Touch Me

Written by Claudia Belle, and edited by Karen Cole-Peralta.

ONE

It was one of those empty, Godforsaken nights. Jessica's lonely mind was on the twilight ending, and heading home to her dog. It would be another painfully bitter evening, she thought to herself. A tad bit restless. She felt, well, bitchy. Even the days had been cold, and it had been a long while, maybe years, since she had enjoyed a good time with another human being.

She had worked hard that afternoon, and was walking into the parking lot, thinking of the events of the day. Contemplating her co-workers; that is, the few who wanted to go out with her. But she wasn't ready, she was thinking. No, it was too soon to even take a moment for herself. The honest truth was that she was still extremely afraid. In a sad, forlorn and miserably enforced way. Time heals all, she had formerly believed, but it had already been two or three years since her husband had passed away, and she still hadn't gotten over it.

She'd considered that she was losing her mind. Deeply. Anymore time alone, and she would go crazy! There had been nights when all she could think of was her desires, and the silence had mocked her in return with a groan. A growing ache had begun again to reach out from inside her, and she found herself unable to sleep. Was it her loneliness, or her self-satisfaction that egged her on?

It wasn't just her own lonely ego, she came to realize; it was other things. Needful things. The human touch and tenderness, she reassured herself. Love, she exclaimed on her ascent up the staircase. But something else, pushing its way out inside her, disgustedly disagreed. True love had failed her, so long ago. There was another, more savage and impatiently wicked impulse, a mysteriously strong force that needed reckoned with soon: it.

This feeling had been working its way into a steady state of luscious anxiety. Each and every night she had felt the need for another's touch. Just when she thought she would release it, she tucked it back inside her icy body shamefully, and closed her eyes to block it.

Why did she do this to herself, she wondered. And here again she asked all the wrong questions, not listening to her feelings. Truth is, she was perhaps afraid. But of what, she had to use all her faculties to so much as question. After all, indeed, of what?

She had parked her ass on the third floor, and she wasn't too afraid to be alone. She was used to the lingeringly empty nights. She had become accustomed to being just plain lonely. It didn't bother her, as it had years after the accident. Although she hoped things would be different, she hurried to the elevator, hoping to avoid the security guard that had always flirted with her, even before she had become a widow.

She hated that. But sometimes she wondered whether she liked it, since she never told him to back off. Perhaps she wanted a change in her life. Was she ready for such a thing? Could she detach herself from the person she had once been? Was she ready to date anyone?

She wasn't sure, anymore. But that feeling of ample eagerness had begun to creep again all through her pristine body. She could feel it between her stomach and breasts, which blushed, and she accidentally brushed her own nipple with the strap of her purse. Daily, her nipples were growing steadily harder, like an unspeakable erotic force.

Realizing this, she felt her panties moisten, and she tried to hurry away, to hide her shame. Suddenly all excited, and she didn't know why. Had the thought of this flirtish security guard awakened some strange new feelings inside her? But why, she wondered.

Perhaps she wanted some excitement, someone to keep her company during those lonely nights at home. But she pushed the thought out of her head. She didn't even like the guy--she tried to convince herself of this. He was an asshole, she thought, and he had a thing about sex. He was even a pervert! And she could see it in his eyes, which wanted to fuck with her, even before she was a widow. He would purposely brush up against her, and press his hand into the lower portion of her back.

She hurried away, but something inside slowed her steps. Did she honestly want to stop and talk to him? And that something inside her was exploding, and making her blood rush. She could feel herself shaking violently, and her breasts, pricked and rounded, were as always so full, so well-supported, but now harder than melons, and almost entirely visible through the silk blouse she was forced to wear. The buttons were very close to popping.

She didn't understand it. But the feeling was overwhelming. And a little too much more than she could handle. Had it been so long that the single thought of a man had a burning effect on her? It was like eating at a Mexican restaurant, and feeling the bite of a certain spice.

She climbed into the elevator just as big beaded drops of moisture between her legs began to wash down and soak her panties. But it seemed she had avoided trouble for now, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed in front of her.

She stretched her full red lips into a comically acrid smile, having previously been a smoker of cigs, and wondered what a night of wild sex would be with a guy like that...

The elevator stopped, and she took a step towards the door to leave, only to find herself face to face with the man she had been trying to avoid. He smiled, holding the elevator door open and blocking her only exit. He was neither handsome nor ugly. His face was covered in a roughly light-colored beard, while a black security cap's brim over his large brown eyes was shadowing them from the rest of his face. He was tall, and although he was slightly huge and larger than her, he wasn't fat; just husky in size. So very husky, and in all probability, hairy.

She stumbled back, her bright eyes dropped to the floor, and a sigh escaped her clown-painted lips. At once her heart started racing wildly--she could hear it. She felt a flood gush out between the pink and apparently open mouth of her cunt, and she groaned mercifully that she couldn't move.

Suddenly, she was aware that her pink nipples were visibly poking through her silk white blouse, haplessly revealing her excitement.

"Going home already?" he grinned, so that she followed his black beady eyes and noticed him looking down at her pricked chest. And she watched as he licked his lips, managing a shift of the ball sack in his pants.

He grabbed at his crotch, pretending to be adjusting the belt, where he carried his walkie-talkie. There were voices coming from the walkie-talkie, another officer calling for him to pick up, but he seemed to ignore them briefly before he picked it up, and answered angrily.

"I'm doing that now!" he gruffly informed the other security officer, and buried the impoverished-looking walkie-talkie back in the strap of his belt. Although he made every attempt to conceal the way he looked at her, she noticed it right away.

"You trying to avoid me?" he uttered, through that brush of hair he called a beard.

"No, of course not. Don't be silly," she forced herself to say, pulling forward her waist-long black hair, hoping a few locks could help hide her full, pale breasts beneath them.

He stumbled into the elevator, releasing the doors carelessly.

"Oops. Sorry," he mumbled, and made a poor attempt to open the doors, but instead hit the top floor button; she realized he knew where she was parked. And it didn't surprise her.

She had caught him making his patrols at the same time she was coming out of the elevator, and she wondered if he was running late this time. As she meandered along, dwelling upon what his dirty mind was thinking now, that was when he looked at her. Studying her white, clean, marble-quality smooth skin. He told her no one had such beautiful alabaster skin as she. And when she talked, she could see him staring at her lips moving, and could almost sense he was imagining a kiss.

"Hope you're not in a hurry," he leered, talking to her bosom again.

She shook, not out of fear, but sheer pleasure itself, and she didn't know how long she could hold herself. Her milky sex juices were running down her legs, making tiny virgin pools.

Her breasts became fuller, and seemed pricked even more as she exhaled. Should she just invite him home with her? And she didn't know why this idea came so piercingly to her, but she didn't move, even when he came nearly against her.

"What do you want?" she gasped, almost orgasmically, leering straight at him as he stood right beside her; she could feel the most astonishing heat emanating off his body.

"I just wanted to talk," he grinned, taking a closer look at her

"About what?" she snapped, trying not to look at him.

She knew there was no point; he was always staring at her breasts. Her pink nipples were pushing up rosily through the white blouse. Since she had decided on not wearing a bra, she only realized what a mistake she had made. And she was quite aware the skin was visible, and the pink nipples were now pulsating through the fabric.

"What are you doing, later?" he asked, breathing heavily, and put a hand on her shoulder in a fake kindly gesture.

Though she knew it was anything but a gesture. He had done this before, and had watched in delight how the slight movement of his hand made her breasts bounce. Perhaps he was thinking the fabric was rubbing against the nipples, or that he would in some way make it do so. And he was right, she thought, as they had bounced gently beneath the blouse, and rubbing the blouse softly, it increased her excitement.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked again; this time, he rubbed her shoulder gently, with a smile spreading on his deeply tan yet mildly robust face, and ran a hand down her arm, touching the side of her breast.

She turned and gazed at him with a smile, her sex pulsating between her legs, her nipples becoming harder, and she was sweating.

"No, of course not," and she giggled humorlessly, even after he kept his hand on her arm, caressing a finger along the side of her breast.

She heard him sigh; his heavy breath was something she could hear, above the sound of her own heartbeat.

Disdaining death, she sneered a corner of her ruddy lip at him again, knowing it only gave him the courage to further indulge himself. She almost felt like grabbing his pants and pulling his cock out! Though dead inside, she almost wondered why she was feeling this. Why was she trying to encourage him? She hated this guy, and not only that; he was someone she could, well, never see herself with. Perhaps she had been alone too long, she thought.

Then his actual first name came back to her, written in little letters on his uniform.

But George moved closer, as if to take on her invitation. And as he held his hand on her arm, she took a step forward as the elevator came to a sudden stop, trying to escape him.

But as it came to a stop, the elevator shook slightly as it halted, and instead she fell on him. And in so doing, he tried to grab hold of her to help her balance herself, but instead grabbed her breasts. Only, had he meant to do that? she asked herself. But the real question was, had she planned this all her life, just to fall on him?

Regaining her steps, she found his hands on her breasts, teasing them, while the other hand pressed against her lower back, holding her to him.

He was busy feeling one hard nipple with his fingertip, and she gasped delightedly when she first felt him pinch her gently, so that at once he noticed, although she had not wanted him to.

She tried to push him back, but he refused to let her go, now.

"You like this, huh?" he grimaced wickedly; it sent chills and excitement down her body.

"Stop it," she softly insisted.

"You're so hard," he said instead, over her soft whimpers. And he pinched both her huge nipples, caressing her breasts, even biting them through the fabric.

"So fuckin' hard," he insisted, feeding on the ruddy plums, so full rounded were her breasts, pricked and swelling more at his caress. And he reached down her skirt, and through the soaked panties, and her little secret was revealed.

"And wet! Shit, you're ready to fuck!" He hissed, "I knew you were in heat!"

And he pushed a finger into her panties, as she struggled in his arms. He lifted the back of her skirt as he pressed both hands against her buttocks, ramming her against his crotch.

"Stop it!" she yelled, and gasped audibly at the same time, but she barely fought him.

The feeling had overpowered her, and made her his victim. She felt him pull at her panties, and he finally ripped them from her waist. They were soaked, and she knew that, because he had brought them to his face, and sniffed his trophy jubilantly as he held her.

She tried to push from him, but her attempts were useless, even more when she refused to fight him. She knew no one would hear them, on the top floor of the parking lot. They were alone this night under the stars, inside that small elevator, which he reached out and stopped. He could do that, he was security, and who would care and bother--no one was here during late night like this. His partner knew better than to bother him when he was on his rounds, especially between the hours of twelve-thirty to one a.m. That was the time she came out of the parking lot. They had their codes, she thought. This was nothing different.

She could feel the lump in his pants growing as he pressed her to him. She tossed her head back, fearlessly. He kissed her neck, hungrily. Plunging his face down her blouse, but unable to unbutton it, he bit her breasts instead, sucking them like a hungry animal.

At once he pushed her onto the wall of the elevator, holding her with his body. Her breasts bounced freely as twin overblown pink balloons, as he yanked open her blouse.

"You have beautiful breasts!" He grunted, smiling as he grabbed her large tits and weighed them with his hands, caressing them as he brought his mouth to them.

She tried to fight him, but he immediately pulled her arm over her head, held her back and began kissing her breasts, sucking at the very same pink nipples that had first betrayed his awful desires, overwhelming her, and which had permanently invited him

"Stop it," she barely whispered in a gasp, moaning hungrily.

"But you don't want it to stop," he persisted, sucking on her breasts, watching her with a smile as she made senseless attempts to escape him. He heard her gasp and groan deliriously.

"This is what you want," he simply stated, as he held her back from fighting herself, but she was hardly putting up a struggle.

He then reached down and lifted her skirt again, watching as she closed her eyes and shook her shaggy head to him. Grinning, he spread her gorgeously tan legs, and touched her glisteningly open pink mouth.

Unzipping his pants, he dug around for his cock, and finally pulled it out.

"Oh yeah. This is what you want. This is what that little mouth wants."

And suddenly from nowhere, out came another name, which had almost been forgotten, too. "No, that's Jessica, I'm Jessica," she whispered to the stale air in the elevator.

Jessica was fighting in front of him as he held her, and the other hand on the cock extended the pole closely to her triangle. Her breasts bounced and danced in front of him, and he kissed them and bit them as he put the ready tip of the infernal cock at her opening.

She felt the cold skin of the cock blissfully entering her. It was then she opened her eyes, steadily looking at the elevator doors as if to force them open, and clearly saw her splayed-out reflection and George's enormous dick juicily slipping into her. Like a swipe of metallic shine on the doorway, reminding her of her only possible ticket out of this mess.

Perhaps shame again had pushed the strange desires back--she didn't know.

George sucked her breasts continuously, just as he eased himself into her, and that's when she doughtily fought his grip and shoved him away.

He fell on his ass with his pants down his ankles, and his dick in his hand!

He brutally stared back at her, holding his dick, and as she opened the elevator door, she rushed out, buttoning her blouse, only to catch one last look at George, crawling on the floor, nobly or perhaps only notably trying to stop her.

She raced away into the dark parking lot, and although she felt shame, she wasn't crying. She was way, way beyond excited. Blushing, she buttoned her blouse, realizing George had her panties, but she wasn't going to go back for them. Not after that!

She strolled briskly to her car, skirt swishing just below her curving hips, and only turned when she heard the elevator again. And at once something inside her couldn't stop thinking about the feelings that had overpowered her, making her wild with excitement and passion.

*

She almost felt like running back and fucking him inside that elevator. Fuck him! And something inside her was hungry, for it couldn't be silenced, no matter what she thought about. Day and night, time after time it was there in her mind. It was a desire she couldn't kill, she realized. It was, well, something along the lines of quite immortal, or something. And she didn't understand it, but did she want to understand it?

And she stopped near her car, staring blankly at the elevator, waiting to see his face appear from out of the entrance, and rush at her. She knew he would rape her if she had allowed it, but had it been rape when she had wanted it so fucking badly?

Her legs were trembling, and her heart racing. Would she dare do this? Would she fuck up to a complete stranger? Was he a stranger at all? Now she was making excuses.

She felt herself aching, her legs shaking, her lips quivering, just as she could feel her sex shudder beneath the pleated skirt she was forced to wear as a uniform.

Her sex was soaked, and the moistened hairs of her pink mouth made a bush of wet sticky curls of hair rubbing against her thighs. The fluids were rivulating in sweet streams of ecstasy down her Barbie-doll legs, and she collapsed onto the hood of the car, just to recover.

She shook her head, and tried to shake the feelings gnawing deeply inside and outside of her very soul. But whatever door she had opened--it stayed that way.

And it's what came next that startled her into a more alert state of mind.

The elevator doors opened again, and through them a figure hurried towards her. She began shaking; was it George, she wondered, and if so--what would she do? She couldn't clearly tell who it was, but she rushed to open the car door immediately, hoping to escape before he came, saw, and conquered her, or almost, once more.

But she couldn't move, and it was the feelings taking hold of her again which had frozen her. She fell on the car, failing to open it, and began to unbutton a few buttons from her blouse. She despaired, fighting it, for someone else's sake alone--her dead husband's--but it would not allow her, and a flood of sex juices washed clean her pink mouth.

Her nipples hardened into stone, in all its mercurial majesty, and she caressed her own breasts, feeling their plumpness and exhaling in delighted agony.

She laid her body on the car, and closed her eyes. It wasn't long before she heard footsteps approaching closer. Then at once she felt lips kissing her neck, the same lips that had kissed her in that elevator. George's lips. Was it all just an obscene joke?