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The Glass Elevator

A detached man and his wife rekindle romance in a voyeristic trip on an elevator

On the average weekday, at rush hour, the 110 Freeway in Los Angeles averages over 20,000 cars at any given time on the 55 mile stretch. For Phillip Riley, the trip from his job in San Pedro—a small harbor town just south of Los Angeles, to his home in Pasadena took an hour and thirty-seven minutes in gridlocked traffic. Stuck in his car, Phillip would gaze at a glass elevator that rose up and down the exterior of a downtown skyscraper. He assumed the skyscraper was a corporate law firm or some fortune 500 headquarters. But Philip didn’t care about the building or the people who worked in it. Philip couldn’t help but fantasize what it would be like to have sex in the glass elevator—the traffic below, all the unsuspecting drivers rushing to get home, while others perhaps staring—captivated, maybe even envious at the exhibition taking place. Just the thought seemed to stimulate him. He had always fantasized about sex in public and it was the kind of excitement he longed for.

Philip knew of a place—a dark bar in Silver Lake, an area east of Hollywood, which catered to couples looking to explore the taboo of public sex. The bar was filled with all kinds of dark corners and curtained off rooms. Philip had witnessed an assortment of sexual acts there. It wasn’t uncommon to see couples getting each other off under the round oak tables in the plush burgundy booths and hidden behind long black curtains. One night, when it was just ten minutes past ‘last call’, he walked into the men’s room to find a raven-haired beauty and her boyfriend, or friend for the night in an open stall. Both were unaware he had walked in—he couldn’t help but stare as the woman’s tongue toyed with the tip of the man’s penis. Her lips were wrapped snug as she deep-throated his shaft causing him to tremble. Philip watched as she smeared ruby red lipstick along the skin of his penis while she pleasured herself—her hand massaging her clit under her pleated skirt. Her nipples, like pencil erasers, seemed to poke through her shear halter top. The man’s eyes were closed and he was grunting and breathing heavy. With every grunt the woman sucked harder and massaged his sack. Philip quietly left the bathroom, paid his tab and exited the bar.

That night he went home and told his wife, Anne, what he saw. She laughed and was more interested in how long Philip watched the two lovers rather than the audacity of their act.
“So, what else did you see?” she asked.
“Nothing, just the blow job, babe,” Philip said.
“And that’s it? You didn’t wait for the anal encore?” she asked, jokingly.
“Gezz, no,” Philip said.
 Anne was cute, perky and blonde. In many ways she was the typical Southern California girl—the kind of girl Philip had always dreamed of being with, but when it came to sex he could never make love to her the way he wanted. There was always something missing, or not quite right. Sometimes if the day was stressful he couldn’t stay hard and she’d think it was her fault. Or she’d be too tired, or she’d come too soon, or he wouldn’t come at all. And he knew sometimes she’d fake orgasms, which he hated. Philip loved Anne, but the poor sex was taking a toll on their relationship. They needed something, a way to spice things up again.
    “What if we tried it out?” he asked.
    “You mean sex in public?” Anne asked.
    “Yeah, just to see if we like it,” he said.
    “I’m not sure I want to have sex with you in some dirty bar,” she said.
    “Well, maybe not a bar. Maybe something a little more exciting,” he said.
    “I don’t know about this. It sounds illegal,” she said.
    “That’s what makes it exciting. I know the perfect place. Meet me downtown, Friday,” he said.
    “Friday?” she asked.
    Philip shook his head with assurance.
    “Okay, you’re on,” Anne said.
    That Friday, after work, Anne met Philip at a small café downtown. She wore a red satin party dress and gold high heels. Her hair was curled, the way Philip liked it. Philip was worn from the day at the office, his tie was loosened around his neck and the sleeves of his oxford were rolled up. It was the way Anne liked him. From the café they drove to the parking lot of the skyscraper building. As they walked toward the building, Anne confessed playfully she had forgotten to wear her panties. Philip started to get hard and his penis throbbed. Anne couldn’t help but notice. She brushed her fingers against his groin and his penis throbbed again. She smiled and he could hardly contain himself.
    It was late in the day, after 5PM, security was either in the process of changing shifts or there was none. They breezed past a check-in desk and headed toward the elevator. Philip studied the office directory: legal and insurance firms, therapists’ offices, corporate bank floors, temp agencies—a total of twenty-two floors.
    Anne gently bit Philip’s ear as he pulled her into the elevator. She was wearing his favorite perfume and the scent was sprayed along her neck and breasts. Philip pushed the button for the 22nd floor. He braced Anne against the brass rail and kissed her violently. Their lips were sealed tightly, causing them to gasp for air after only moments. Anne snatched Philip’s tie from his neck and began to unbutton his shirt. Philip rubbed her clit with his fingers, slowly massaging it until moisture sprung and dripped down her inner thigh. Anne couldn’t remember the last time she was this wet.
    As the elevator climbed, Philip stared below at the traffic on the 110 freeway and the thought of the driver’s looking at him and his wife only made his penis harder. He dropped his pants and pushed himself into Anne. She moaned and wrapped her legs around him. She threw his shirt to the floor and he pulled her dress straps over her shoulders and slid the dress down to her waist. He licked her nipples, running his tongue around them in a circular motion. By the time they reached the 6th floor, Anne was moaning heavy. Philip thrust himself deep, shifting his hips left and right. The glass of the elevator began to fog from the body heat. The California sun was beating against Anne’s back.
    “It feels so good,” she said. Everything felt good. The elevator reached the 15th floor. In, out, in, out…Philip pushed his penis inside Anne, fighting the urge to come. She wrapped her legs around him tighter. They were sweating and Anne was moaning louder. Anne was beginning to orgasm.
    “Baby, I’m going to come! Oh, god. I’m going to come!” she shouted.
    Philip pushed his penis deeper inside. He could feel Anne’s pussy tighten around him. She grew warm and he could feel the head of his penis swell. As they reached the 20th floor Anne came—a wet and violent orgasm, which was coupled with a loud scream. Philip couldn’t contain himself. He pumped white inside of her and let out a hefty grunt, followed by a gasp for air.
    At the 22nd floor they both collapsed. Their bodies were beaten, ravaged. The elevator opened and to Philip’s dismay, the security guard was standing there. Philip quickly pressed the button for the lobby. Anne was so content, she didn’t seem to notice or grasp the trouble they could be in. They enjoyed the moment, staring out the glass elevator at the freeway as the sun was beginning to set. Anne turned to Philip and said, “I love you.” Philip kissed her gently. “I love you too.”

The End.


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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