Claustrophobia Cure

Candace punched the button for the elevator with mixed feelings. She was already running fifteen minutes late, and if she didn't make up the time somewhere, she'd be late meeting Jeff. Usually she arranged her day to allow herself an extra twenty minutes to walk up and down the stairs from her 40th floor office, to avoid suffering through an anxiety-filled ride in the express elevator.

But today, she was running far behind, and she had no intentions of being late for her blind date. It had been months since she'd been on a satisfying date. The severity of her phobia made it impossible to cope with the booths and enclaves of restaurants, even made it gut-wrenchingly difficult to sit in the dark surroundings and close proximity of a movie theater. Of all the reasons she hated her claustrophobia, the toll it took on her social life was the hardest. In desperation she'd allowed her flatmate Sherry to fix her up with what Sherry called "a thoroughly suitable mate." To be honest, it sounded more than a little iffy, but Jeff sounded nice on the phone, and at this point Candace was ready to settle for a minimally entertaining couple of hours and a decent glass of cabernet. Beggars can't be choosers, she told herself.

Her impending date did nothing to make the prospect of riding the elvator more appealing, however. Just thinking about locking herself into the metal cube filled Candace with panic. Dr. Li, her psychologist, assured her that she would conquer this fear as soon as she could step outside of it for long enough to witness its irrationality. That was all well and good, as far as Candace was concerned, but she was pretty sure this was not the day her miraculous objectivity was destined to arrive. She was afraid-bordering-on-terrified, but determined to keep her date rather than allow her claustrophobia to ruin yet another evening's plans.

The elevator was empty, a blessing. She was usually one of the last to leave the office, and her extraordinarily difficult last client-call made doubly sure that she had the elevator to herself. Relieved, Candace tried not to hear the door sliding shut on its track as she shut her eyes and began breathing deeply. Sometimes, if she caught it early, deep breathing exercises helped her contain her panic. Free from the curious stares of coworkers, she tried to slow her racing heartbeat as she waited for the ride to end. When she felt the sharp jolt of the box's halt an eternity later, she opened her eyes, only to find that she'd stopped sixteen floors down. She groaned as the doors snicked open, wondering if she could finish the ride with an audience.

A single extra passenger boarded the elevator while Candace debated herself about how sweaty she'd get and how late she'd be if she fled down the stairs rather than face the second half of the cab's descent. Absorbed in her own struggles, she barely registered the new occupant, noticing only that it was a tall man in an overcoat and business suit.

Before she could decide whether to stay or exit, Candace heard the man impatiently jab the button to close the doors, effectively making her decision for her. She closed her eyes again, silently hoping that it would be over quickly, and that the new passenger would maintain the barrier of distance common to polite strangers. Pulse thundering in her ears, she felt the stomach-dropping descent resume.

And then stop, only a second later. Her eyes flew open, as she looked to confirm her worst suspicions. The doors did not open, and she turned to the number panel above the frame for answers. She and her co-prisoner were halted, but she couldn't tell exactly where they were stuck, as the electronic panel for displaying the floor number was blank and unhelpful. For the first time, she turned to look at her temporary companion.

"What do we do?" she asked, her voice becoming louder and more shrill on the last word. "What do we..." she stopped her question with a sudden flood of tears, her panic resurfacing with a vengeance and she covered her eyes with a hand to hide her humiliating outburst .

The stranger touched her other arm, trying to get her attention. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked her lamely, still distracted by their situation, but increasingly concerned about her overreaction to it. When he stepped onto the elevator, he'd thought she was tired, or possibly sick to her stomach, as she had looked shaky and pale. In fact, the only other thing he'd noticed about her was the way her boxy blazer failed to conceal the figure-hugging knit dress underneath it. Now, he was beginning to wonder if she was crazy. At the least, she was becoming hysterical.

Steve didn't want to deal with a hysterical and possibly insane woman; all he wanted to do was figure out the problem, get out of the elevator, and be on his way home. He'd had a long enough day already, leaving him tired, impatient, and cranky. He was in no mood for the apparently multiple problems he'd been handed.

He tried talking to her. "Hey, don't worry. I'm sure it's no big deal. Be over before you know it."

This had no apparent effect; if anything, she cried harder.

"Come on, now. We're fine, it's okay."

She struggled visibly to pull herself together, succeeding only minimally. At least her crying slowed, and she removed her hand from her face, looking up at him.

Steve took this as a positive sign, and continued to speak soothing words. "There you go...You look shaky. Do you want to sit down?" He took off his overcoat as he said this, gently folding it to the floor as a makeshift seat.

Despite his valiant effort, she shook her head in reply. When she did this, a bead of sweat dislodged from her hairline and trailed down her left cheek. "Are you too hot? Maybe you should take off your jacket?" He phrased it as a question, not wanting to alarm her or set her off on another crying jag. He began to feel sorry for her, wondering again if she was ill.

Although she didn't reply, she took his advice and removed her jacket, folding it onto his own coat on the elevator's floor. In spite of the bizarre circumstances, Steve caught himself checking her out as she performed this simple action. Despite her paleness, she had been nice-looking before their current situation; removing the jacket revealed her stunning figure even more clearly. The form fitting black dress accentuated her nicely rounded ass and drew attention down to her tanned and bare legs. He noted this to himself absently, wondering if his intervention would help her cool down literally and figuratively. The removal of her jacket didn't seem to make her more comfortable, however, as sweat was increasingly visible on her face and at her neckline.

She asked him again, "What do we do?", adding the new if not very helpful question "What's going on--are we stuck?" Though he felt somewhat sorry for her, in his snappish mood, Steve had to refrain from pointing out that they were obviously stuck, a fact any child could see. The delay this restraint caused in his response time seemed to encourage her to resume panicking. "Ohmigod," she blurted out in a tumbled-together rush, "we're going to die here, I know it. Ohmigod, ohmigod..."

Despite her impending hysteria and his own desire to extricate himself from the situation, Steve fancied himself a gentleman. He had no real life previous experience with hysterical women, and so had little to go on in terms of the proper response. He had no desire to slap her--the most common remedy for hysteria, at least in the movies. Instead, he did the only thing that came to mind as a way to shock the woman out of her panic--he grabbed her brusquely and kissed her firmly on the mouth. He expected to be slapped, but also thought that she'd use the moment to get herself together. He only hoped that he wouldn't be accused of attacking her in a vulnerable situation. But, there was little time to think it out, as her sobs were increasing in volume and intensity, and a total nervous collapse seemed eminent.

He was, however, completely unprepared for the ferocity of her response. Rather than slap him or yell, she threw herself on him, redoubling the kiss with an open mouth while her hands clutched at his shoulders, skewing his suit jacket on his shoulders as she clung to him. There was no time for thinking, he responded on instinct. An attractive woman was frantically pawing him; he acted accordingly.

Sinking his hand in her hair, he drew her face closer, searching her mouth with a deeper kiss. His other hand went to the small of her back, pulling her body against him possessively.

Candace was well past thinking. The paralyzing fear that gripped her when the elevator stopped was leaving her, replaced instead with urgent and irrational desire. She wanted this man almost as much as she wanted to be free of their steel coffin. In fact, as the kiss deepened, she wanted him more. Only the heat sparked by their kiss promised to take her away from the hideous grip of her panic.

As he pulled her body to his own, she lowered her arms from his shoulders to his waist, grabbing him forcefully, her hands taking acount of the thing her conscious mind wasn't capable of registering: his strong back under the jacket, the firmness of his ass under her palms. She let out a sound somwhere between a moan and a whimper when he abruptly broke the kiss.

Steve had no idea how far this woman intended to take their sudden encounter, but his cock was growing hard and if it was going to stop, it had to be soon. He broke their kiss, pulling back slightly for air. Before he had a chance to debate the appropriate move, she let out a soft cry of disappointment at his retreat and began fumblingly reaching under his buttoned jacket, straining to find his belt. This only inflamed him further, and he resumed their embrace without further reservation, upping the ante by reaching down her right side and clutching her dress in his scrabbling fingers as he drew the hem up to her waist.

When the man drew back, Candace had just an instant for her panic to resurface. Before she could succumb to it, she used the new space between them to desperately grab for his belt, looking to free him from his pants. To her overloaded mind, it seemed she had two options--absolute terror or widly uncontained desire. It was no contest; lust took over her body and soothed her mind with its all consuming focus on getting to his cock, resuming her attack on his body. When she felt him raising her dress, she redoubled her efforts to free his cock, finally finding and opening his belt.

Increasingly oblivious to their surroundings and the circumstances of their sudden passion, Steve slid his hands under her bunched dress, squeezing her firm, panty-class buttocks in his strong hands. His penis responded to the feel of her flesh and seemed to strain toward her questing hands as she finally got them to cooperate in the task of unbuttoning his pants and lowering his zipper. Taken by a growing need for release, he hooked his thumbs under the strings of her bikini underwear, drawing him down far enough to expose her neatly trimmed mound, leaving them tenuously clinging to her slightly spread thighs.

As his hands made their first real contact with her bare skin, Candace lost all remaining glimpses of rational thought. Any lingering doubt or awareness of consequences fled as she lost herself in the moment. Finally successful in clearing her path, she reached into his suit pants to stroke his stiff member through his cotton boxers. Though he was of only average size, his hard cock throbbed a steady pulse even through the fabric, silently but insistently begging her to put her fingers through the fly and stroke his naked skin. She answered the urgent cry aggressively, spurred on by the feeling of his flattened hand sliding around her body to find her dripping sex.

Something was bothering Steve, and his conscious mind couldn't quite figure it out. The majority of his brainpower was being absorbed by his body's responses as the beautiful stranger freed his pole and stroked it aggressively, apparently intent on attacking him whether he like it or not. Of course, he liked it, so there were no worries there.

As his fingertips slid between her lower lips, making brushing contact with her clit, the warning signals his brain had been trying to send finally reached him--he didn't have a condom. "Oh, fuck," he thought, "just perfect." What if she was sick, or worse yet, crazy? Just what he needed, to father the child of an insane stranger who worked in his building. Hot body or not, it wasn't worth the risk.

His cock disagreed, however. So, he told himself the oldest of male lies--"It'll be alright; I'll pull out."

Having made his decision, he pulled back from her just long enough to drop his pants and boxers. At even this brief interruption, she let out a high whine of protest that sounded like pain. This both vaguely annoyed him, and drove his hunger for her.

Looking both to quiet her keening and satisfy his own lust, he yanked her to him. In one swift motion, he slid his hands around her ass and lifted her body to impale her on his throbbing hard-on. When their bodies slid together, she let out a cry of surprise that quickly turned to one of insatiable lust.

When he pulled away from her, she felt almost heartbroken, and her stomach fluttered. Without realizing it, she let out a whine which caused him to glance at her in annoyance as he dropped trou. Ordinarily, she would have been mortified. But, ordinary had gone right out the window, along with her shyness and her sanity. When he pulled her back to him, lifting her onto his body, she was shocked at his strength and speed.

Her shock was quickly supplanted as her body reminded her of its needs. His raging cock lit a fire in her; rather than extinguishing her surging desires, it only made her want him more. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him into her body with the strength of her calves and thighs. As their bodies slapped together at a breakneck pace, she felt an orgasm welling within her, much quicker and stronger than was usual for her. Apparently, her long drought and the crazy circumstances didn't matter to her body; all that mattered was the rhythm of their bodies, the force of his thrusts and the radiating electricity coming from her hypersensitive clit.

Orgasm took her almost immediately; Steve didn't know whether he was impressed or disappointed that she was so easily pleased. He could feel her inner walls contract, effectively holding him in place as her body thrashed in release. Even if he could have moved more, it was all he could do to hold her flailing body up without letting her fall off of him and onto her ass, which hardly seemed sporting. Besides, he was definitely going to get his, and dropping her in a heap on the floor didn't seem like the best way to go about it. But, the clenching of her cunt walls was driving him insane, making it very difficult to concentrate on holding her. He was relieved when she began to come down from the heights, expecting her body to relax in his hands. Instead, she became rigid and nearly motionless, her panting breath the only sign that she was still conscious of him.

As her adrenaline-soaked body pushed past the limit and into the swell of orgasm, her mind found a blissful peace she'd been missing since the moment the metal box stopped in its path. But as her body filled with the glow what should have been post-orgasm satisfaction, her mind turned away from the lust that had been her distraction. She found herself tensing up, her mind again fixated on the possibility of their death, her claustrophobia making the already close quarters seem smaller, coffinlike. She let out a single sob of fear and frustration.

"Help me," she choked into his ear, begging him to do something, anything to quell the fear that once again threatened to steal her sanity. "Please...the walls...," she tried to explain, but her panic was making her incoherent, making it impossible to explain what had to seem like some kind of rejection of him.

When she cried in his ear, he finally thought he understood. She was afraid. He wasn't sure exactly what she was afraid of, and still thought she might be a loon, but at least she knew she was over the line. That was comforting somehow. Her plea for help aroused his desire to help her, while it also inflamed his desire to fuck the daylights out of her. He'd never before been in a situation anything like this, and now she was begging him to take control, to do something to help her.

He gently set her back on her feet, spinning her around on shaky legs before they could give out under her. Pulling her body back against him, he held her by the hips, allowing her to stay upright, and giving him an angle to resume their disrupted coupling. His strong hands and firm hold on her reawakened her body, bringing out a side of her she'd never seen before. When he moved to penetrate her again, her body burned with the desire for more, wanting stimulation strong enough to quench her desire and silence her panicking cries for good.

She leaned forward slightly, not thinking about it, just allowing him to rub his length along her slickness. It wasn't enough, but she didn't know what would be. He took her body's hint, however, and changed his angle of attack, moving to spear her ass with his cock.

Before she could react or tell him no, the head forced its slick way past her puckered sphincter. The searing pain of that initial invasion killed any plans she might have formulated to protest. All thought of close quarters and plummeting death fled before that white-hot blast of pain, which took her whole body. He held motionless, letting her adjust. As she began to move against him, moving with the pain rather than against it, her reached around her hip to stroke her clit.

That did it; she was pushing back against him with everything she had. Her ass hurt, but the pain began to subside into a dully radiating, aching pleasure. The contact with her clit drove her lust and she pushed back at him, pulling him into her ass with every muscle in her body as another orgasm began to build.

For his part, Steve couldn't believe the turn his day had taken. Her coquettish pull away from him had seemed like an invitation, one that he seized. Before he could rationally process it, his cock was making its way into the luscious ass his hands had previously enjoyed. Her tightness was unbelievable, almost painful. But the heat, oh god, the heat! Her ass was on fire, molten lava around his stiff prick, and he was lost in it. He restrained himself by an act of enormous will, the gentleman in him trying to let her adjust to him, trying to make it pleasurable for her too.

As she began to relax, and her sphincter muscles allowed him to resume motion, he reached around her to stroke her clit, hoping that if he couldn't erase the pain of his initial penetration, he'd at least give her body something else to focus on. To his mind's surprise and his body's great satisfaction, she began to move against him, panting and moaning constantly as they picked up the pace and he began really fucking her ass.

The burning sensation faded, spreading across her whole body in waves of pleasure as she pushed back against him, fucking him for all he was worth as his reaching hand struggled to keep contact with her clit. His hand wove into her hair, pulling her head back as he used it as leverage to increase his thrusts, driving her insane with desire to submit to his crazed lust as he pounded her, drove her toward the brink he was also finally approaching.

Candace was reaching the point of no return when she dimly registered a jolt of movement. Too far gone to think about it, the sudden drop in her stomach pushed her over the edge, sending her body into another gut-wrenching orgasm, threatening to take her off her feet as her knees buckled.