my girlfriend would approve.”

“She’s not here though, is she? Come on, you don’t have to get naked, just take your suit off. It is hot in here, isn’t it?”

Reluctantly, and yet eagerly, like a dog slinking toward a treat it knows it’s not allowed to have, he peeled off his office clothes, folding and stacking them in the corner. He is wearing baby blue briefs, and the bulge in the front is positively mouth-watering. His legs are long and muscular, his tummy is flat.

We sit next to each other in our skivvies, making more small talk, pretending not to be flirting as we talk about where we went to college and what we like to eat and do on our weekends. He is training for a mini-triathlon; I put my hand on his leg and squeeze the muscle, and I feel him jump, but he does not flinch away.

He has an erection. It is bulging urgently inside his briefs, straining to get out. God, if I had a dick, it would be so hard right now! My pussy is moist and eager, my clit is humming. I let my bra-encased breast brush against his naked shoulder. He does not pull away. I take a chance, reach over, stroke his hard cock through the fabric of his underwear.

“I have a girlfriend.”

“I know.” I do not stop. His dick feels really nice inside his shorts. I want more.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We’re not doing anything.” I leave off petting his dick for a moment to unsnap my bra, setting my breasts free. “Do you like them?”

He nods, not trusting his voice.

I extract his penis from his underwear. He does not stop me.

He has a lovely cock, medium-large, thick, with a very pronounced, teardrop-shaped head. His pee-hole is a slit that looks like the pupil of a cat’s eye.. A glistening, clear strand of pre-come is leaking out of that eyelet, and I scoop it up with one finger and bring it to my lips. He tastes sticky and sweet.

I start jerking him off. I have gotten very, very good at giving handjobs over the years; I’ve had a lot of practice. The trick is figuring out what the guy likes; every man is different. I find the way his likes it best, grasping his hot dick very lightly in one hand, pumping in a rapid irregular rhythm, bringing him close and then backing off. I can feel his pulse thumping in his dick.

He doesn’t seem to care one way or another for having his balls played with, so I move further south. Now that gets a reaction! He moans and humps the air with his dick, waggling it like a spear as I circle his anus with one finger, oh-so gently petting the soft skin around his asshole.

“Oh my God,” he gasps, “My girlfriend is going to kill me!”

“Your girlfriend is never going to know.” I say. I insert my fingertip into his tight little asshole, at the same time dropping my ravenous mouth onto his cock. It is delicious. The head of his dick fills my mouth like a hot piece of candy. I lavish my tongue all around him, jerking him off with one hand, fingering his ass with the other, sucking like a Hoover all the while.

I want to taste his come, but I want him inside my cunt even more. I release his dick, extract my forefinger, which has worked it’s naughty way up his asshole until I was knuckle-deep inside him. His dick flops wetly and frustrated. I pull off my panties and toss them aside.

“No, please…”

“You want me to stop?” I am straddling his lap. My wetness is drooling out of me like a leaky faucet. I can feel the heat of his cock close to my pussy.

“No, please, no…”

I grab a hold of his dick, place it squarely up against my drooling lips, and lower myself onto him. It feels amazing to be full of him, and right away I know I am close to coming. He opens his mouth to say something, and I feed him my breast, shoving my erect nipple into his mouth. He sucks my tit hard as I squirm on his cock, rocking back and forth and up and down.

We roll over so he can be  on top, which is kind of my favorite anyway. Where is his girlfriend now? His dick is sliding in and out of my cunt, sending jolts through me with every thrust. “Please play with my asshole,” he begs, and I oblige him. I can barely reach his backside this way, but when I find his anus, he goes wild, fucking me even harder. I encourage him, worming my finger deeper inside, talking dirty to him, calling him a fucking stud, a sex machine, begging him to come in my pussy.

He does come, squirting deep inside me with a long, drawn-out wail. His orgasm triggers my own, and my pussy pulsates on his cock, milking every last drop of semen out of him. It seems to go on forever, and we stay interlocked, limp and motionless, for a long while, breathing hard, his soft dick inside my tired pussy.

I am highly tempted to go for a second round, to lick my pussy-juice off his dick until he gets hard in my mouth, but now we can hear the sounds of rescuers approaching, and he gets shy. He is thinking of his girlfriend again, and feeling bad about what we did. I try to feel a little guilty, but I can’t.

Bella calls me into the office. “This isn’t easy for me to say, you know. You shouldn’t take it personally. It is no reflection upon you. It all came down from corporate. We’re downsizing.”

Even though I’ve been expecting this for weeks, it still comes as a shock. I don’t know what to say. I stand there in front of the desk, feeling like a rag doll, a plaything tossed aside.

“It’s no reflection on you personally,” Bella repeats, sounding weary, “It would be best if you just packed up your things and left now.”

Best for who? I don’t have much to pack up, it all fits into my backpack. I don’t speak to anyone, keep my eyes glued to the carpet as I traverse past the cubicles on my way to the elevator.

The elevator seems to take forever to arrive. Finally, the doors open up and I step inside with a sinking feeling in my gut. I just want to get out of the building, to feel sunshine on my skin, to breathe some fresh air and to figure out what I’m going to do next.

Just as the doors are sliding closed, Leah comes running, “Hold the door!” I bump the door open for her, annoyed because I don’t feel like company. She slips in, out of breath, the doors close, and the elevator starts going down.

Leah is taller than me, and skinnier, and has the kind of curly, golden-blonde hair that I would have killed for as a little girl. She is wearing charcoal-grey pinstriped pants, and a sleeveless white t-shirt with a black bra clearly visible underneath, in flagrant disregard for company dress code. We have worked in the same office for over six months, and I don’t think we ever spoke two sentences to each other.

“Laid off?”

“Yes.” I say. I don’t really feel like talking about it. How am I going to pay the rent with no paycheck? How am I going to eat? Where does a girl with not much job experience and an undergraduate degree in English look for work in an economy like this?

“Me too,” Leah says, “Good riddance. Screw it. I won’t miss this lousy job.”

The elevator jerks to a sudden halt, and an obnoxious high-pitched alarm starts going off.

I can’t believe it. Can anything else go wrong today? I just want to go home and start drinking and get on with my life. Sex is the last thing on my mind.

Until Leah leans in, backing me into the corner, an arm on the wall to either side of me so I can’t get away, and kisses me softly on the lips.

“Looks like we’re stuck”, she says, her face uncomfortably close to my own.

I must be the only female in the history of Sarah Lawrence College to graduate without ever having fucked a girl. It’s not that I have anything against the concept; it’s just not my primary focus, and I had a lot of other things going on at the time. It looks like all that might be about to change.

Her lips are on mine, her tongue is insinuating its way into my mouth, startling me with her aggressive forwardness. I realize belatedly that I am kissing her back, and that her lips are soft and feminine and highly kissable.

Her hand slides up my skirt, boldly exploring, probing my pussy through my underwear. I am instantly drenched. I want her fingers up inside my panties, buried in my cunt. She obliges me, her mouth pressed against mine, her hand cupping her breasts, two fingers pushing my panties aside, finger-fucking me hard and deep. I gasp into her open mouth as she penetrates me, the alarm of the stuck elevator ringing in the background, grinding my hips against her thrusting hand, and I realize that I am about to come on her long, tenacious fingers.

I mew aloud, abandoning myself to the orgasm, arching my back and leaning my shoulders against the wall of the elevator, surrendering myself to her. Leah grins, lifting up my skirt and pulling my panties aside for a better view, fucking my cunt hard with two fingers. Her thumb is bumping up against my clitoris, and that is what sets me off. I come, gasping and panting, shaking and struggling to get more of her inside me, more of her flesh in contact with my own.

When I have settled down, she withdraws her sticky fingers, and coyly holds them up to my mouth to lick off. I clean them like a cat, licking off my pussy juice, swirling my tongue all over them, as if her long, graceful fingers were a cock.

She is peeling off her black pants. Underneath she wears a tiny pair of pink bikini panties. I tell her I want to see her tits, and with a smile that is almost shy, she obliges me, pulling off her t-shirt and unsnapping her bra. Her boobs are smaller than mine, pert and bouncy. The nipples are pink and conical and erect. I would like to have one in my mouth, but she turns around, facing the wall, thrusting her rear end out, and I know what she wants now.

I tug her panties down around her knees. She has a beautiful ass, pale and taut, not so much as a ripple of cellulite. There is no hair between her legs, she is waxed as bald as a porn star. Her labia are fat and puffy, the inner parts of her vagina are tucked shyly away.

SWACK! SMACK! Now her ass is not quite so flawless, but looks even sexier with two raised red hand prints, one on each cheek. I like the way her flesh jiggles when I slap her, I adore the sharp intake of breath, and the way she wiggles her behind, inviting more abuse. I oblige her, spanking her ass until it is livid red and angry, until she is panting like she’d just run a 10k, until my shoulder aches with it and my hand feels swollen and sore.

“Kiss it better” she whispers, half a command, half an urgent plea, and I am only too happy to do just that. I get down on my knees behind her, spreading her cheeks apart like the two halves of a ripe peach, exposing her hidden inner bits. Pink, moist lips peak out from between her fat outer labia. Her anus is tiny, delicate looking, crinkled up like a tiny little starfish. I nestle my face between her soft cheeks and flick at it with my tongue and she sighs and presses back against me.

I try to picture working my fat black butt plug, all slick with lube, up that tiny little hole. It is hard to imagine it fitting, but it is a sexy image indeed! I imagine her moaning, begging me not to stop, her asshole stretched wide around the toy, her pussy leaking come all over my fresh white sheets. I lick her ass, up and down, pressing the flat of my tongue against her asshole. She tastes clean and earthy. I try to work the tip of my tongue up inside her butt. Her asshole is clenched tight.

I have had close encounters with anuses before, but only gay boy anuses. They’ve always been loose and limber; the licking has always just been a precursor to me sliding a finger or two up the guy’s ass, and I’ve always had a handful of cock and balls to go with it. I enjoy licking Leah’s shy little asshole, teasing and tickling her, licking softly and persistently until she is loose enough that I can get the tip of my tongue up inside her butt.

I slide my thumb inside her pussy. I am shocked at how hot and wet and slick she is. My thumb meets no resistance; it is like dipping a finger into a bowl of melted butter. I am instantly buried in her pussy up to the knuckle. My forefinger rests against her clit, nestled between those fat outer lips. I proceed to fuck her, from inside and out, squeezing my finger to press against my thumb, my extended tongue wormed up inside her ass; and she proceeds to go a little crazy, emitting choking gasping screams and humping wildly back against my face, covering my hand in hers and pressing me harder, harder, harder against her sopping wet cunt. I can barely breathe and yet I keep on licking. When she comes, I feel her pussy tense and relax, opening up and clamping down on my thumb. I fuck her through the aftershocks, and only reluctantly withdraw, collapsing onto the floor with come all over my face and fingers and a big smile on my face.

We get dressed. “Thank you,” she says, “I’ve always wanted to do that.” She pulls out the emergency stop button and the trilling alarm stops and the elevator resumes its slow slide down toward the hot, humid streets of unemployment.

I glance up at the security camera in the corner, with its red blinking LED. “Do you suppose that thing works?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Leah says, “I certainly hope so.”

The elevator stops at the ground floor and the doors slide open. I think about asking her for her email, asking if she’d like to get together for dinner, or have a drink. I think leading her into my bedroom, lying down on top of her. I imagine how she would look atop my sheets, her flawless cheeks spread apart, with my butt plug lodged inside her asshole, her pussy crammed full of my fingers, her clit craning out toward the vibrator I am holding millimeters away.  I think of her kneeling before me in my bathtub as I beat her ass with a ruler, making her count the strokes out loud through her sobs. I think about going down to the underpass with her, hand in hand, fingering each other in the semi-darkness while gay boys with hard-ons crowd all around. I step out of the elevator, go to catch up with her, get her phone number, but it is already too late. She is gone.

















  1. ElsieFanny said

    Great! I love the Walter Mitty meets the 1960s-cliched-setting-for-sex-with-strangers and all tied together with classic Elsie touches.

    I especially like the way that your narrator switches to being the “other” between the first two fantasy episodes: paisley dress and open-toed shoes with the VP vs. heels and white blouse with the blue collar group. I would have wished for more physical description of your narrator, but I suppose that the changing fantasies probably require some appearance flexibility on her part. Even so, fantasy number 3 and Leah are the ones that really make me want your narrator (and Leah).

    I am going to be reminded of this story on many of the the next few hundred times I get into an elevator. I will be thinking quite a bit about it quite a bit more when I am in an elevator alone with one of my more attractive female colleagues. I hope I don’t end up checking them out so obviously that I make them uncomfortable. If only I could take a ride with your narrator or someone else who would get wet instead of (or in addition to?) uncomfortable from the admiration.


  2. Butch said

    One of your best! I loved it! You make it look so easy. Beautifully written and perfectly perverted. I usually take the stairs but you may have changed my mind…

  3. TGW said

    Amazing, as always. I’m in awe of your writing talent, Elsie.

  4. Grendel said

    I agree completely … beautifully written.

    Of course being me I enjoyed the rape scene more than the others but it was incredibly erotic all the way through … very very well done

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