Finally.  The ping of an arriving elevator. Crowded, but not as crowded as the last elevator, the one she’d passed on.  It was just past five o’clock in the evening, and the rush to leave was on.  Twenty-three hundred people, give or take, trying to exit a twenty-two storey, secured building, all via eight elevators, all at once.  

Fuck it. She’d already passed on the one elevator.  She stepped through the doors into the hotbox of stress and fatigue and weary small talk.   

Turning to face the doors as they closed, she was pushed backwards by shifting bodies. She felt something rubbing against her ass through her dress--something bulky and hard.  A security badge, of course. Some male employees wore theirs clipped to their waistbands, and although she was a solid six feet tall, the man she was backed up against was taller.   

One floor, two floors, three.  Each filling the elevator a bit more, and now she was pressed so hard up against the man behind her that she could smell his cologne--cologne and some other, vaguely familiar scent.  His shampoo, maybe, or perhaps his deodorant.

It was around the sixteenth floor that she felt him shift against her.  She tried to shift away from him, sure that she was making him uncomfortable, but was abruptly frozen in place by the startling realisation that hands--his hands--were sliding down over her ass towards the hem of her conservative grey wrap dress, his fingers playing with the lace edge of the tops of her stockings.

Her breathing grew faster, and despite every nerve in her body suddenly being on high alert, her body and mind sure that everyone in the elevator knew exactly what she was doing, she moved her feet apart a bit whilst pushing her legs and thighs hard back against his hands.

She was giving him permission, and he took that permission and ran with it, both hands sliding up under the dress, his right hand pulling her thin, black lace and mesh tanga cut panties aside, skilled fingers working to slip between naked waxed pussy lips, frantic to find the centre of her suddenly sopping, wanton sex.  

Oh fuck.  She felt his warm breath at the nape of her neck, and her mind now surrendered to her body, because nothing was making any sense and there existed no sense to be made of this situation.  She stifled a gasp as his thumb found her needful clit and she felt him forcing open her surprised, sodden cunt.

Lips grazed her ear, his breathing tumbling into whispered words.

“Please…”

One word.  She responded with a nod, and as she nodded, he slid that final finger into her cunt.    

His fingers worked her with impossible speed now, his thumb never leaving her clit as she leaned back against his body and tumbled into this unexpected pleasure.

Nine floors to go.  She was going to lose it if she didn’t stop him...eight floors....she pushed her wide hips back hard against him and felt, for the first time, his cock, heavy and eager against his trousers.   Seven floors. His lips were at the nape of her neck just as his fingers found her soft wanting cervix and she felt herself tightening, the unexpected influx of sensation working to push her over the edge.

Five floors.   She bent over just enough to put her purse on the floor, the wet sound of her grabbing pussy covered by the small talk of coworkers.

Three floors.  She needed this.  Not wanted, needed.  She closed her eyes and her body softened against his, her orgasm a crashing inevitability now.   

Two floors.  Her pale skin flushed bright red as her orgasm seized control, the dichotomy of maintaining a professional demeanour versus acknowledging what was happening in that instant now completely tossed aside.   

Even as her cunt was wracked with pleasure, he slid his fingers out and withdrew his hands from her skin.  A moment of loss, her irregular breathing and flushed face the only indication that something might be amiss.

First floor lobby.   The elevator doors slid open, and per usuale, she allowed everyone else off before exiting.  She smoothed her dress down, more out of habit than anything else, before turning to look at the man who had, moments ago, had his fingers buried deep inside of her swollen sex.

He was studying her, eyes carefully taking in every inch of her curvaceous frame as his mouth discreetly worked his own fingers, those fingers she and he both knew to be covered in her juices.  

She watched him watching her for a moment, then gave him a brief wave, just a colleague waving another colleague off for the night.  

Her face lit with the slightest of slight smiles, she turned and headed for the doors, nodding at the security officers on duty, badging herself out of the building and walking, alone again, into the faint heat of the Seattle summer evening.