Felicia

The elevator slowed, shivered, then stopped all together. In the absence of mechanized air, Abby's heavy breathing filled the space, along with her heartbeat thumping through her chest. In the absence of light, hidden in a muted red glow, they suddenly stood outside of time and destinations, and rules of conduct.

So many bad habits.

"Alright," Calvin said with a soft smile, tossing up his hands. "I'mma let you handle it, then."

7.

He was still mid-strip, his t-shirt covering his face. Abby didn't wait. She planted kisses on his smooth, bare chest, her hands in the process of unwrapping him. She alternated between giving him pecks and parted lips, full fledge laps, her tongue flat, extended, licking every available inch - from his nipples to his navel, his shoulders and hard stomach; her mouth paid tribute to his defined lines. She made her way to his face, now free of his shirt, running her tongue along his neck, his chin, until he captured it with his lips. He held the back of her head and opened his mouth wide to receive her. Abby wanted him; she wanted to climb into him, let him wrap those full lips of his around her entire body. They breathed each other in loudly, peppering kisses with longing moans, grabbing at each other, guided by desire.

She ripped off her blazer (Or did he?) tossing it on the floor next to his shirt. They laughed at their fingers, anxiously tangling with each other, fighting over the buttons of her blouse in a rush to undo them. Before long, she felt his breath on her skin, his mouth sucking and biting at her bare shoulders, his insatiable fingers pulling at her bra straps. He gripped her by her arms, nearly lifting her off the ground; she slid her fingers into his belt loops to keep from floating away.

"So," Calvin began, releasing his lips from hers, yet holding her no less tightly. "How you gonna handle it?"

Abby ran her hands over familiar territory, down his chest, his stomach, his hips, and back to that elusive zipper. She wrapped her fingers around his solid cock, bending at the knees (like a lady) in order to reach the tip. She crouched lower, holding onto him for balance, until she was eye-level with her sparring partner from the other night. She rubbed her hand over it, as if to test it for endurance. She felt his legs tense at her touch, his sheathed cock throb in her grasp. His arousal prompted her own; the stillness of the stalled car made clear her control: when she squeezed him, tugged him, left him in her palm wanting; when she bit him, gently, let him fill the corners of her mouth; when she sucked on the tip, teasing him through his jeans; and when (especially when) she stopped without warning, relinquished his dick from her grip, kissed his crown and rose back up.

Calvin grabbed his thumping cock and gave Abby a look that said I don't know how long I can hold this thing. In the stillness, she could hear him try not to breathe.

Abby wore an obsequious gaze, and a scattered sexiness that begged for some much needed attention: her blouse, still halfway on, hung at her elbows, her bra straps dangling, leaving her shoulders naked. She grabbed the end of her skirt with both hands, and slowly slid it up her thighs. She swayed side to side, wriggling herself free. Beneath her bunched skirt, she played with the lace edges of her panties.

She gave Calvin a shrug, and bit her bottom lip. "Guess I wanna be handled after all," she said.

Calvin, on command, rushed in and took hold of Abby with both arms, nearly knocking her over; she threw her arms up and gave herself over. They greedily made out in the broken silence. He pawed at her ample ass, holding on with both hands, running his thumbs inside her panties. She spread her legs ever so slightly, inviting him to slide his reach deeper. He did, and lifted her leg up around his waist. He stretched his fingers underneath her thigh, feeling her heat.

"Mm hm," Abby said. "Like that."

He let go of her leg, grabbed her by the waist, and flipped her around.

"Oh yeah?" she said, looking back at him.

He gave her a sly smile and nodded at the elevator wall.

Abby raised her arms, planted herself against the wall, and stuck her ass out, even gave it a little shake for good measure. Calvin grabbed her hips, and pressed himself up against her. She pushed back, daring him to press harder, to go further, to give her more. She dropped her head and shut her eyes tight as his fingers teased her lips; the way they slid around so easily, she knew just how wet she was. Her mouth took over, giving its approval.

"Please," her mouth said. "Please."

Her hips jutted further out, which allowed his fingers to slip in. She pulled her hips back in, and his fingers rubbed her clit on their way out. Again, her hands pushed against the wall, and her lips enveloped his fingers, only to let them go moments later. This went on again, and again, and again, while Calvin stood in place, propping himself against the wall along with her. She fucked his fingers harder, twisting herself in his palm. When she was about to cum, he took over ("Oh no you don't," he grunted.) letting go of the wall and flinging his arm around her. He held on tight, and twirled his fingers with purpose.

She froze in his grip, and held her breath, waiting.

He leaned in close and spilled that honey smooth voice in her ear. "Now you can cum."

She tightened on his greedy fingers. She made not a sound, her face telling the whole story. She trembled, Calvin loosening around her body. But she wouldn't let his other hand free; he tried to pull himself out, but she laughed, and shook her head.

She wasn't done being handled yet.

Rather than let go, Calvin moved his fingers higher, slipping through the smooth, wet mess she made - past the lips of her cunt...

"There," Abby said when he reached his destination.

"Yeah?" Calvin asked, swirling one wet finger around her asshole.

Abby nodded roughly. "Mmhm," she muttered.

"What do you want me to do to it, Abby?"

Abby moaned and licked her lips. Maybe it was the security of sex in the relative dark. Maybe it was Calvin himself, this mysterious, sensual... stranger. But when she answered, she did so with more surety than with anything else she had said the whole morning.

"I want you to eat it," she said.

With that he was on his knees. He snatched her panties to the side, spread her cheeks apart, and without hesitation (the time for teasing was done) he shoved his face in between them. Abby felt his lips part, and his tongue extend. She closed her eyes, exhaled, and let him inside. She leaned forward, opened her stance, giving him as much room as he (and she) needed. Calvin accepted the invitation, seizing Abby's thighs and pulling her closer. She reached behind her, grabbed him by his hair, and drove his face further in. Abby could feel him drowning in her, struggling for air. Gasping, his mouth only opened wider, and his tongue pushed even deeper.

Calvin reached around her, and reunited with her clit. He stroked it gently, drawing invisible circles, while his tongue recited wordless poetry into her ass.

She was going to cum again, and the two of them ramped up their pace accordingly, taking and giving, both. She pulled his hair and held him in place while his tongue pounded like a cock. She knew then that she not only wanted to cum, needed to cum, but that she wanted him to taste it, to taste her, to leave herself on him, to give him a reason and a way to track her down again. And so she did; her whole body tensed, and her ass attacked his face, with the help of her hand, one last time before releasing him. She let go of his curls, and almost lost her balance.

Abby turned around slowly and covered her face with one hand. With the other, she readjusted her underwear, wondering what the point was in doing so, really. She could still feel him between her thighs, and higher. Watching him now, standing with his naked chest wet with his sweat and her.... well, her, licking his fingers clean, it was all she could do not to play with herself, Calvin had made it look so fun and all.

And she just might have, too, had the air vents not come back to life, as though, just like Abby, the elevator was catching its breath.

8.

When will I see you again?

Or...

I can't stop thinking about you.

Or...

What's your phone number? Heck, your last name, even?

She could have said any of the above aloud to Calvin, but didn't. And so these words joined a host of other unspoken thoughts running through Abby's mind. But why? The easy answer is that she was disoriented by the returning lights; that she was too busy buttoning her blouse, brushing the wrinkles out of her skirt and her blazer, shaking the sex out of her hair. But she'd done this all surprisingly quickly, with enough seconds to connect before the elevator reached the next floor and the doors finally opened.

And when he turned to her and said, with a wink and an air of finality on his own part, "Think I'll take the stairs," she didn't follow him off. She merely let the doors closed, checked her watch, and pushed the button for her floor. In this new silence, far from the stillness, just her and the ambient pulling and grinding of life around her, she flung her bag over her shoulder and felt... relaxed. She exhaled as she ascended, and aimlessly played with her pearls. And when the doors opened to reveal several of her students - the Panda, the Doorman, the Beard, at least, but not Sister what's-her-name, thank goodness, and certainly sans the Latin Lovers - looking half-embarrassed, waiting to make their own early escape, all she could do was sigh and shake her head at the thought of it all.

"I think we've had enough for one day," she told them, and herself.

She hit the button for the ground floor and waved on the waiting crowd. Only then, while the students filed in, filling the elevator car, did Abby spot her in the distance, by the classroom, indeed, holding a cup of coffee. She hadn't been with the others, of course, because he had been waiting for her, had made plans to meet up with her after class, and had apparently been early - delayed, but early nonetheless.

Felicia.

With her tits, and her hips and her hot mouth, too much woman packed in that stature; bouncing on her toes to reach him, her arm slung around his neck, her lips wrapped around his, delivering an open-mouth, declarative kiss, meant for public consumption. Of course. That's why he'd been on her floor, why he'd been in this building in the first place.

"Felicia," Abby said aloud this time.

"Still Issac," the Beard replied from the back of the car.

The whole elevator enjoyed a good laughed then, but none more so than Abby herself.

"Smells like ass in here," the the Panda said.

"It always smells like ass in here," the the Doorman replied.