Different Kinds of Heat

"Sorry, sorry." He looked away sharply. "It sure is real fucking hot though, right?"

Laney tried to answer, but her tongue was caught somewhere between a rebuke and an apology of her own. She looked at him, at his perfectly shaven jaw and felt the heat settling once again on her shoulders. It nuzzled into the small of her back. It slipped further up her legs, it squeezed between her tight, hot thighs.

"So... a bicycle?" She blurted at last.

"Ah, yeah."

"We should start shouting again, huh?"

"Oh! Yeah, right. Right."

"HEY!"

- - -

"So then he says: 'there's no way a human can make that jump.'"

"And so you had to prove him-"

"I had to prove him wrong."

The truth behind Joe's broken foot was coming out.

"But it turned out he was right." Laney loved to tease, and she was enjoying teasing Joe.

"Man, I'm a fucking idiot."

They were on another break. She had assured him that even if her oblivious co-workers weren't trying to get them out, there were security guards. Eventually someone would notice their predicament, even if it was one of the zit-faced teens she sometimes ran into down in the basement.

They'd had a very serious discussion about the air running out until Joe had reached around and found at least two tiny, tiny breezes that meant some air could get in. Not enough to cool them down, but enough for them to live.

But God, they needed cooling down. Joe's shirt was moulded to his chest now, and normally it was the kind of moulding that Laney would be very much into. Joe was a fit, physical kind of guy - the kind of guy who couldn't resist the challenge of jumping from a rooftop to a nearby tree - and his lean, muscular physique was just lovely.

But he kept popping buttons. Like, he was three buttons down now, his tie on the floor and he kept pulling uselessly at the wet shirt, drawing Laney's attention to it. And then she... she felt hotter. She thought about how her own blouse was just a wet, clinging thing now, how he could practically see her skin, could definitely see every detail of her bra and her... Well he probably had a pretty good mental picture of her, frankly modest, breasts. He was a guy, of course he did.

"Y'know..." Joe started hesitantly, "I'm not going to attack you. I'm not gonna jump you."

"I-I didn't think you were." Laney shot him a nervous, confused smile. She felt the skin of her chest prickling, the straps of her bra cutting into her - when had that started?

"I mean, not even... I mean it's getting crazy hot in here."

"We're, uh, gonna have to start worrying about dehydration." She looked down at the cigarettes she'd dropped when the elevator dropped. She wanted to smoke, wanted something to keep her mind off the heat and the... hot things in the elevator.

"I mean, if you want to take off your shirt, I won't, like, perv over you, or lose control or anything."

Heaven knows we wouldn't want that - Laney thought instantly, and the sarcastic reflex shocked her a little. Only a little though.

"I don't think that's a good idea..." she started, unsurely.

"I'd be more than happy to join you. This thing-" he pulled at his shirt again and it came away reluctantly, the wet fabric clinging to his well-defined torso, "-feels disgusting." She made a face, and he smiled. "If anyone comes, it won't take anytime at all to put them back on. And if this thing has a camera hidden in it, it's using some invisible 1970s technology that I've never seen before."

"Oh fuck it."

For some reason as her fingers came up to unbutton her useless, cream blouse, they were shaking. Joe's shirt was off before she knew it and - oh yes - there he was, topless and trim and flecked with perspiration. Her bangs had slipped back in front of her face and now they were truly stuck there, her hair getting more bedraggled and damp by the minute. She got a button undone, then another.

They were still face to face less than a foot from each other as they shifted and twisted and shrugged off their horrible, sweat-soaked garments. She put a hand out to support herself and the walls felt warm, damp and repulsive. It was a sauna, a sweat box. She crossed her arms over her breasts, but where skin touched skin it was hot and sticky and gross and she couldn't take it. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and looked up at him, extremely conscious of the view he had of her breasts, but also of the little extra curves she was packing around her waist.

She had no body issues, and she doubted that anyone would think of her as anything other than perfectly average. But when you started stripping off with someone a lean and fit as Joe here, well, you started regretting never joining a gym.

"Cute bra," he said with a shit-eating grin. It was white, with floral doodles stitched onto it, and a little padding. She was sure he could tell.

"Fuck off," she shot back.

"Wanna bang some more?" He hefted his crutch with his free hand again.

That doesn't sound like a bad idea, said the dirty little voice in her head.

"Ok," she said, and turned to face the door again. When she turned like that, she couldn't see where he was looking. He must be checking out her ass, he just had to be. And now, with no bra, Laney felt the waistband of her grey skirt just... rubbing and chafing and....

"Ok here we go-"

"ANYONE THERE?!"

- - -

I can't take off my skirt, she thought. I can't take off my skirt because my panties are all bunched-up and sweaty and gross and... well it's not like I'm wearing a pair with a lot of coverage at the best of times. No shorts, just simple, high-cut white cotton panties to... kinda match the bra.

But it was so uncomfortable! The damn thing was just so... itchy and hot and...

She stopped shouting, panting for breath and put her hands on the door to support herself. Heat, that was all she felt. It was inside her now, burning her up from within and she couldn't escape it, she couldn't get away. The lift swam around her a little.

"Are you ok?" Joe put a hand on her shoulder and his hand was hot and her shoulder was hot and her sweat was mingling with his, hot and wet, hot and wet...

"Gotta stop," she gasped, "Feeling kinda funny."

"You need to sit down, but I don't see how we can..." It was a problem that had been waiting for them from the start. There was no way for Joe, with his bad leg, to sit. But if Laney sat he'd have to squeeze back as much as possible to make enough room on the floor. Even then, she'd be pressed against him somehow or other.

"No, it's, just..." she felt little trickling rivulets of sweat making their way down her back, down her face and she thought... No. She didn't think anything.

She unhooked her skirt at the side, started to unzip it.

"Hey, are you okay?" His hand still on her shoulder, squeezing a little... so hot. "You sure you want to do that?"

"Joe, I'm just... so fucking hot. Fuck decorum or... decency or whatever..." She had to shimmy, to wiggle just a little to slip the skirt off her hips and as it slipped down and exposed her ass and thighs to the slightly more bearable air of the elevator she breathed a sigh of relief.

She shuffled her feet, kicked the skirt six inches into the corner, covering her cigarettes. She reached back and, as gracefully as possible, extricated her bunched, sodden panties from her ass-crack. It was then, as she was straightening them out, her fingers still hooked into the thin, white fabric on either side, settling them decently back over her pert cheeks, that she heard him draw a quick, sharp breath.

Her senses were returning, and she realised this was... quite the show she was putting on for him. And now she was in her underwear with a near stranger, in a tiny, unbearably hot, humid little box.

Was that a problem? She wasn't sure.

"Are you okay?" She took another breath and she could almost taste the air. Thick, moist. It was nothing but body heat and perspiration that she was breathing in. She managed a smile.

"Um, sure. Shit, I'm fine, just worried about you."

"Was that, uh, too much?" She reached back and with no little false modesty, rested one hand on her right cheek, covering barely anything. "I feel... a lot better, sorry."

"What can I say? I'm only human." She heard the guy-ish shrug in his voice, and then the contrition, "I should've looked away, sorry." She heard it, but she was still facing forward, she couldn't see him. Twelve inches from him perhaps, she wondered how many inches he had that could... cover that distance.

Another thought like that! Her eyes went wide and she bit her lip to keep control. To stop herself from giggling.

"No, it's cool," she turned her head very slightly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye as he leaned back in the throbbing yellow neon light. "This is a crazy situation, you can't be... perfect."

"Uh," he half smiled, half frowned, "thanks."

She was still a little dizzy she realised, and when she leaned forwards, resting her head against the hot, horrible metal of the elevator, the whole room shifted. For a moment she thought it was going to drop, then she realised it was just in her head.

Fuck she was hot. She forgot about him for a moment and rearranged what little she was still wearing all over again. These goddamn bra-straps, and the clasp at the back biting into her. The bottom of the cups too - what was going on? And her panties they were... they were wet and still riding up every time she shifted her weight. And she couldn't stop shifting her weight because she couldn't sit down. Fuck this impossible shit! She reached back again and pulled the clinging, wet back of her panties away from her ass again.

That was better. She did it properly, hooking her fingers into the thigh of the panties on each side and pulling it back sharply, holding it away from her sweaty, smothered backside.

Holding it away like this, pulling the fabric of her panties away from her burning skin, felt so good. Oh god, she could almost feel air, moving across the round cheeks of her rear. She leaned forwards, resting on her head, and exposed her ass to the air of the elevator, to...

Oh shit. To Joe.

He hadn't made a sound this time, but she did as she let her panties snap back into her flesh with a yelp of surprise.

"Fuck! Sorry, fuck, fuck, that was too much. I didn't think! I didn't mean to..."

"Hey, uh, don't worry about it." His voice was low, hard to read for once.

"I mean did you... did you look?" Their entire world consisted of each other and that hellish, smothering heat, how could he not have been watching as she pulled her panties back and let him inspect her ass for... what, ten seconds? Twenty? She had pulled them back so far the waistband had been pulled away and he could have just... peered down into that dark, sweaty cleft. Could have really got his fill of the cute curve of her backside.

"Fuck, Laney. Of course I looked." She heard shuffling, rustling, his pants moving.

"Did you just..." she didn't move away from him, even though her brow was furrowed with worry and thought, "...touch yourself?"

"Yeah, I just... I don't know that I should really take my pants off so..."

"No I mean did you touch... your... your cock?" He sighed.

"I... yeah I did. Not stroking or anything," did she hear a smile there? "But it... things needed rearranging. I'm only human."

"You're hard?" These words! What was she saying? They seemed to slip from her lips and float through the heavy, thick air and stay with them in their little prison cell. At any moment this elevator could start moving and seconds later the door would open and...

"Well," he seemed to be thinking every response over very carefully, "Not hard but, I couldn't help react to that..."

"Why can't you take your pants off, Joe?" she interrupted, her voice low. Not calling for help anymore. She put her hands on the door and pushed her brow away from it. Her hips, her feet were set a little back from her torso so she couldn't help but... raise her ass to him a little.

"Things might... get a lot clearer, and, the situation might... develop." What well-chosen words, she marvelled.

"Why are you worried about that?" She was lucid, she was in control of what she was saying, it wasn't the heat - the heat getting into her and working her lips. "Isn't the 'situation' my fault?"

He didn't say anything. She held her breath and still, he didn't say anything. What was he thinking? What was she, for that matter.

Then he touched her.

His hands rested gentle, firm and hot (always hot, but everything was hot) on her hips. Both hands? He must have shaken off the other crutch and now he was... on one foot? Carefully resting on both feet? The tips of his fingers brushed the elastic waist of her panties, the heel of his palms pressing into the top of her buttocks. She gasped.

"It is your fault."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Laney." He was serious, his voice had aged five years in ten seconds. He wasn't bashful or apologising or trying to be accommodating anymore. "This is crazy. This is a... ridiculous situation. Tell me to stop."

She bit her tongue, turned her head slightly again, but she couldn't see him this time - couldn't make him out, even in the corner of her eye. She just had the impression of his presence, and his hot, hard fingers starting to press into the soft flesh of her hips.

"Tell me to stop."

And still he kept her lips pressed tightly together. She was breathing faster, through her nose, so loud too! Fuck, maybe they would use up all the air in the lift after all. Either that or die of dehydration.

"Tell me to stop, or I won't. This is serious, Laney. Laney I can only be decent and sensible for so long, then I've gotta go... throw myself of a roof."

But she didn't tell him to stop. She moved her feet, feeling the heels she was still wearing rub against the dull, worn floor and moved her hips back towards him a little more, spread her legs a little more. She felt something dripping onto the small of her back, condensation from the ceiling or perspiration from his brow? He must still be leaning back against the wall for support, it couldn't be him. But the very thought made her wish he was dripping his sweat onto her.

Then his hands were moving, and he was slipping his fingers gently into the elastic of her waistband. He pulled the back of her panties away from her ass again, tugging it from both sides. But he didn't stop when it was out and away from her hot skin, he kept going, pulling the sodden white cotton down.

He was dragging her panties down her thighs before she knew it, and for a second she felt the front cling to her hips, hold onto her hair down there and resist. Then it slipped away and he was really stripping her, really exposing her in this tiny, broken elevator.

He couldn't lean down far, because of his injury. He could only get halfway down her thigh and when he pulled up with a wince, she felt a twinge of disappointment. But he had gone far enough, and she was incredibly aware of her pussy - exposed for the first time in this shitty little box that she used almost every day of her life.

She heard the creak of his crutch as he took it up again to support himself. Then she realised he was leaning forward, and his free hand was on her backside, slipping over the pert, perspiration-slick flesh. He cupped, he squeezed, he savoured and then he traced his forefinger into the slick cleft between her cheeks.

"Hey!" She was embarrassed. Even though there was nothing she could do about how unbelievably hot it was, how wet and sweaty she was, she couldn't help but be embarrassed. He slid his finger down and traced, ever so gently, ever so lightly, over the tiny little puckered gateway to her ass. He went lower, and before she knew it his single finger was drawing a line all the way from the back of her boiling, searing pussy, to the front.

"Oh Jesus Christ, Laney."

"Wh-what?"

"I don't think this is just... perspiration down here." She was wet? Already? Like, ready-to-fuck wet? Her whole body felt like it was on fire, nothing felt right, but she still hadn't thought that the dampness, the wetness that had been building between her thighs had been anything other than a product of the hellish environment.

"What?" She gasped, and then sighed, a broken, shaking sound as he proved his point. He pressed, traced his finger back towards himself and she opened for him. Her pussy lips, soft and swollen, parted so, so readily and his forefinger slipped into her. "Ahhn!"

Any minute now, she reminded herself, any minute now they could be rescued. She moved her hands out sideways, fumbling over the condensation covered metal until she was supporting herself on the frame, instead of the door itself. It made her straighten her head, and thrust her chest forwards until the cups of her bra neared the door. It made her arch her back even more for him.

Any minute now the motors would kick back in, the lift would shudder and shake its way to the nearest floor and the doors would open on her: panties stretched around her thighs, allowing herself to be fingered by... some guy she just met. That she had just by chance gotten stuck in an elevator with.

They had been in there for hours though now - it was getting close to the end of the day and... she fought to control her breathing and listen... still not a sound. Just the sound of... of her.

Because, oh holy fuck he was slipping and sliding and stroking that single, clever finger back and forth, back and forth between her hot, hungry lips. He craned his wrist and ran his digit all the way up and swiped it, one-two, back and forth over the hidden, sensitive little nub of her clit. She felt it dripping from her now - sweat from her brow. Her knees bent and she willed them to straighten.

His single finger was joined by another, fore and index now running back and forth over her, and the filthy, wet sounds she was producing - that he was making her produce - seemed to get louder. She was breathing through her mouth and starting to pant.

"You were already so fucking wet," he murmured, and she felt the sting of shame, but it flickered out almost instantly. What was there to be ashamed of?

He slipped his fingers, both of them side-by-side into her now and he... he spread them. And as he spread them, he spread her. She couldn't help the feline yowl of pleasure that burst from her lips, couldn't help arching her back, throwing her head back, wriggling her hips and... giving herself to him even more. God, in this tiny lift if she tried to make it any easier for him her ass would be right up in his crotch!

Then his fingers curled, back, up, searching... and then they curled into her.

How? She knew she could get... get really wet without realising it, but how was she taking him in so easily? When had this started? Had he done it just now or was it this incredible, numbing heat, surely not... oh fuck!

He had curled two fingers, thick and strong up into her and although he got a little way into her, her burning hot pussy quickly clenched around them. He laughed as she squeezed him, and she breathlessly joined him.

Then the broad presence of his fingers slipped out and she gasped. He stroked up and forwards and rubbed, pressed... took her clit and made her gasp.

Quickly though he was sliding back, and with her sweat, with his, every movement felt lubricated, sticky and wet. He rubbed at her asshole with his thumb and she giggled, raising her head at last and twisting, trying in vain to look back at him.

He was doing all of this - controlling her, pleasuring her, making her gasp and whimper - with one hand, she realised. He had a broken ankle, he was on crutches and one hand was all he needed.

She could smell herself. God, she was going to fill up this tiny, claustrophobic space with the scent of her desperate, dripping cunt wasn't she? She was thinking about his scents, his smells and what he should be revealing, when all of a sudden he was curling his fingers again, he was reaching under her - his index and third fingers this time - and he was splitting her, invading her again.