Executive Elevator

"Executive Staff only on Elevator Five", that was the rule. Everyone else was supposed to use number four.

After three months, just barely past probation, Maria knew this fact, but she was late returning from lunch. She would never arrive on time by bucking the waves of employees pouring out of the common carriers. Undoubtedly, her supervisor, Ms. Jones, would make some pithy comment and inscribe a mark on her employee record.

Elevator number five was slowly folding its doors on Maria's crime when a hand snaked out to catch it. The door chattered a moment in confusion, then slowly reopened. To Maria's chagrin, several executives stepped in. Maria actually knew the name of one of the executives--Mr. Richards, head of personnel--the rest were no more than recognizable faces from the company brochure, or figures glimpsed briefly while entering a limousine. Maria decided that her position couldn't be worse if Ms. Jones had caught her.

"Will you be seeing the senator this weekend?" the one executive asked another. "Friday night," was the response. "If I get a chance, I'll bring up your question about tariffs." "Make your chance," the first commanded. As he spoke, the commanding executive reached forward and gripped one of Maria's breasts, drawing her back against him, he absently mauled her bosom and creased her crisp white blouse.

"Oh!" Maria exclaimed, dropping her clutch purse. She twisted out of the first executive's grasp, and bent to retrieve her purse. A second executive yanked up the back of Maria's skirt, exposing her pale blue panties beneath a mesh covering of nylon pantyhose. With her skirt drawn upward, Maria lost her balance, pitching head first into Mr. Richards groin. Maria felt the personnel director's well manicured hands catch her by the shoulders.

Nimbly they opened her blouse, unsnapped her bra, and began massaging Maria's heavy breasts, as she leaned, awkwardly, face forward into his crotch. At the same time, Maria's underwear had been swept down her legs, to expose her nether region. With her face pressed in Mr. Richards lap, Maria could not see which executive was doing what to her. Two hands--she thought they were one person's--rolled and parted the rounded cheeks of her butt, pressing a finger tightly against her small pink bud, until it slipped thought the clutching ring of muscles.

Only two other exploring hands, seemed to Maria, to be matched. The one had drawn her skirt away from her abdomen, and slid downward between her legs. There it pushed upward against the forward prow of Maria's pelvic bone, while its fingers curled around to agitate her clitoris. The other hand--which perhaps it partnered--stroked along Maria's inner thigh, keeping her knees spread. Other hands were busy in singular pursuits. One held her opposite thigh spread in a tight motionless grip. Another set of fingers on an unknown hand entered from behind, ploughing deeply along her labia, then steepening to enter and churn her vagina.

Only Mr. Richards hands upon her breast were completely known by Maria. Those hands pressed and pulled, smoothed and tweaked, at her pendant breasts and tightening nipples, while Maria gasped to draw breath through the crotch of Mr. Richards expensive English wool suit pants. Finally, Mr. Richards pressed Maria back by the shoulders, allowing her to gasp urgently for breath, as he lowered his zipper and presented his sturdy erection.

Trying to rear away from the gaging object pressed against the back of her throat, Maria was flung forward when a sturdy penis rammed deep into her vagina. With Richards hands directing Maria by means of his grip on her swinging breasts, and many hands assisting in her coupling from behind, Maria rocked in the unsought thrall of her twofold penetration.

Shuddering beneath waves of orgasmic sensation, Maria vaguely heard the executives continuing conversation. Caught in a web of sensuality, Maria had sweet words like 'integrated tax displacement' and 'supply side financing' even 'corporate inductability downsizing' cooed into her ears.

As the elevator reached the ninety-eighth floor, the men adjusted their clothing and stepped from the elevator. Unsupported, Maria had nearly crumpled into a prone position, when powerful hands lifted her high into the air. A zipper rasped, and those hands lowered her onto a rapidly deploying male member. A second zipper sounded, and a large rigid penis broached Maria's twitching sphincter.

In the thrust and jostle of the long journey to the ground floor, Maria could not understand what the men were discussing. Sometimes, they seemed to be reviewing a sales campaign, as they surged and withdrew in unison. At other times, the topic appeared to be football, as they alternated, sliding Maria off one erection onto it's opposite. She became so euphoric, Maria failed to notice a third man who had entered the lift at the sixty-fourth floor, until after he grasped her breasts and pinched her nipples. Shocked, Maria jerked and came noisily. The men repeated the maneuver about every ten floors, always with the same result.

The elevator was crowded on its next trip upward. Maria never knew who was doing what with her, but she was coming hard and often, now. Each new, dry hand grasping her crotch as she was passed from one to another, thrilled her. Throughout the afternoon, the number five elevator climbed and lowered busily in its shaft, as Maria's every orifice was displayed, probed, and stimulated. Even black unconsciousness was no protection, nor was Maria allowed to remain long within its sanctuary, before a new response ripped her from her hiding place.

At three-thirty the elevator slowed to an idle. Maria gathered her clothes and dressed herself hastily. With as much dignity as she could muster, Maria wended her way from the number five elevator to Ms. Jones's office.

Ms. Jones glanced up as her missing subordinate collapsed onto the chair before her desk. Although Maria Hatchs' gait suggested an afternoon of alcoholic revels, her attire refuted that assumption. Maria's hair was tousled and her features flushed. The buttons of her blouse were ill-matched, with one of the blouse's shirttails flapping free from the waistband of Maria's skirt, and a lone brassier strap dangled from her untucked blouse. Maria's skirt was hitched crookedly about her waist, and showed evidence of much wrinkling.

From Maria's foot, as she wobbled on her low-heeled shoes, Ms. Jones had seen a shrouding net of nylon pantihose dragging behind, with pale blue panties visible within its folds.

"Well," Ms. Jones began, clearing her throat. "I tell you girls not to use the number five elevator. I tell you a thousand times a day that the number five elevator is reserved for the executive staff. I do everything I can to make you girls stay out, but of course, what does an old woman like me, know about anything? "Now, you know that my warning was meant for your own good," finished Ms. Jones. "So, what have you got to say for yourself?"