It started when I caught your eye when I stepped onto the elevator on the 38th floor.
It was lunchtime and I needed to get out from my weekly tennis game.
I had already changed in the ladies' room into a short white tennis skirt and a lightweight
green t-shirt.
You were quite the contrast to me, straightening your navy tie and adjusting the sleeve of
your grey suit jacket, a laptop bag slung over your left shoulder.
We smiled and exchanged pleasantries as I stepped on, turning my back to you.
Of course someone had pushed all of the buttons on the elevator, meaning we'd have a slow
ride to the bottom.
We weren't alone for long, though.
On the next floor down, it seemed like the entire marketing department joined us in the
car.
We both backed into the corner and I sort of brushed against you.
Being polite, I apologized for bumping into you, and you just smiled and told me it wasn't
a problem.
At the 36th floor, three more people shoved their way onto the elevator, pushing me back
further, leaving you no choice but to place your right hand on the small of my back.
Feeling your hand, I turned and remarked, Well, I guess I didn't have much choice this time,
did I?
Your hand lingered there, sending a chill down my spine.
It seemed inappropriate, but I could feel your hip against mine and I can't really say
that I minded.
As the elevator progressed down, your hand did the same, slowly, gently coming to rest
on my backside.
You kept it gently and I pushed my hips back, looking over my shoulder with a very shy smile.
There was so much lunchtime conversation going around us that we were practically invisible
in that corner, which was just fine with me.
As the elevator paused at 32, you boldly slid your hand under my skirt, pressing your palm
against my ass through the white cotton panties underneath.
I felt your fingers curl around my left cheek, sensing a pulse of warmth across my skin.
You shifted your laptop bag in front of you, covering the bulge in your suit pants.
Passing the 28th floor, I shifted my racket to my right hand, letting the left drift down
to trace over the outline of your shaft.
We stopped at 23, nobody boarding or leaving the car, and you'd pushed my panties to the
side, one finger tracing the length of my slit, which was getting quite wet for you.
My hand closed around your shaft, squeezing ever so gently.
Making distracting small talk, you asked if I was planning to burn some calories at lunch,
laughing quietly that there's no way I could complete a full match in an hour.
I laughed, remarking you'd be surprised at how quickly I could finish.
You let out a small laugh and gently, slowly, pushed two fingers inside of me, coating yourself
in my juices.
Perhaps we'll have to schedule a match of our own sometime and you could show me what
you mean, you offered, gently increasing your pace as you curled your fingers inside me.
Right now the elevator was in the teens.
I squeezed your shaft more tightly now, letting you know that I was very aware of how hard
you were getting.
If I could, I'd have pulled it out and stroked you right there, but we didn't have the time
for that.
As I squeezed, you pushed your fingers up hard one last time, driving me to clench my
walls around them.
My eyes fluttered closed and I pushed back against your hand as subtly as I could.
I'd swear those around us could hear the little whimpers I was giving, but I couldn't stop
you, nor did I want to.
As we reached the single digit floors, you slowly, deliberately withdrew your fingers.
I felt you tug my panties back into place and gently wipe my juices across the thin
fabric, pressing against my backside as you did so.
I squeezed you one last time, firmly, whispering, maybe soon we can schedule a singles match
for ourselves.
We reached the ground floor and you just nodded, a sly smirk on your face.
You let me walk off in front of you and I could feel your hand lingering on my backside
as my soaked panties clung to me.