Christine Secretary

I snapped the briefcase shut as I glanced momentarily at the skyline overlooking the glowing streets of Manhattan.

"Just a few more minutes," I thought, and I would be home, relaxing in the comfort of a sofa and a faint scent of potpourri.

I threw on my coat, and was glad to be out, a Friday finally completed, all the bills paid, the forms filled out, and the applications reviewed. I opened the elevator, and there was Christine, my assistant.

"Mr Roberts!" she exclaimed. "You're here late!"

"I know, I know. A few more minutes, and I'll be gone in relaxation."

"Me, too," she responded, unaware of the sheer fate that awaited us in the shadows.

The elevator began it's descent, plummeting from the 18th floor down to the ground floor garage where both Christine's and my cars were parked. I heard the elevator "ding" 12 times, when it seemed like an eternity for the 13th. I glanced over at Christine, she was doing the same at me.

"Mr. Roberts, I do believe we are stuck."

"Christ," I moaned, "just what I need."

I climbed up, with assistance from my briefcase, to the removable panel in the ceiling of the elevator. I was a few inches short of reaching the door, so I sank back into the elevator, disappointed, and I took out the Emergency Phone.

"Yes, Hammond Building, we're stuck between the 13th and 12th floors, and I can't seem to reach a door above us. Monday? Shit, you're kidding!" I exclaimed.

Apparently, the elevator company was closed due to holiday until Monday, so I was stuck with Christine until god knows when. I am a married man, and I take pride in the marriage I have with Michelle, but I have had dirty thoughts about co-workers, secretaries, and bosses. Needless to say, Christine has been the subject of some of these.

She was about 5 feet, 6 inches tall, with the most beautiful pair of legs you could have ever imagined. Her rich blonde hair fell just below shoulder length, and she always seemed to wear skirts that were just a little too short, or shirts a little too tight. I was out of her league at 42 years old, but the 28 year old bombshell had seem to give me a few flirting signals.

"Mr. Roberts, don't worry, we'll be alright. They know we're here, they can't just leave us to die."

"You'd be surprised," I retorted, and drifted off into sleep.

I woke up what seemed to be years later, but apparently was only about 4 hours. It was 11 at night, and Christine was dozed off in the corner, having followed suit with me. The dirty thoughts rushed back at once, and I knew I couldn't resist this golden opportunity.

Nobody was around, no cameras, no speakers, it was perfect. I gently shook her chest, as she gave a slight moan as she returned to normal.

"Jesus, we're still here? I can't put up with this much longer," she spoke.

I couldn't think up a sufficient response to that, so I just leaned over, and gave her the most gentle kiss on the lips. She pulled away at first, but after feeling safe, she returned my kiss.

"Brian? That was, well, unexpected," she said. "What about Michelle?"

I pushed away her questioning and wrapped my arms around her, carressing her face, kissing her neck, and feeling my erection grow stronger.

"I want you, I want you bad," I moaned, and with that she moaned right back at me. She slipped off her jacket, skirt, and blouse and was down to silky white undergarments. She fumbled unbuttoning my shirt, and finally I just ripped it off, awaiting the passion from this beautiful woman.

"Feel me, touch me," she moaned, "I want you, inside of me."

"I haven't felt this way since I first got married, the passion!" I cried, as I slid off my pants, biting away at her panties.

She slipped off her bra, revealing the perkiest, firm, and round pair of breasts you could ever imagine. I couldn't believe my good fortune. Here I was making random sexual passes, and she was going along with it. We were naked, in a broken elevator, miles away from home and the comfort of our families.

I slipped two fingers inside her pink slit, and she gave out a tiny yelp, but no resistance. My seven-inch hardon was in full throttle, and she looked at it like it was a bible touched by Jesus Christ himself. She ran her thin hands along it, murmuring to herself random sexual words, "God, yes, I feel it."

I felt her vagina contract around my hand and I just couldn't take it anymore. I thrusted my tongue deep inside her dark mouth, and forced my fat cock inside her drenched pussy.

"Do it, Brian. Fuck the fuck out of me. Screw Michelle, it's my time. Fuck me Brian, make me come!"

"Yes, yes!" I screamed. "Little bitch, scream for me!"

I wrapped my arms tight around her creamy smooth skin, as she held her hands on my shoulders, and we were in a perfect rhythm. In, out, bouncing up and down, screaming like there was no tomorrow.

"Jesus, fuck me! I want you to fill me up, Brian! Fuck me harder!"

I was pushed to the edge with her beautiful voice in my ear. I clutched her beautiful breast, again forced my tongue deep inside of her mouth, and moaned. My swollen cock quivered, I let out an outrageously loud scream, and I shot ropes of pearly white cum inside her tender pussy.

"Do it, keep it coming, baby!" Christine screamed.

I quickly pulled my dick out of her and let some of the salty cum drop onto my chest. She too had been pushed over the edge to orgasm, and my penis was covered in sweet pussy juice.

"Amazing, amazing, amazing, amazing," she repeated for the next several minutes. She licked the white cum off my chest, and sucked the remaining fluids off of my penis, at which point I dropped a smaller load down her throat.

"Let's break some elevators more often, Brian." She smiled at me.

I woke up.

"Brian, you're all sweaty. You must have had a nightmare," she said.

"Michelle, I love you."