The Elevator

It had been a rotten day. The train had broken down and Cynthia had been late for work. The carriage had been packed, the air conditioner broke down when the train did, and they had all sweltered.

Naturally her boss blamed her and told her she'd have to work late to make up the lost time. She could type up the annual report for him. The draft was on the computer with cross references to all the graphs and photos that had to be inserted.

So Cynthia worked over-time, getting that blasted report ready. She knew that her boss would pay her for the extra time over what she had to make up but she still felt it was a bit of an imposition. And if she dared to complain her boss would look surprised and point out that it is part of your duties, you know.

So Cynthia worked on the report that afternoon. She stopped for a short dinner break and then back to it. Murphy was running loose, of course. Any time something has to be done, out pops Murphy like an evil little leprechaun.

For three hours after dinner Cynthia worked on that report. She was the last person in the office, possibly the whole building for all she knew. Even the cleaners had been and gone. Now, finally done, she was heading homeward.

Scooting down the corridor she smiled to see the lift waiting, doors open. She was only a few yards away when Murphy popped up. The lift doors started to slide smoothly together.

"The hell you going without me," yipped Cynthia and sprinted to jump between the closing doors.

She nearly made it. Halfway in and the doors collided with her, knocking her purse to the floor and catching her around the waist and pinning her there, half in and half out the lift. She waited for the doors to react to her presence and pop open, freeing her. It didn't happen.

"This can't be happening," groaned Cynthia.

She pushed at the doors and got no response. The way she was pinned she could get no leverage against either door. Neither could she quite reach the buttons on the wall, although they were tantalisingly close. She stared at her purse, holding a phone she couldn't reach.

She just didn't believe this. How can you get trapped half-way into an elevator? Trapped in one, yes, or unable to get one at all, these she could understand. But to be trapped half-in, half-out because the door jammed on you? Where were the bloody safeguards when you needed them?

She tried yelling for help. Great. She was yelling at an empty elevator and the sound outside the elevator was probably muffled. She was stuck until someone came past. Surely security people wandered around the building every once on a while. She'd have to wait for one of them.

Time passes slowly when you're trapped in an elevator. In Cynthia's considered opinion, it passes even more slowly when you're trapped half in the elevator.

The sound of footsteps was music to her ears.

"Hullo," she called, "I need help."

The footsteps stopped behind her.

"I say," said a voice. "Pardon me for intruding but are you by any chance in need of some assistance?"

For Cynthia, the temptation to say no, this is the way I meditate, was almost irresistible, but anyone dumb enough to ask that sort of question might just believe her and leave her there.

"Um, yes, please," she said meekly. "The doors have trapped me and I can't get loose."

"Ah, yes, I see. I know this is not the place for formal introductions but I'm Robert. Robert Worthington-Smythe, actually."

"How do you do, Robert? Ah, I'm Cynthia. Do you think you can help me get out of here? I seem to have been here for ages."

"Yes, I suppose you have. It's really quite late you know. And I can see you've been struggling quite a bit."

"Like I wouldn't struggle to get out of these bloody doors?" Cynthia thought. "What are you? A moron? Just get the doors open."

"Ah, how do you know I've been struggling?" she asked. "And do you think you can get these doors open?"

"Why, it's obvious you've been wriggling about," came the polite reply. "Your skirt has ridden up showing, forgive me for mentioning it, your panties.

Not that there's anything wrong with that," Robert added hastily. "They're very nice panties, I assure you."

"Ah, thank you. The doors?"

"Oh, yes, the doors. Don't worry. They're not going anywhere. There's plenty of time to get you loose. Perhaps I shouldn't mention this, but I notice that you have a fine pair of legs. And you don't wear those awful pantihose things that so many girls do. A very fine pair of legs indeed."

To Cynthia's horror a hand ran up the inside of her leg, starting at her ankle and continuing to the top of her leg. It brushed her panties and travelled back down the other leg.

"Do you mind?" she gasped. "I would like you to just get these doors off me. I want to go home."

"All in good time," said Robert. "When one finds legs as fine as these it's only polite to pay a little attention to them. I would be remiss if I didn't congratulate you on having such a fine pair."

Things were not going the way she wanted them to, and Cynthia was starting to suspect that they might be getting worse any moment.

Her suspicions became fact as she felt her panties being slipped off.

"Cut it out, will you?" Cynthia screamed, most of her voice being lost in the lift.

"Just take it easy and relax a little. I was just checking to see if your bottom is as fine as your legs, and I have to admit that it is. And might I complement you on having such a fine mound?"

Cynthia tried to squirm as hands ran gently over her bottom and stroked along her pussy, finally cupping it and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Will you stop touching me and get me out of these damned doors," Cynthia almost wept. "You can play touchy-feely after I'm free. Not before."

"Ah, I'm terribly sorry if you think I'm doing you an injustice, but I feel that if I do free you from the doors you would probably decide not to go on with any touchy-feely as you so quaintly phrase it.

A body as fine as yours should be honoured by any man who sees it and what finer honour could be paid than to use it in the way nature intended?

Just relax and I'll take care of everything."

There was nothing that Cynthia could do but wriggle and squirm a little while screaming bloodthirsty threats into an empty lift. All of which was politely overlooked by Robert as he took his time preparing Cynthia for his coming honouring of her body.

Robert ran his hands up and down her legs, with Cynthia quivering slightly at his gentle touch. He lightly ran his fingers across her bottom and it seemed to her he was leaving little trails of fire behind him. He scratched lightly along her lips, easing them apart.

To her intense frustration, Cynthia even found Robert apologising before spreading her lips and slipping a couple of fingers inside her. And all the time he touched and teased he talked, telling her what a fine body she had, how delightful, how responsive.

To Cynthia's chagrin all the touchy-feely as she named it was having an effect. She was wet. She couldn't prevent it. And she was hot and excited, even her anger seeming to add to the excitement. And she knew that all this was merely the preliminaries.

"Excuse me," murmured Robert. "I'm about to worship your body with mine now. Do let me know if I'm moving too fast to start with."

Cynthia's protested, knowing that it was useless but feeling better for having said it. A soothing reply to her protest telling her not to worry, everything would be fine, did not do anything for her peace of mine.

The fatal moment came and Cynthia could feel her lips being eased apart. It seemed to her that Robert was stretching them a lot further apart than actually required. Then there was pressure between her lips and Cynthia's eyes opened wide.

Her thinking switched tracks in an instant. Instead of Robert stretching her lips too far she was now suspecting that he hadn't stretched her enough. What the hell was he putting in her? It couldn't be a cock.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" she wailed.

"Just relax and let it come," Robert told her. "You'll find that a body as fine as yours will adapt to a little penis like mine quite well. You're probably just not used to judging the size of a man's erection yet and think it bigger than it is."

Cynthia gasped with each little increment of Robert's cock as he eased it slowly into her. She found herself thanking god that he was moving so slowly. Pushing something like that in without warning would probably have split her in two.

Slowly Robert advanced and Cynthia could feel herself stretching and expanding to contain him. Robert, she decided, must be used to the way women react to him. That's why he starts off so slowly. He probably had to learn after he killed the first couple of girls he stabbed with that thing.

Finally Cynthia could feel Robert's hairy crotch pressed hard against her pussy. He was sheathed inside her and she still lived. She gave a little groan of relief.

"I'm sorry," Robert murmured to her. "If you want more you're out of luck. That's all I've got. I will endeavour to please you with it."

Want more? She was full to the gills with cock. Her whole world seemed to be a man's giant cock and he was apologising for not having more? What the fuck did this idiot consider to be a big cock?

Now Robert started to move in her, sliding slowly in and out, tantalising, teasing and tormenting. Slowly he would withdraw and slowly return, while Cynthia's body was crying out for faster action. She was squealing, wanting him to come in harder, wanting him to really pleasure her, and Robert continued in his own slow fashion.

Cynthia was helpless. Trapped the way she was all she could do was stand there while Robert did all the work. She couldn't push against him to make him hit her harder. She could only wait while he took his pleasure. His slow, slow pleasure.

Cynthia groaned and yielded.

"Faster. Can you please go faster?"

"No, certainly not," came the quick reply. "One must take one's time when honouring a figure as fine as yours."

What followed was an exquisite nightmare for Cynthia. Waves of pleasure flowed through her, emanating from what felt like a burning brand rubbing against her most sensitive flesh, but the pleasure was always a promise of more to come. And the more wasn't eventuating.

Robert went on and on, thoroughly enjoying himself, and all Cynthia's pleas for a more vigorous loving were ignored.

Cynthia was in a daze of pleasure. Never had she been honoured so thoroughly, but she wanted, needed, more. She needed that last little bit that would kick her over the edge and she was fearful that Robert was eventually going to finish without taking her there.

Finally Robert was speaking to her again.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but this is about as long as I can last. I'm going to have to let loose now."

With that Robert gave a tremendous thrust and started hammering Cynthia as hard and as fast as she could possibly wish for. She shrieked, her climax not waiting but rushing over her at that first powerful lunge. She shuddered and shook, feeling Robert ejaculating within her, filling her with his seed.

She stood there gasping, little aftershocks running through her, feeling Robert pulling away from her. She fancied she could hear a little pop as he pulled clear, like a cork coming out of a bottle.

"Now you want to get loose from these doors, you said," said Robert, considering the situation. "That should be no problem."

Cynthia sensed him crouching down behind her and then a long arm reached out and picked up her purse. She heard him open it and then give a happy chuckle.

"Just as I thought," said Robert. "You have a phone in here."

He passed the phone over her shoulder and Cynthia took it, disbelieving.

"There you are," he said. "Just call emergency services. They'll be around in a jiffy to get you free."

He gave Cynthia a friendly swat on the bottom and walked away, opening the stairwell and vanishing inside.

Cynthia looked at the phone. She was supposed to ring emergency services and have them come around and get her loose? With her dress tucked round her waist and her panties around her ankles? But if she didn't call she could be here all night and she'd still be standing there with no panties in the morning. But who else could she call?

Slowly Cynthia started pushing the buttons.