"Do something!"
"What did you have in mind?"
"Get me out of here!"
Julie felt her face begin to flush with anger. Or was it desperation? The elevator gave no sign of moving. The man's voice on the other end of the speaker gave no sign of recognizing her growing anxiety.
"I can't do that quite yet," the voice said.
"What do you mean you can't?" Julie cried. "Isn't that your job?"
"If you just do what I say everything will be fine."
Julie was really beginning to hate the tone of this guy's voice. When she finally did escape the death trap she was in she'd have the bastard fired, the told herself. She'd owned a condo in the expensive downtown high-rise for two years and paid too much for incompetence like this.
"So, what can I do?" Julie tried to sound conciliatory.
"You can begin by taking off that jacket."
At first the words didn't sink in. Then Julie had an overwhelming urge to rip open the doors with her bare hands. What right did that little maintenance punk have to tell her to do anything, particularly THAT?
In fact, Julie had no clue what "the voice" looked like. She only knew that somewhere in the luxurious glass trap there must have been a camera. So he knew what SHE looked like. Julie envisioned a secluded, dark room with a row of monitors and one creepy little jerk staring at the scenes in front of him.
She stood motionless, considering her options. She knew there were three other elevators. People would still be getting up and down without undue delay. If this twerp wanted to he could keep her in there for a long time.
And Julie had things to do. As the VP for Advertising for a major retailer, her day started early and ended late. She didn't need this.
With a sigh of resignation, she took off her black suit jacket. It hung in her hand since she was unsure exactly what to do with it. Her briefcase was on the floor of the elevator next to her.
"Now the blouse."
"No way, you sick son of a bitch," Julie replied. "Let me out of here NOW!"
"It seems to me that if you were so desperate to get out you'd be following my orders."
"Listen, asshole" Julie said. "I'm going to pull out my cell phone and call the cops. You have five seconds to get me to the ground floor and open these doors." Julie began to reach for her briefcase.
"With one touch of a button I can have that elevator plummeting thirty five stories to the basement. It wouldn't take five seconds."
Julie's head pounded.
"Now take off the blouse."
Julie threw the jacket on top of the briefcase with disgust. Her fingers grasped the top button of her sheer, white blouse and opened it.
Julie Timmons was a thirty six year old woman who understood that good looks played a large role in her profession. She exercised religiously to fix those parts of her body that God had not gotten right. And there weren't many. Her delicious curves caused most men to look twice, once they got past her golden blonde hair and striking blue eyes. She was single by design, picking and choosing who had the privilege to fuck her.
Or see her undress. And this moron wasn't on her list.
Yet, her hands worked their way down the front of her blouse, slowly exposing the little white bra underneath. Julie untucked the blouse from her skirt and opened the last button.
If the camera was above her, as she suspected, the man was getting a decent view of the tops of her breasts, which protruded from inside the modest bra.
"Take it off," the voice demanded when Julie didn't move.
She removed the shirt. Still holding it, she said, "Are you happy now? Open the damn door."
"Drop it."
Julie exhaled noisily and added it to the pile.
"Turn around...slowly."
The woman did a quick three-sixty. She was resigned to the fact it probably wasn't over.
"Now the bra, please."
She cringed at his use of the word please. She was already plotting whether or not she could sue the building owners for letting this happen.
"OK, pervert. But if I do this, will you let me go?"
"Just do it."
It wasn't the answer she was looking for. Her hands reached behind her and quickly found the clasp. Julie unhooked the bra and held it in place. Knowing there was no other option, she let the straps fall from her shoulders.
Julie's breasts were firm and full with small, succulent nipples pointing up at the ends. She often tanned topless during her trips to South Beach and the texture of her skin was consistent from her face to her waist. If she was lucky, that's all she'd have to display.
"Turn. Slowly this time or you'll do it all day."
Julie turned. Her eyes followed her reflection on the glass walls as she pivoted unhurriedly. The little bra hung by her side, contrasting against her black skirt. For the first time since entering the elevator from Hell, a very, very small sense of voyeurism overcame Julie. Quickly, though, disgust reigned again.
"OK. The show's over," Julie said, bringing the bra back up.
"Whoa. I'll decide that," the voice said.
"No. The show's over." She placed the small cups of the bra under her breasts.
Suddenly, the elevator lurched downward, stopping almost instantly but still causing Julie to shriek from fear. She reached out for something to hold onto, stumbling to the railing.
"Jesus fucking Christ," she cried out. "What the hell are you doing?"
Julie's bra now lay on the floor and her bare breasts heaved as she gasped for air.
"Thirty five stories."
There was silence for ten or fifteen seconds, except for Julie's troubled breathing.
"Take off your skirt."
Shit. This guy is serious, Julie thought. He wants me naked in here. Or I die.
"Listen," Julie said, clearing her dry throat. "Let me out of here and I'll meet you in my condo. Just quit playing around."
"Take off your skirt."
