Elevator

byTheora©

Karen glanced at the clock, frowned, and realized she had probably missed the director of accounting by fifteen minutes. It was 6:45 in the evening, she was hungry and stressed, and this folder of papers was promised to be on his desk before he left the building. She picked up her phone and dialed the extension of his assistant. Three rings ... four ... voicemail. No one there. She pushed the handset hard into the plastic cradle in frustration, slid her feet back into her high-heeled shoes beneath the broad oak desk and pushed up from her tall, black leather seat. She reached to take her glasses off, as she usually did when she left her office, but decided on the slim chance he was still at his desk, he might want to review a few things. So she left them on.

She took the manila folder of documents and smoothed a hand down the front of her jacket, checking herself for rice cake crumbs. Seeing none, she buttoned up, reassured she was in good enough condition to visit with the high brass.

She strode down the hall toward the elevators, past the many empty desks of those who were fortunate enough to get to leave at 5:00 every night. Behind her, an intern working late leaned out of his cubicle to appreciate her womanly form and perfectly turned legs, wrapped in black, seamed nylon stockings as they carried her down the hall and through the glass doors to the foyer and elevators. He whistled low to himself; she usually wore slacks to work but on those uncommon days she wore those knee-length skirts, he could never repress his urge to admire her.

Karen's mind wandered to her husband, probably home by now with the kids, with pizza in the oven no doubt. Weeks like this were always gladly received by the children who loved nothing more than pizza and Doritos, or Eggo waffles with maple syrup for dinner. But as this week was Convention Week, everyone at the company was needed to burn extra fuel and get their jobs done so that their annual convention would come off without a hitch and make everyone look good. That meant Eggos and pizza for a while at home.

And late nights downtown, 45 minutes from her house and family, which had once been a source of excitement for her. Pure, lusty, illicit, wrong excitement. She shivered when she remembered those nights she could have returned home at 7, but lied to stay for additional hours while she and Grant would lock themselves in his office, close the blinds and fuck passionately on his desk, desperately holding their moans and cries to barely contained whimpers and whispers of ecstasy. Neither of them had any illusions that she would leave her husband, or he his wife. It was torrid, it was primal ... it was so wrong. But oh, the sex. She closed her eyes a moment as the feelings returned to her, like a warm wave passing through her. She let herself indulge in the memory of him, his eyes, his smell, the taste of his skin, the way he rabidly devoured her sex with his lips and tongue, the way he couldn't bear to keep from slamming his thick cock into her as soon as the blinds were shut. For four months they danced on a razor's edge of danger, until they'd finally had one close call too many and mutually agreed to call off the affair. Karen was ready for it to be over by that point; the guilt and anxiety, the subtle panic that ran through her every time her husband's name appeared on her ringing phone... she had had enough.

The elevator gave a soft chime as it swooped down and stopped behind the twin golden doors. As they parted, she saw the young face of Miranda Fuller. Twenty-six years old, Miranda was the daughter of CEO Gordon Fuller, the multi-millionaire patriarch of the company and icon of the industry (having been featured on the cover of Forbes no less than three times in the course of his career). Miranda, a small, compact woman with bright, conniving brown eyes and a short black bob cut, was the very definition of corporate nepotism. One of the youngest people to reach the third tier of executive management, Miranda was in charge of their enterprise computer systems, in spite of her total lack of management acumen.

No one could argue the woman was brilliant; conversant in three languages, MBA, national honor societies... she even regularly penned articles for trade publications, her coquettish portrait and byline too irresistible to refuse in an industry dominated by overweight men. And she understood complex computer systems, that was unquestionable. But where her I.T. skills were strong, her executive skills were at times disastrous, forcing her subordinates to clean up her messes on a regular basis and nurture deep, unspoken resentment toward her. But as the messes would be made, so too would the coverups come. Miranda was learning to be a manipulative, cynical woman, using her physical beauty and charm to coax any of the men in her employ—and others, as needed—to keep her in the best light, out of blame's way.

Karen feigned a smile to the young woman as she boarded the elevator, holding her manila folder to her chest. "Evening Miranda," she said, pressing the button marked 32. The glass ring around the quarter-sized circle glowed golden.

Miranda gave Karen a somewhat puzzling smile. "Hello Mrs. Brinks," she replied smoothly, knowingly. She knew she could get away with calling anyone in the company by their first names, but she often patronized them by starting with the proper honorific, then using their first name when she needed to assert social dominance. As Karen turned back, she caught the young woman's sweeping gaze over her body and felt a subtle, barely conscious unease at being contained in this small box with the devious young woman, as the doors slid closed.

She tried to lighten the mood of the car with small talk. "Working late?" she asked.

Miranda gave a soft "Mmmm," which Karen took as dismissive. But something about the way the younger woman was looking at her made her nervous. The numbers above the console of buttons steadily climbed as the elevator car smoothly ascended its column toward the summit of the building.

The ascent came to an abrupt halt with a sudden lurch, and the two women were suddenly enveloped in darkness. They each gave a surprised gasp, seizing the brass handrail to steady themselves. Karen lost her grip on the manila folder and documents scattered to the floor. She gave a frustrated groan as she realized what was happening. A few moments later, a low light clicked on and the elevator car was bathed in low, yellow light from the battery-powered emergency lamp.

"Oh great!" Miranda exclaimed angrily, looking up at the lamp that had come on. "What the hell is this?"

Karen sighed and bent down to begin reassembling the papers into her folder. "Guess we didn't pay our light bill this month," she answered dryly. She prayed it would only be a momentary interruption of power. She didn't think to bring her phone with her; it was still on her desk.

Miranda made no move to help Karen. She instead leaned against the wall and let her eyes devour the succulent curves of the older woman's body as she folded herself to pick up the mess. Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, her lips curled into an appreciative smile as she subtilely moved her heel to pinch one of the pages to the floor before Karen could reach for it. When she did, Miranda did not lift her foot, but held the page to the ground, forcing Karen to look up at her from her crouched position.

Karen's eyes couldn't help but travel slowly. The young woman was a fit, well-proportioned specimen wearing a sharp Donna Karan navy suit that stopped a full two inches above the knee, with dark blue stockings enveloping her toned, strong and shapely legs. Karen realized Miranda had more than likely been a cheerleader when she was in high school, by the fitness of her legs and the social status she could never have done without.

Her eyes continued up Miranda's body until they met hers. Miranda gave a sly wink. "You look hot like that, Mrs. Brinks," she purred. It was a shockingly harassing thing to say, and Karen's eyes widened, her jaw going slack.

"Excuse me?" She could barely believe her own ears.

"Oh nothing," Miranda giggled. "Just teasing you." She lifted her foot and released the paper. She smiled as she saw Karen's face darken in the golden light with embarrassment and confusion. Surely the lovely older woman could never have expected to be flirted with in a situation such as this. But Miranda's appetite had moved beyond seducing her father's golfing friends, and "securing" ridiculously low bids from certain preferred vendors (based on clandestine rendezvouses in neighboring towns' premier hotels, with the promises of future such encounters if contracts were signed). She was bored with cheating husbands and drooling frat-boy interns. Now she wanted to see if she could seduce a woman. A woman in the company. Starting with the most alluring one she knew. Karen Brinks.

Karen snatched the remaining papers from the floor and quickly righted herself again, stuffing them into the folder. The light was too low to try to sort them; it would have to wait until the power came back. She frowned, jarred by the young woman's playful tease.

Miranda enjoyed watching Karen recover her composure, her eyes occasionally glancing to the lovely curves of her calves, brazenly leering. She gave a soft giggle. "Sorry," she offered. "I just can't help that you're so gorgeous. And I haven't been with a woman in so long."

Karen was again struck by the sheer cheek of the CEO's daughter, making comments that could get a man officially reprimanded, quite easily. Sexual harassment was nothing this company took lightly, but here was princess Miranda Fuller acting like... well, acting like the boss' daughter. Karen shot her a look. "That's a little personal for my comfort, Miss Fuller."

Miranda ran her fingers behind her ear, bringing her hair back to show more of her face. She was leaning back against the handrail and crossing her ankles in front of her, very aware of the presentation she was making of her legs. "I bet you'd like being with a girl. Ever done it before?"

"I'm not interested in this topic of conversation, Miss Fuller," Karen said pointedly, emphasizing the name.

"Oh that's too bad... you know there's not a woman in this building who hasn't fantasized about you."

Karen gaped, stunned. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Miss Fuller, are you coming on to me?"

Miranda giggled. "Of course not Mrs. Brinks. I know you're married. I'm just saying, you're gorgeous and everyone here wants you. That's all."

"That's good. I'd hate to have to make an official complaint to the effect that I've been sexually harassed."

Miranda's eyes widened in mock fear. "Oh, that would be terrible, please don't do that. I promise I'll be a good little girl."

Karen frowned at her and leaned against the wall, trying to read her watch in the dim light. "Fuck," she muttered to herself under her breath.

"What?" Miranda chirped. "What did you say you wanted to do?"

"Miss Fuller, you need to knock it off. It's not particularly funny. Maybe the boys think so, but I'm not in the mood." She shot Miranda a look over the rim of her glasses.

Miranda's eyes sparkled as she pushed off the handrail, moving closer to her prey. "Yet."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're not in the mood... yet, Mrs. Brinks. But I can fix that."

Karen was not only stunned that Miranda would say such a brazenly actionable thing, but that the younger woman was now drawing closer with dangerous eyes. "Are you stupid? Are you trying to get yourself written up by HR?"

Miranda's gaze didn't waver. "I'm fucking Director Solomon, Mrs. Brinks. He won't lift a finger against me. And neither will you."

"Get away from me."

Miranda's smile broadened as she closed the distance and pinned Karen's body to the wall with her own, letting her hips fully collapse against hers. "Make me," she whispered hotly.

Karen glanced up to the glass dome in the corner of the car. "I'll have your job for this," she seethed. "The security footage from the camera shows incontestable harassment. Boss' daughter or not. Get off of me this instant or I throw the fucking book at you."

"That camera isn't recording, because the power is out, Mrs. Brinks. Battery lights only."

Karen lunged for the hatch covering the emergency phone, but Miranda seized her and forced her lips to hers, taking Karen's face in her hands. The smaller woman was quite strong, for her size, and she pinned the older woman's body to the wall hard. Karen struggled to turn her face away from the forced kiss, making desperate, panicked sounds, trying to push Miranda away. Finally she managed to break loose of the kiss and lunge for the emergency phone, but what Miranda said next made her blood run cold and her face ashen.

"I know about you and Grant!" Miranda stabbed, playing her ace-in-the-hole.

Karen froze. These rapier words shook her to the core. Her vision narrowed and she felt a sickening swoon come over her. Her heart pounded in her ears. It can't be true .. it can't be! How could she know? she pleaded to herself. In an uneven voice, she replied, "Grant who?"

But her body's visceral response was all the confirmation Miranda needed, and she twisted the knife. "Grant Parrone, in retail ops. Go ahead. I dare you to deny it." Miranda was looking her dead in the eyes.

Karen trembled; her vision clouded. She fought to replace panic with anger. "I don't know what you think you know, little girl, but if you don't let me go this instant, I'll not only have your job, but I'll sue you for threatening to extort me!"

The thin smile told Karen her threat wasn't going to work. "You won't do that, Mrs. Brinks," Miranda replied cooly, deliberately drawing out the "Mrs." to drive her point home. "Because if you do, I will be forced to trot out the photographs, and the recording that I have of both of you on the night of April 17th, about 8:30 in the evening, when I just happened to leave my voice recorder on the bookcase in his office. And, oh yeah, it was set to 'voice-activated', oopsie. It recorded nearly 40 minutes." She waited and watched Karen's face change as she remembered the exact date of one of their more heated encounters.

"Mmmm, yes, you remember, don't you Mrs. Brinks? You get the cutest little squeak in your voice when you orgasm, don't you? And Grant ... mmmm, what a delicious man to throw away your marriage vows for, I must agree. I just loved how he would do that—" she inhaled breathily, mimicking the very sound Grant made when he climaxed. It was a sound only someone who'd been with him would know. And she knew how she sounded when she herself came. Her voice climbed, and when she fought to restrain her peals of ecstasy, they emerged as soft chirps of pleasure.

Karen's fight dissipated as she stared, cornered, quite literally. "What do you want, Miranda?" she demanded in a low tone.

Miranda's eyes danced. "I want to fuck you, Kathy. I want to hear you make those little squeaks just for me."

"You can't do this!"

"I can do whatever I want, and right now I want to fuck you, and I want you to fuck me. It's very simple .. we fuck, we have our fun, and then I give you the photos and the recordings and we pretend it never happened."

Karen glared into Miranda's confident gaze. She imagined the horror that would cross her husband's face if confronted with the truth of her infidelity. She knew he would leave her, and a bitter divorce would wreck her whole life. She'd been witness to the hell of divorce, the emotional trauma the children would be forced to endure, as one of her closest friends had to go through it a year past. The nightmare of her friend's ordeal hit home, and was one of the reasons she'd called off the affair with Grant. She had no idea anyone else could have known. But now the grave reality of her naiveté hung above her head like Damocles' sword revealed. She knew she could never call Miranda's hand. She had everything to lose ... Miranda risked nothing.

She set her jaw and turned her face away. "Get it over with," she said quietly.

Miranda took Karen's face in her hand and turned it back to face her, staring into the older woman's eyes victoriously as she leaned into capture her lips in a hard kiss. Karen tensed instinctively, pushing, jerking her head to try to slip away, but Miranda held her fast and forced her tongue into Karen's mouth. Karen whimpered in protest, but parted her mouth to allow the insistent wet tongue to explore her own. She glanced worriedly up at the glass orb in the corner covering the camera, wondering if anyone in the security booth was watching.

Miranda's hold on Karen relaxed as she realized she had won over her prey. Her kiss deepened and her hands slid up Karen's body, giving a low moan of arousal. Karen shifted her head to the side, allowing Miranda's kiss to penetrate deeper, and let her hands fall to her sides. The young woman's tongue was smaller and more delicate than her husband's, and she was surprised at how different it felt to be kissed by a woman than a man. Although she'd done the same drunk kissing and picture-taking as every other college girl, it was something she barely remembered and hardly thought of since. This was new to her, after nearly a decade of marriage, and her heartbeat thrummed in her chest to a different kind of energy, still colored by the very real threat to her family and future that Miranda's disfavor held.

She broke the kiss. "Miranda," she said breathily, "If I'm going to do this, do I have your word you'll give that recording, and those photographs you mentioned, to me, and never use them against me or my family?"

Miranda softened her tone. "Yes. I don't want to fuck with your life. I just want to have sex with you. After that, I'll give everything to you. I won't even tell Grant. I don't even really care. What happens in this elevator stays in this elevator. I swear."

"And if the power comes back on?" Karen hedged. "The camera will come on too."

"Not until they restart the system from the security booth. It will take a few minutes for them to boot their recording software. That means if the lights come back on, we'll have a few moments to get dressed." Miranda concocted this fabrication smoothly and easily. Whereas a decade earlier it might have been true, she knew that newer systems had been installed since then to keep power going to security systems in the event of an outage.

Karen glanced again at the glass dome, then looked back to Miranda and answered just above a whisper. "Okay. But if the lights come on, we have to stop." She was trembling.

"We will. Don't worry."

"Okay."

Karen placed the folder of documents on the floor, rose and slid her arms around the young girl, drawing closer to kiss her. Miranda canted her head and let her lips close over Karen's, giving a soft sigh as she relished the pleasure of her conquest, her hands again exploring the body of the woman she'd just won. She inhaled deeply through her nose, taking in the flavors of Karen's hair, perfume, and makeup. The bouquet of femininity lighted her senses like an accelerant, and she felt the warmth collecting between her legs. She ached to feel Karen Brink's mouth and tongue licking it out of her, and send her home to hubby, making her look into his eyes knowing she'd tasted another woman's cunt.

The kiss grew firey and passionate. Karen wanted only to satiate the young company princess, preferably before the lights came back, as that would only mean they would have to temporarily postpone their sex rather than resolve it here and now. She too could taste the scents and flavors of Miranda's cosmetics and perfume, and it had a strangely exciting affect on her; perhaps her being a woman, and the extramarital sex, were illicit pleasures awakening within her she wasn't conscious of before. Grant had been a magnificent lover, but she knew that part of the pleasure of being with him was the wrongness of it, the danger inherent, the risk of being caught. Although with Grant it was a different danger, a danger they shared to be together. Kissing Miranda was like playing with the very thing that could destroy her, at any moment. Like charming a cobra.

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byTheora© 11 comments/ 80265 views/ 18 favorites

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