Lust in an Elevator

While on my way down to the lobby of a Vegas hotel, the elevator I was in lurched to a stop halfway between floors four and five. I glanced nervously at the only other occupant in the elevator, a well-dressed man in his late 30's to early 40's. Turning his head, he gave me a reassuring smile; unfortunately his effort did little to half my contemplation of the elevator plunging to the floors below. Calmly, his manicured fingers touched a few buttons and I watched hopefully as the buttons lit up. But the damn elevator didn't move. There was no emergency phone, but there was an emergency button, and I felt some of the nervousness fade as the alarm bell sounded, thinking that surely someone would hear it and come to our rescue.

Initially, I was frightened because of the stalled elevator, but as the minutes ticked by I gained my composure and leaned up against the metal wall of the cubicle. I felt the eyes of the elevator occupant on my bare legs. Did he like what he saw? I wondered naughtily to myself. At 5'2 I am very petite and even though my legs may not be of the length that encourages a male to visualize them wrapped around his waist, they are strong and well- muscled. I also spend time in the sun and my skin takes on the gold-tone glow frequently seen on the typical California blonde, so it isn't necessary for me to wear stockings.

My automatic instinct was to stare the man down in challenge for his leering. But absent my customary business suit I felt unarmed. Thinking about it now, perhaps I looked a bit easy tonight. My blond shoulder-length hair was free from its pins atop my head, and my makeup was heavier than usual. When I had dressed this evening the let-loose atmosphere of Vegas influenced my choice of clothing. My skirt was a little on the short side and the tanned expanse of my legs would attract the eye of many men. The silk camisole-shirt that many women wear clung sexily to my curves. Because I am a generous C-cup (on a petite frame) for work I choose loose fitting clothing. I had to learn the hard way. During sales presentations, I would frequently glance at clients to find them fixated on my breasts instead of paying attention to my presentations. Passes from the male species I could handle, but being confined in an elevator with a man that was clearly undressing me with his eyes evoked a feeling of helplessness and anticipation.

Getting into the elevator, I wasn't worried about the occupant in the elevator. The cloth of his suit was obviously expensive and the material clung to his elegant shoulders as if were tailored around the contours of his body. Even the Italian leather of his shoes gleamed. The tell-tale manicure of his fingers and his carefully groomed head of hair completed the picture of a man who was a CEO or a lawyer, easily pictured sitting in a boardroom or speaking eloquently in a courtroom. Everything except his eyes proclaimed him harmless. Even though his lips still smiled at me, it seemed that he was merely toying with my emotions. Heat in his eyes contradicted the disarming smile.

"Cold?" he asked and I looked at him and shook my head mutely as if at a loss for words. His accent was English-the single spoken word testament to fine educational institutions. I felt him staring at my breasts and I knew why he had asked if I was cold. My nipples were outlined against the thin silk of the blouse I had chosen to wear. I almost groaned because I realized what a mistake I had made in my choice. As a response to arousal or cold my nipples get very large, and because of this I usually am very careful in my choice of fabrics and lingerie. Another coincidence perfectly or not so perfectly timed.

My unease must have been obvious, because he made another attempt at polite conversation, and inquired about my reason for being in Vegas. My explanation about my cousin's bachelorete party seemed to satisfy him, but it evoked another question that I was not ready for. "So are you in a randy mood tonight?" He teasingly asked me, the clipped words falling from his ever-smiling mouth. That accent alone was making my knees part subconsciously. When I hear an Englishmen speak in that ever-so-proper tone of his, I think of the BBC's Pride and Prejudice and Colin Firth/Darcy soaked through with his shirt clinging to his torso. So here I am, stuck in an elevator, toes curled, knees apart, thinking nasty thoughts about getting on my knees and sucking a man's cock just so I can hear how dirty words would sound in that accent. Oh sure that thought that I was in a public elevator that could start moving at any moment was in my thoughts also-somewhere in the dark depths. I never did answer his question. Apparently I didn't need to. He took one deliberate step towards me, standing so close that I smelled his cologne. The top of my head barely came to his upper chest, his head came down and his lips covered mine, and I fell into the kiss. His lips were mission-oriented, insistence. I could not resist when he thrust his tongue into my mouth, imitating the act of copulation. My body was extremely hot, I felt wet warmth pooling in my lower region, and as his hands came to my breasts I felt his fingers tugging at my nipples through the silk of my camisole. I placed my hands over his and encouraged him in his play. With a desperate motion I pulled my camisole up and my bra was yanked down under my generous breasts, pushing them up for his mouth. He was a rare find, for his instincts lead him directly to my weakness. Because my breasts are so sensitive, I can be brought to orgasm though simple manipulation. His nipping teeth added a little pain to the pleasure and I was even more at his control.

His hand went to my knee and raised it. Fingers trailed up my thigh and pushed aside the crotch of my silk panties, found me went, and entered me. With his fingers manipulated my clit, he whispered to me "Earlier I smelled this....I smelled your hot cunt" In response my hands went to his trousers, his cock was hard. Quickly, I worked on his belt, trousers and finally my hands came to his drawers. I stroked and caressed him through the silk of his boxers. I freed him from his silken bonds and my fingers encircled him and began a steady pumping motion. We were both ready, his hands were slick from my wetness and his cock had indicated his desire by emitting a drop of precum onto my fingers.

Almost brutally, he grabbed me by my thighs and lifted me onto the handrail. I was now firmly pinned between him and the unforgiving metal wall, the only support I had was my ass on the metal rail and his hands under my thighs. Against my inner thighs I felt that hard length of his cock. His trousers were at his knees, but my panties served as an unwelcome barrier to him. Earlier he had, merely pushed them aside. Now he tore the offending black silk from my body and laid my pussy bare to his pleasure. He dropped the barely-there piece of black silk and it fell to the floor, lying at his leather-cased feet. I felt him pushing at my slick entrance with his cock. But before completely entering me, he put his mouth to my nipple and at the moment of conquest, he buried his cock to the balls, and nipped me. I was in complete ecstasy. All I could think of was the length of his hard cock in me, paired with the fractional pain of his teeth and I opened my legs as far as they would go. Hard savage lust had overtaken this man and he staked claim to a woman who was hot and wet and ready to be fucked. After my initial pleasure/pain had waned, I glanced over his shoulder at the mirror on the wall. The picture presented made me feel dirty and naughty-only increasing my pleasure. I stood there, skirt hiked up, my legs wrapped around him, gripping him, encouraging him further. The red of my stiletto heels stood in stark contrast to the paleness of his ass as his pounded into my body. Adding more to this sexy picture was that fact that we were essentially clothed, his boxers and trousers were at his knees and my bra simply pushed my tits up as if offering them to him on a tray. Occasionally he would grunt in time with his thrusting especially when I would tighten the muscles of my vagina around his cock, in order to increase his pleasure.

His face was turned away from me, and I couldn't see his expression, but I am certain that he no longer had that smile on his face. His thrusts were measured and even then I felt that he was still maintaining his control. Suddenly I was possessed of the desire to have control-by making him lose his. I put my lips to his ear and asked him

"Do you like my pussy?" He responded with a particularly sharp thrust, and I knew his weakness. He wanted me to talk dirty. I talked to him and asked him dirty questions using words like "cock" and "pussy" in my sentences. I was rewarded when his paced picked up and his fucking became almost brutal. At last he had lost control. He slammed into me hard, knocking the breath out of me. My breasts were swaying almost obscenely, I became obsessed, I wanted him to come-but I was him to make me come, and I wanted control over the situation. Now that I had him, I allowed myself to orgasm-every muscle in my body tensed. I came and as my vaginal muscles tensed around him, I heard him utter the word "fuck" and his arms gripped me hard to his body; holding me absolutely still as gave one last deep thrust emptying himself into me.

I felt his arms loosen; he parted from me. He eased out of me and left behind a wet path on my inner thigh. I slid down from my perch atop the handrail. He gently supported me as the blood rushed to my legs and I regained feeling in them. He turned from me and pulled his trousers up and I adjusted my clothing. As I pushed my skirt down, coaxed my breasts back into the confines of the bra and pulled down my camisole, the elevator started to move. When he finally turned toward me his face was the mask of calm and civility, and not a hair on his pretty golden head was out of place. I was a different story-my hair was mussed, my face was pink, I was sore between my legs and my nipples were bruised from his eager teething. To top it off I had no panties. Too late, I realized that my panties were on the floor. The elevator stopped, but there was a quick movement at the corner of my vision. He had bent to pick up the discarded panties, and placed them into his pocket. As the doors opened he followed me out and kissed a greeting to an elegant looking woman who was apprehensively waiting for him. As he took his lips from her rose bud mouth, he shot me a glance over her shoulder as I walked by. Once again, on his face was that charming smile, but in his eyes was the naughty-boy that I had met on the elevator. He almost indiscernibly patted the coat pocket into which he had stuffed my panties. I returned his glance with a narrow-eyed stare of my own and hurried through the lobby, acutely aware of the wet dribbles streaming down my naked inner thigh.