The Seventh Floor

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You have sex in an elevator with a twist.
4.3k words
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As soon as the elevator doors closed I pulled you to me. You loved it whenever I pulled you that way, when I demanded of you. I stopped just before our lips met so I could smell your breath and hear it. I wanted to hear that desire you always have hidden just under your skin.

That's why I touch you. That's why I was holding your arms after I pulled you to me, to let you know I would not let you get away until you satisfied me, until you let that desire come through the skin. And then I kissed you, first with the lips, then with the tongue, then with everything I had ever wanted.

I always loved kissing you, no matter how I did it. I could be sweet, drunk, lustful, playful, or dominating, and it wouldn't matter. Your lips have always been ready, parted and painted enough so I could smear the lipstick all over you. And the tongue. That angel of desire with a devilish grin, always playing the coy one, but not being able to hold back for long. It was your tongue that showed me how weak you were, how you couldn't resist whatever I wanted from you. It was your tongue that I loved more than any other part of your body, apart from you.

As our lips parted I could feel you rest against me, with your eyes closed, taking the moment to savor the sweetness that I left inside you. I could loosen my grip now. I could even let go of you knowing that you couldn't move, couldn't get away, that you wouldn't want to. You were frozen, incapacitated by knowing that I loved you. And then I kissed you again. This time deeper, sweeter, so I could reach inside you and find that part of you, the part that would overwhelm you here.

I wanted you to beg me to fuck you right there, right in that elevator, with the buttons and the bad carpet and the mirrors on the ceiling, the elevator that moved just slow enough that I could come inside you, and fast enough that we might get caught. And when you reached your hands behind my neck, to hold me to you, so that they could wrap themselves around me, I knew you were mine now. I knew you would do it. And so would I. I backed up against the wall and pulled you with me, not losing my grip on your libido for even a moment. It was going to happen, come hell or high water, and we were ready for it.

And then the doors opened.

You couldn't see her, but I could. She was tall, with long, blonde hair, and a suit and a briefcase and sunglasses, sunglasses that covered her eyes, eyes that would be beautiful, no doubt. And I looked at her, I looked at her with eyes that said I'm not stopping and neither is she. It was her choice. She could run, or hide, or hit me, or mutter, or turn away, or stay.

She could stay because I knew you would want that. You couldn't see her. I wouldn't let you. I kept kissing you, holding you, feeling you rub your sex against the bulge in my pants. But you would want her to stay. You'd want her to watch me fuck you, to look at your body, to study the way your hands tried to crush me. You'd want her to watch your face as you came and say, "What a beautiful thing."

And she did. As I watched her, as I looked at her, as she heard my eyes say it, she stepped in, walked to the back, and turned to face the closing doors. She was next to me. Not in the other corner, not as far away as she could get, but not so close as to penetrate that sphere of sex that surrounded us. She wanted front-row seats, and she got them.

I could smell her. Poison it was. And that made sense. She was exotically beautiful, the type whom it might appear this happened to all the time. Her smell was the scent of sex, of the promise of sex, of the mix of sweat and perfume and the wetness that I knew was dripping out from between your lips already.

I knew you could smell it too, but still I wouldn't let you see her. I wanted you to wonder. I wanted you to wonder what she looked like, whether she was beautiful or ugly, real or imagined or fake. I wanted that to drive you deeper, make your pussy ache for me to penetrate you.

She stood there, motionless, upright, like a statue. I couldn't hear her breathing over yours. I couldn't tell if she was turned on, curious or just there because she didn't mind. But I wanted to find out. I wanted to know why she didn't turn away, why she didn't feel awkward here, why she felt that this was acceptable behavior for a woman in a suit with long hair and sunglasses.

I wanted to know if she would go home afterward, rip off her clothes and make herself come thinking of this, or if she had a man to go home to, someone who would fuck her while she imagined it was me, in this elevator, on the seventh floor. I wanted to know who she was, the way I knew you.

So I turned you. You could tell. You could tell what I wanted and what I was going to do to you while she watched. You tried to turn toward her first. You wanted to see her, you couldn't stand not knowing who she was, who this woman with the smell of sex was that wanted to see you. But still I wouldn't let you. I turned you the other way, away from her, away from knowing her the way I did, because I knew it would make you want this more.

You didn't try again to look at her. Even when you could have glanced over, when I was slowly pulling your underwear down so that I could enter you, you didn't look. You kept your eyes closed. And for that, I would promise you something, anything, anything you wanted whenever you wanted it.

I kissed you again. I kissed you on the back of the neck, as I ran my hand through your hair. I knew you liked that, that I would touch you softly in the same places I would ravage you when you were coming, where I would leave marks on your body after pulling and biting you to the point just short of drawing blood. And it made you say it. It made you whisper the words you can't stop when you know there's no return, the words that you would scream over and over again as your come was finally released and flooded around my sex.

"Oh, god..."

She was there. For the first time, since she walked in and stood in that place, she was there. When she heard you, something appeared inside her, something that I hadn't noticed before. I couldn't quite see it, and I wouldn't know what it was until it became something else, but I knew it was there. She took a deeper breath, the type you take when you're on the edge of something dangerous, full of the trepidation of losing control, of being judged and humiliated and turned away.

She had to shift her body. The way she was standing wasn't right. It wasn't the way she should watch me fuck you. I had my face buried in your neck but I could feel her. She moved, slowly, quietly. She didn't want to disturb us, to take the slightest risk that she would stop what was happening. She didn't want to slow the feeling that was building inside you, that would take you over, the one that made you speak. But she wanted to feel it too, she wanted to feel it when you did, to come when you did, to let the same words escape from her mouth, at the same time, to be inseparable from you.

I could feel her rest quietly against the wall, that same wall that held me against you as I kissed you and slipped my hands under your blouse. She opened up. Her jacket, her legs, her eyes opened up all at once. I could feel her resting, relaxing herself, getting comfortable in that place so she could watch us without ever having to move again. But there was still something not right.

It was her hands. Her hands were clutching her leather briefcase. They held it between her legs, in front of her sex, both of them, quietly, as if they were not at all a part of this. I expected that as she settled into that place, one of her hands would be released of its duty, that it would ease its way slowly between her legs, under her skirt, so she could touch herself, feel her own wetness, perhaps dip a finger into her pool, imagining it was me. But she did not, nor did she look at us.

She didn't want to know the details, to watch you, or catch a glimpse of my cock as it withdrew from you and then thrusted itself deep again. She just wanted to know we were there, to hear us, to smell your sweat and your sex as it surrounded mine, and to smell her own scent too. Even as I started lifting the back of your skirt, to expose the part of you that would be spread apart and violated, she didn't look.

But I did. I held you still. I looked down at you, at the white curves that I had drawn my lips over time and time again, the ones that I often spread so I could lick you there. I wanted to remember what it looked like when my cock was erect and just entering you, how it would withdraw soaked in your desire. I almost wanted to stop, just so I could be in that moment. But there were other things to do now.

I unbuttoned my pants, and you heard it. I knew you could hear it, because it moved your body. It made you straighten and take a deep breath, because you knew that soon I would part your lips and you would not be able to avoid speaking again. I fished my hand inside and pulled myself out into the cool air, the air that was different from that muffled, wet place it had been imprisoned and tortured.

It was free, and as it came out, a drop of my come fell from the tip and hit the floor. I wanted you to see this. I wanted you to see what was coming for you, what was about to be yours, what was always yours. But you didn't. You still kept your eyes closed, like the good little girl that you are. You kept them closed so you wouldn't be tempted to look for the woman rested against the wall, so that you wouldn't ask her to look at you.

And as I had done before, I told you. I told you it was time for you to be fucked, time for you to release it all so I could hold you again. I didn't tell you so she could hear it. I didn't want her to be prepared. I wanted it to take her by surprise, to throw her off balance, to throw her down on the floor in the corner, so she could finally spread her legs and fuck herself while I fucked you. I didn't say it, I tightened my grip on your hair and pulled you back to me. And you knew.

You knew just before I reached around to you, before I reached my fingers through your hair to find that pearl so that I could stroke it, so that I could rub it, and slide past it to get it wet enough. And the moment had come, the moment when you would speak again.

I pushed my way past you, inside you, deep. I went deeper than I ever had before. I could feel myself inside you. I could feel my cock pushing against your skin, as if it was trying to break through, to escape, only so it could discover that there's no life on the outside worth living and to then return.

Your breathing was now betraying you, telling me that I was now in control of everything you want. It was begging me, begging me to finish you, to finish off everything. You couldn't stop saying things. You had to speak, you had to ask and to tell me how much you wanted my come to drip out from between your lips, so you could dip your finger inside yourself and taste it. You had to speak or you would cry.

And for the first time, since the doors closed on the seventh floor, I could hear her. She spoke too, but it wasn't a word. It was a sound, a sigh, a complement to you. It said that in all the times she had been in love, sweet, dirty, reviled, and fucked senseless, she had never heard anyone as beautiful as you.

And that made me even harder. It made my sex hurt to the point of numbness, as it pounded against you inside, as I grabbed your hip, pulled you closer and pushed you away. It made me hard to the point where I could fuck you both at the same time. But that was the least of it, that was the least of the most unbelievable things that were to happen that night.

She looked at you when she said it, as her breathing became heavier, as I pulled you against me. She finally looked at you, betrayed her lust, admitted that when the doors opened, and she saw me, she didn't hesitate for a second, even inside. If she had been with her husband, or a lover, she would have pushed him away, run inside and closed the doors so she could be here.

For the first time since I had dropped your underwear to the floor, and kissed you and pulled your hair and penetrated you, I looked at her. And in that brief moment before I closed my eyes, her lips parted. I could see them in the darkness, as I slid in and out of you, as I smelled you getting hot and sweaty. Her lips parted but no sound came out. They parted so she could breathe more deeply, so she could fill her chest more and feel her nipples slide against the silk that wrapped them and kept them sacred.

I wanted to kiss them. I wanted to kiss her lips while you came, so you could scream without obstruction and I could feel the sweetness of kissing you. And then it happened.

I could hear her moving again. But like you, I kept my eyes closed. I didn't want to know what she was doing. I didn't want to know if she was going to lift up her skirt and reveal herself so she could stroke her clit. I just gripped you tighter, held on to you as if I would fall to my death if I let go. I didn't want to know anything but you, and wild bucking of your body as you came.

But she kept moving, and I couldn't ignore it. I couldn't ignore the space between us that was getting smaller, and closer, the space that kept her scent from trying to pull you off me so she could face me and ask me to fuck her instead. And I didn't know if I could stop her from loosening my grip, so that she could take me away from you and leave you suspended, as if both heaven and hell had rejected your entry.

I still wouldn't open my eyes, but I wondered if you had. I wondered if while the orgasm that was building up inside you, while you felt the space closing, that you would look at her, that you would finally see her, and take that away from me. And still, I don't know, because I have never asked you. I don't want to know. I want it to be something that I'll never know, something that's yours, and yours alone.

And then she kissed you.

I didn't see it, but I could feel it. I could feel a new body invading you, taking you, rising you up between us. I felt like you were going to explode, as if when the doors finally opened and someone looked in, all they would see were the walls dripping with sex.

But you didn't let go at that moment. You didn't because I released you. I still held you, but loosened my grip, so you could break away from me and take her, and push her against the wall, and stick your tongue deep inside her mouth and fuck her with it, if that's what you had wanted. But I still held you as I opened my eyes. It was as if I was waking up from one dream into another. I felt lightheaded, dazed, almost dead.

I saw her eyes now, closed, beautiful, lost in kissing you. And now, for the first time, I saw what she wanted. It wasn't the smell or the sex or the sound, or to see my cock bury itself deep inside you. It was you that she wanted. She wanted to kiss that woman whose face she couldn't see, who let herself be violated in a place where others could see her. She wanted to be as dirty as you, to taste you when you were being as dirty as she had always wanted to be.

She was touching you, and I don't know for how long. I don't know whether the kiss came first, or whether at first she slid her hands under your blouse so you could know what was coming. But I could see them, under there, where my hands used to be, caressing your breasts and catching the nipples with a squeeze that would make you wince and open your mouth wider for her.

Still she kissed you, like she was never going to stop. And you kissed her back. I moved my head so I could watch you kissing her, so I could see your lips part and your tongue slide around inside her, so I could suck on your earlobe and make believe it was your clit that was about to come for me. And when she pulled away, when she finally opened her eyes, you cried out in a whisper.

I had stopped moving so she could take you away from me, so you could take her and disappear and leave me forever wondering how many times she had made you come. But you stayed. You kept your lips tight and moved slowly, rising and falling, keeping me hard inside you but keeping yourself from letting go, trying to make this moment last as long as it could.

I couldn't get enough of you. I wanted to be her as well. I wanted to start moving again, start thrusting hard against you. I wanted to make you come while her hands were on your breasts, while she watched you, close to you, taunted you by calling you a whore. But I didn't, I couldn't.

If I did, if I had started moving you, you wouldn't have felt her drop to her knees, her hands slowly sliding from your breasts, across your stomach and settling on your legs, your long, beautiful white legs. You wouldn't have felt her nails dig softly into you, at that moment just before her tongue slid between your lips and tasted you for the first time.

I wanted that for you. I wanted you to feel everything, her hands piercing you, my cock sliding inside, and our mouths, our mouths sucking you inside, refusing to let go until you couldn't ever speak again. I looked down to see her there, her unpolished nails prickling you, sliding down your legs as she licked and sucked you, rising back to the top when they finally reached your knees. I saw her hair draped over her shoulders as if she were reclining in an opium den, dead to the world.

And her mouth, the mouth that was all over you, inside you, everywhere that I was not, the mouth that now knew the sweetness that I get lost in over and over again, the dripping sex of you that's more addictive than anything anyone has ever known. Her mouth was driving you now, and I was the passenger. I would only stay inside you, stroking you slowly, filling you inside so that when you came you had something to squeeze, something to keep your flesh from collapsing onto itself.

She took you there. I always know when you're close, when you're so close a word or a kiss or a pinch of your nipples will send you over. I had to reach down and stroke you, while she licked you, in that place, the place you claimed you never knew before I met you, even though you knew it wasn't true. It was my place now, stolen from the grasp of all your former lovers.

And it was starting already, the tension, the tightness there, in that part of the sky where the clouds gather before the thunder shocks you out of sleep. I reached my fingers down into your hair to pull it back, to pull it away from her so she could suck you in deeper as you came. And I caressed you softly in that place, the way you liked it, the way I did when my mouth was where hers was, stoking harder and harder as you got closer to the edge until I would finally grab you and you would come.

But she was in control now, she found a spot of her own, a way to make you come for her, not for me. She slid her hands together around your mound, around her mouth that was sucking you as if she was trying to focus everything inside you and bring it to her, to her wanting mouth so she could swallow you. I stroked you harder, I knew you were there. But the closer you got, the more that the tension built up inside you, and the more it seemed like it was never going to happen. It was going to be forever before you would ever come again.

Then, as if guided by a divine force, this angel in the elevator slowly spread her fingers apart. When she did this, when the tips of her long slender fingers moved across your skin, barely touching you, they sent ten tiny waves of joy into you, to hunt you down and make you succumb to her. And it was more than you could bear.

You were terrified. All you could do was scream.

"Noooo!"

You screamed it until you ran out of air, until you had nowhere else to hide. You didn't want to know now what she brought to you, and what you gave her in return. You didn't want to know because it was about to take you over, that it would haunt you every day and that you could never give it back. You didn't want to know because you lost sight of me.

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