Elevated Encounter
John went into the elevator. Thankfully, it was empty. He hated having a crush of people around him, needing at least an arms-length of personal space. Too many bodies in close proximity made him anxious. His stomach growled, complaining of a late lunch.
The doors closed and the elevator started down and stopped at the next floor. The doors opened and five women got on. John backed up into the corner, giving the women a wide berth. He did this not only because of his anxiety in crowded spaces, but also as a courtesy to the women to subtly demonstrate that chivalry was not yet dead.
The elevator descended another floor. A woman with dark skin and short black hair dressed in a cream skirt-suit stepped in. Her brown eyes met his and she smiled. John nodded in recognition, returning a half smile to the woman who had called herself Raven. John cleared his throat and straightened his gray necktie. They had met eight months ago at the local BDSM club called The Octagon. Raven stepped up to John, holding eye contact and then turned around right in front of him. Club rules dictated that you didn't acknowledge other club members on the street. Certainly, this also applied to chance elevator encounters. He had no idea they worked for the same firm.
Five other men in suits followed Raven into the elevator. John knew a few of them to be partners at the law firm he had joined a few months ago. The people in the lift shuffled to make room for the men. Raven backed a little closer to John, close enough for him to smell her sweet and musky perfume.
Perhaps Raven was one of the lawyers at the firm or maybe she was a personal assistant. It's tough to tell the socioeconomic status of someone you only see decked out in leather and latex. It's difficult to assess the role someone held in the working world when all you ever saw them do was use paddles and floggers with expert precision. It didn't matter to John what her title in the firm was. Titles in the working world were seldom interesting and he wasn't one to be intimidated them. What did matter was that John knew her as Raven, a Domme who was an expert at whipping ass, an expert who had given him tips in the fine art of funishment. John had immense respect for Raven.
Nevertheless, John wasn't about to break the code of The Octagon and openly greet her.
The elevator doors closed. Raven clasped her hands behind. John could feel the tips of her fingers lightly against his clothed cock. As the elevator descended his aroused penis rose.
John cleared his throat. For a moment he contemplated what to do. He felt the urge to lean forward and press his erection into her hand. Let her feel the effect she had on him. But what if she wasn't intentionally touching him? That would be a serious dick move on his part. No, he would just hold his position, even though the awkward angle of his bulge was a bit uncomfortable.
The elevator passed two more floors before it slowed to a stop again. A couple of people groaned. Someone's stomach growled. Crowded elevators at lunch time were the norm. The doors opened again and two more stepped in. People packed in tighter. Raven moved back into John. He felt one of her hands slip under his belt. Her other hand found his erect penis pointing off to the side under his pants. As the elevator doors closed her fingers and thumb opened and closed around his awkward angled cock, scratching and stroking it, encouraging it to maximize its engorgement. Sure enough, she got it to grow to its full extent in that painful position. John could not see the smirk on her face. Though he suspected she was enjoying herself.
The elevator, with its sardined passengers, resumed its plunge towards the lobby level. Most of the eyes of those crammed into the compartment kept their focus on the descending floor count above the sliding doors. John was too distracted to care what numbers came up.
As the floor numbers flashed, Raven's fingers fiddled stronger with John's swollen member. The sideways erection was really uncomfortable. John shifted his hips to try to free himself, but it was no use. He would need a manual adjustment.
Somehow Raven sensed his predicament. She gripped his penis through his pants and pushed it upright.
John let out a slight sigh of relief.
Raven was an expert at reading body language. When they first met at The Octagon, Raven was giving a flogging demonstration. She was decked out in black latex that looked like it was painted on her body. It was a bit of a contrast with the form fitting cream business suit she now wore. John was there that night with Angela, his submissive, leading her around the club with chain attached to her collar. Angela was intrigued with spanking and wanted to incorporate it into their play time. John was hesitant about it. He was afraid of hurting her.
At the club that night, a line of women and men formed, each waiting patiently to take a turn to experience her expert hand with the flogger. John and Angela watched intently as she worked. They asked Raven questions in between sessions. They stood there and watched until the line dwindled to no one. Then, Raven offered to show them both how it felt. John declined. But Angela accepted, clapping excitedly.
Angela was about to step up to the Saint Andrews Cross when Raven held out a halting hand to her and said, "You need to ask your Dom first for permission."
Angela looked at John and said, "May I?"
John nodded.
Raven strapped Angela's hands and feet to the cross and began her dance of painful pleasure with her target of delight. A couple of minutes after Raven got started, she called John to her side. With each strike she pointed out Angela's reactions, noting the color of the sub's exposed ass becoming increasingly red, the tensing and relaxing of back and buttock muscles that showed the subtle signs of pain and pleasure. John watched and listened as Raven explained the techniques and their objectives.
After several minutes Raven paused and approached Angela, checking in with her. Angela was breathing heavy and said she was good. When Raven went back to her position with John she said, "You're sub is really into this. I can totally smell her creamy cunt." She handed the flogger to John, "Your turn." John took the flogger and followed Raven's guidance. Ever since that night John had incorporated a variety of spanking techniques into his sessions with Angela. It made their relationship deeper than either had ever imagined possible.
John and Angela regularly interacted with Raven at the club. Angela often asked Raven, with John's permission, for a funishment session. John always agreed. He enjoyed watching Raven work on his sub. In time, Raven revealed that she was a Domme with several regular female play partners. She also had two fulltime female submissives. Raven rarely played with men and was clearly not at all submissive to anyone. This point surged in John's mind as Raven's grip on his up righted cock tightened.
With each successive floor, Raven's clamped fingers became more unforgiving. Her grip was amazingly strong. The elevator stopped at the sixth floor. The doors opened and those outside could see there was no room. John could feel each pulse in his erection struggle against her grasp on him.
As the doors closed, he began to lose his battle of the bulge with Raven. The pain in his penis continued to increase, decreasing his erection. To his astonishment his arousal did not, however, diminish. Raven obviously felt the change and somehow managed to squeeze him even tighter. The increased pain and helplessness at the moment turned him on even more. The surreptitious encounter in the crowded elevator no doubt increased the eroticism of the experience.
This event, this targeted touching, was no accident and not a spur of the moment decision on her part. John understood Raven was trying to tell him something. Good dominates are deliberate with their words and actions. Clearly, Raven was communicating something. This wasn't just some random fondling.
Her overwhelming grip on him suggested a power exchange was in the works. He wondered if she was attempting to assert herself over him. At The Octagon, she had taunted him from time to time that she would make him her submissive. John had no interest in that role and made it perfectly clear. Raven always laughed him off anyway.
His dick ached within her vicelike grip. He fought the urge to struggle away from her. Maybe he should. Didn't his willingness to let her crush his erection suggest he had submissive qualities? Was she right about him? Perhaps he had Switch tendencies. John respected submissives, but it was at least some degree of pride that turned him away from the idea of submitting to anyone. Her painful grip on him was exciting and erotic. This had never happened before. A part of him didn't want it to end. Yet, the end was inevitable. In just a few moments it would be over.
He decided his enjoyment of the unexpected and totally erotic moment did not dictate who he was. No, he decided this was more a way for one kinky professional to extend an acknowledgement to another. Still, maybe this was more of an invitation than a communal outreach of acceptance and acknowledgement.
