1 comments/ 34898 views/ 15 favorites Different Kinds of Heat By: empty_coffee_cup The way it worked in that beautiful, implacably impractical old building, was that the filing room that her shitty company rented was down in the second sub-basement. When her boss handed her another fat sheaf of documents for filing Laney had to cross the whole fifth floor to get to the tiny, battered old service elevator and wait in the claustrophobic little box as the faint sound of grinding metal described her descent into the bowels of the earth. The air-con in the small open-plan office worked fitfully, and the office air was stale and hot. The air in the elevator was musty, well-aged and hot. Once the door had finally opened on sub-basement two, the air down there sweated with the exertions of some old generator that was roaring and chugging away even at the height of summer. It was very, very hot. She could feel the condensation clinging to her skin. All of their files were damp, something her boss was well aware of and seemed to care very little about. No-one seemed to care much about anything that happened at her little company, least of all Laney. So she would file the files amongst their clammy brethren, get back into the vintage heat of the age-worn elevator and this time punch the top floor, waiting as the elevator groaned and moaned its way back up its narrow, filthy shaft. On the seventh floor she'd slip out onto the fire escape, skip up the clanging metal steps and onto the roof where she would squat in the shade of an old service shack and smoke a much-needed cigarette. The air outside, in summertime, was very, very hot and very, very dry. Laney thought about stripping naked every day. She dreamed of the cold shower that she'd jump into as soon as she got home, and she smoked her cigarettes and endured the heat and headed back to her desk praying that someone had finally gotten the air-con working the way it should. Back at her desk she could still smell the tobacco; still smell the stale old air of the elevator and the muggy, ripe air of the basement. The scents stuck with her all day long. The back of her blouse was plastered to her by the middle of the morning. She felt trickles of perspiration running down the small of her back to hit the waistband of her skirt, and below that she felt more little drops making their way over the curve of her backside, slipping down between her cheeks and making her squirm. Laney hated summer. - - - "Run these downstairs will you, Elaine." Laney looked down at the stack of files, up at the retreating, sweat-stained back of her boss and then down at herself, and the worn old jacket she was having dry-cleaned every week. It wasn't like she worked with a bunch of lecherous old perverts, but her top was almost constantly damp and clingy at work. If she took the jacket off then that would be sharing more details of her bra and perspiration situation than she was comfortable with. She tried to keep the jacket on most of the time despite the discomfort, but when she really felt that things were getting desperate she slipped it off to go down to the basement. Things were getting desperate. She glanced around, slipped it neatly onto the back of her chair, grabbed the files and her cigarettes and trotted quickly out into the hot, dead air of the corridor. There was nothing too scandalous, she noted. Yes, you could tell she was wearing a bra, but then, that was hardly news. People could deal with that. Laney had always thought that old, old buildings with thick, stone walls should be cool havens from hellish summers. That had been her experience at college, and it had held true until she'd started working here. Some combination of window placement and lack of proper ventilation turned the gracefully crumbling property into a kind of rudimentary kiln. The employees of the half-a-dozen or so small companies that rented space there were all slowly dehydrating into terracotta mannequins. There was no-one else around, so she used the walk to the elevator to pluck clumsily at her damp blouse, pulling it out from under her arms, away from her back, trying to get it to outline her underwear just a little less. There was another problem, in that her panties were resembling a hot, damp second skin by now, clinging and riding up in a really annoying way. But even in the deserted corridor she didn't feel like she could slip and hand up her skirt and sort them out right there. The elevator's chime of arrival seemed to choke in the heat. The door opened and in she stepped, back in the elevator that was big enough for two and a half people - as long as they had no concept of personal space. It was a beige 1970s number - no window and, in an interestingly hellish design choice, everything but the ceiling was beige linoleum. It smelled like an abandoned tax office. The buttons were plastic and anonymous, and the cover had long since vanished from the recessed emergency phone. She pressed B2 and started her descent. - - - The filing was a mindless, if sweaty, job and by the time she'd reached the roof it felt like every part of her body was trying to stick to every other part it happened to touch. The worst was her thighs, and the cheeks of her ass. Down in the basement she had allowed herself a little rearrangement, but even down there in that dank little hole she had felt too self-conscious to really hike up her skirt and sort things out. Squatting, balanced on the balls of her feet in her short heels, careful not to let any part of her body emerge into the searing light of the sun, and careful not to rock back and lean against the hotplate surface of the shed, she smoked and considered more drastic options. She could come to work without panties, right? She smiled at the thought, without seriously considering it. How about stark naked? Ugh, but sitting naked on the chairs in her office? Another bead of sweat slid between her shoulder blades and she sighed. She imagined sitting in that ratty old office, rubbing her thighs together, the only keeper of a very private secret. She imagined having to think twice before she stooped to pick up a box of spilled paperclips. She let her mind keep turning over, and thought about the kind of guy she would love to be getting hot and sticky with in her office. None of the middle aged gents she was currently stuck whiling her time away with anyway. Oh, a maintenance guy? Here to fix the copier (Laney kind of resented the copier since it was the source of all those goddamn files she had to take downstairs all the time)... and she said- Oh, I think it's jammed right down here at the bottom... bending at the waist her feet touching, bare legs perfect and straight as she leans down and the skirt comes up... And him, his face, he was... Goddamn it! It was too hot for her to even come up with a guy she wanted to fuck! Her brain was overheated and her cigarette was finished. When she stood up she watched heat haze from the rooftop blurring the buildings that loomed up around her. She had to brace herself before she stepped back out of the shade. - - - Down the fire escape to the seventh floor and back into the hot box. Not that it was really any hotter than anywhere else in Laney's workday world. She pushed the button for the fifth floor, relieved to see that she wasn't leaving trails of sweat from her fingertips yet, and looked up as the box started to move. She stared at the neon, buzzing away behind its cheap plastic cover. That was probably adding to the heat too. But almost immediately the elevator started to laboriously slow down. Someone on six had called it? Laney was stunned. She tried to recall if she had ever had to share this horrible little machine with anyone else, and couldn't remember a single occasion. At one of the building Christmas parties when people had been heading up to the roof to smoke together? No, most people had taken the stairs or the bigger elevator at the front of the building. The elevator that annoyingly didn't go below ground level. So, could she share? Should she just get out and walk down? She should, right? But then why should she give up the little automatic box? Whoever was waiting could keep waiting, or walk down themselves. And in the middle of this flustered little private debate the elevator came to its familiar, juddering halt and the doors started to open. She kind of wished she was still wearing her jacket. The impression of movement, of a swinging momentum, hit her before she really processed anything else. Some guy was waiting, young-ish and tall-ish and he was swinging right into the elevator with her. Swinging? "Oh, Jesus, sorry." Crutches! He was on crutches and he'd been wrestling with something - a wallet, she saw now - when the elevator had come. Without thinking and without looking he'd heaved himself forwards, and now he was clumsily trying to keep from falling into the elevator on top of her. "I didn't see that there was anyone else... Jesus, hold on I'm just..." The door of the tiny compartment was still open and Laney knew she should hop out. He was on crutches, that was why he was calling the closest elevator, and she really should let him fit inside and jump out. But with one rigidly supported leg and two extra spindly metal attachments, he was blocking her path. She couldn't squeeze past him, and he didn't seem to be adept enough at manoeuvring himself to let her out. His momentum had landed his good foot just inside the metal lip of the chamber, one crutch further in, the other still pointing outside. He was gripping his wallet tight, which made moving the crutch (one of those standard looking modern things that gripped around his upper arm, and had a handle half way down for him to hold onto) more difficult, and while he did seem to be trying to get out of her way, it wasn't occurring to him to back up out of the elevator completely. "I'll just..." Laney began, "I mean, if you let me..." She made a couple of strange, aimless movements, trying to show that she was trying to get past him, but controlling his unruly supports seemed some way beyond him. "Sure, sure, thanks, I'll just-" He got his weight onto his good foot properly, and hopped himself to one side, getting his back to the wall of the elevator and making the whole thing lurch sickeningly. And the door started to close. Somehow, his second crutch and his left arm had ended up twisted behind him, still sticking out into the hallway. As the door buzzed closed, and Laney started pointing and reaching to where he was mostly obscuring the lift controls, saying "the button is just... if you can reach it or... I can..." he finally managed to correct the bent limb and yank the crutch into the elevator. The doors clunked shut. "Wow, close!" he grinned, and Laney pursed her lips as the elevator started moving. It shuddered. It creaked. "I'm really sorry," he continued, a little bashfully "I just got these things and they take a lot of getting used to..." "Ah, yeah, sure," she smiled tightly and tried to count the extra degrees of heat that had entered the elevator with him. She glanced at him and was kind of happy to see that his eyes weren't tracing the line of her bra that was visible through her clinging blouse. She noted - with that little half guilty kick of 'what does that matter anyway?' - that he was Asian, ethnically Japanese or Korean or something. And she also noted, with some satisfaction, that he was sweating through his shirt as much as she was. "Well, I'm gonna jump out, so..." He was kinda cute, she thought, remembering the fantasy that had expired from heat exhaustion on the roof. He would've fit right into that little scenario, but here... She was having trouble thinking sexy thoughts. It was mostly claustrophobia she was feeling. That, and the feeling of being a joint of meat stuffed into an oven. "Oh, of course, here, let me..." She shuffled to the front of the lift, and he moved awkwardly to the side and around behind her so that he wasn't in her way. Now they were arranged properly, like people ought to stand in an elevator - everyone facing the front. If only it had been a normal sized elevator and she wasn't worried about backing into him, and she couldn't see his crutches sticking out on either side of her. Still only a few more seconds until she could... The elevator lurched again. The light flickered, went out, came back on. Wait, she'd never known more than one person to take this thing at a time had she? And then it dropped. And then it stopped. And then it dropped again. - - - "Holy shit! Holy shit! Are you- you okay?" The lights were out again, and Laney swore they were swinging. That was impossible, right? "Fuck, are we swinging?" They certainly weren't moving up or down at all. The elevator had dropped three times. Each time there had been a few seconds, perhaps, of all-consuming terror and then some kind of safety mechanism had kicked in. Now the lights had gone out once more. A lurch and a terrifying grinding noise, and Laney had ended up pressed back against the injured man's body heat (noticeably hotter, even in the hotbox they were crammed into). She'd pulled away without an apology and now had her hands pressed against the door in the dark. "We can't be swinging, if we're stopped... I think there has to be clamps or something holding us in place." His voice sounded shaky, unsure. "We're not swinging. We're okay," he stated, more firmly. "We dropped three times." Laney whispered, wondering how far down the shaft they had come. If it happened again... would that be it? The lights flickered back on again. She looked back over her shoulder at him. Young, a little younger than her perhaps, with short, clipped hair and a lean frame. He wasn't as tall as she'd first thought, she saw now, and noticed too that though he was wearing half a suit, his jacket was nowhere to be seen. He was still holding his wallet though, awkwardly, as he gripped his crutch at the same time. There was some kind of support around his left ankle that stretched up and was fastened over his neatly pressed pants. Well, it didn't look like he was going to attack her or anything... "I guess this is my fault, huh?" he was looking around the tiny elevator, "It says it can carry four people but... I don't see how." Laney sighed and rolled her shoulders. They weren't falling, they weren't going to die. "It'll probably start back up again in a minute." She crossed her hands behind her back, realised that they were going to be remarkably close to his crotch there, and brought them back around in front of her. "This building looks so old! I wonder if this elevator ever gets serviced or anything." "Hah, not that I can remember." Laney's answer was followed by an awkward silence, which reinforced the weird absence of noise from the elevator mechanism. "Do you work here?" "Uh-huh." Any minute now, everything would start up and they'd be able to get out. "I was just visiting my brother. He works up there on the 6th floor." "I see." Any minute now. "Oh, my name's Joe by the way." His hand appeared over her shoulder, the crutch - still attached to his arm - bumped into her back. She smiled, tightly, again, and reached up to politely shake his hand. "Laney," she said. Any minute now. - - - "I wonder how long the emergency phone has been dead." Laney shifted on her feet, her calves tired from keeping herself standing straight, not touching Joe, not touching the creepy linoleum walls or the scratched paint of the door. For a while the fear of being crushed, or smashed to death had helped her forget the heat. But now she was well aware of it again, could feel its hands on her head, around her neck, sliding up her legs. Thirty minutes with no sound, no movement and no noticeable airflow. She heard Joe, taking a break from his relentless, youthful optimism, loosen his tie. One crutch was leaning right beside her against the wall of the elevator, while he was still, she assumed supporting himself a little with the other. "Oh, I can put my wallet away, at fucking last." He swore! Well, that was something to make him a little more human in her head. "Ok, I think we should start shouting for help now," she blurted. There was a moment before he replied. "Yeah, I think you're right. Does anyone use this lift much?" "Just for filing really. This is the only way down to the basement." "And how often do people file?" "I go down there twice a day I guess. I don't know how I would know about anyone else..." Laney bit her tongue. It was the heat making her snippy, the oppressive, invasive, inescapable heat. Fuck, she hated it. And she hated summer, and she hated this fucking city too. "Well, I guess your boss will miss you, right?" "Ha! Eventually," she conceded. So they had tried the elevator emergency phone, which it turned out had passed away some time ago. Laney's phone was in her bag under her desk and Joe's phone had no reception - which wasn't unusual in this sturdy old stone building. "HEY!" Laney started with the old fallbacks, "CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?" A booming rattle made her jump. Joe was using his crutch to bang on the floor, and he started joining in too. "HEY! HEY! ANYONE THERE?" "THE FUCKING LIFT IS BUST! HELP!" "HELP! WE'RE STUCK IN HERE!" "Here, bang on the door," Laney shifted against the wall at last, giving Joe the room to reach past her and bang on the door, chipping off even more of the ancient, probably carcinogenic, paint. "HEY..." Bang! Bang! "Wait! Did you hear something?" They both froze and held their breaths. There was no world outside the elevator. No sound at all. Laney twisted and looked back over her shoulder to see Joe smiling ruefully. "Guess not," she found herself smiling back. "HEY!" "HEY!" "ANYONE THERE?" "WE'RE STUCK!" - - - "What does your brother do?" The space between their chests when they were facing, even like this - Laney with her back to the door, Joe leaning against the back wall - was two feet at the most. "He's an accountant. So am I actually." "Wow, so you did that in the line of accountancy?" They were taking a break; nervous of using up oxygen (paranoid perhaps, but this was probably the right time to be cautious about things like that) and conscious of every exertion they made raising both their body heat, and the heat inside their little metal cell. Laney didn't want to move her arm to point at his leg, moving her arm meant feeling the sweat sodden fabric in her armpit, possibly brushing against the walls which were starting to bead with condensation themselves. Plus it was just plain tiring. "I was hit by a cyclist." Joe smiled wearily, and Laney wondered again how she looked under this hideous yellow neon. She reached up and brushed her limp, chestnut bangs back behind her left ear. Not plastered to her yet, but she could feel the sweat starting to make its way down her brow. "A cyclist?" "Yeah, down near the markets?" "Oh, right," she smiled, "where they're all weaving in and out..." "Yeah, that's the place." They hadn't heard so much as a murmur since the lift had first dropped. Jesus, where did her co-workers think she was? Did they think she'd just bunked off home? Joe looked away from her face and, without thinking Laney took the opportunity to look down at herself. Her hair, tied back simply behind her head probably looked a little limp, but that wasn't a problem. The problem was that her blouse was really getting... very wet. It was clinging to her, and while it wasn't like she had amazing curves to accentuate, she could see the pattern on her cups starting to show through. She should turn around again, turn her back on this cute guy to try and preserve some dignity. When she looked up, she was horrified to see that he had been following her gaze. She blushed, her cheeks impossibly feeling hotter than they already were. 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. Different Kinds of Heat This time, she could take him. She demanded him in fact, the hot, tight walls of her pussy squeezing him, but yielding to him as he plunged his fingers into her. The sounds were... amazing. She would have blushed if she wasn't already bright red, dripping sweat, a shuddering, panting mess. "Oh Jesus, Laney. You feel... I can't describe it." "Your fucking fingers don't feel too... uh... bad either..." she panted, trying in vain to blow her lank, clinging bangs up. And then his hand was fucking her. Slowly at first, but he read her reactions perfectly, and as she relaxed and allowed him to take her more roughly, more completely, he took complete advantage of it. His palm was slapping noisily against the back of her sopping cunt while his fingers dove up and into her again and again - the width of the two digits spreading her maddeningly, wonderfully. His fingers were satisfyingly long too, and they reached deep inside her to stroke, then slip back, then repeat the action again and again. The slurps, the fat, wet sounds of his hand hitting her pussy as his fingers penetrated her, began to become filthier and filthier. Laney was struggling to stay standing. Her knees wanted to buckle, to drop her down to the floor, but somehow she kept up. The side of her face was stuck to the door, while her arms stayed spread awkwardly wide, clinging onto the doorframe for dear life. There wasn't the room for her to bend over for him, and the arching she was doing was at a pretty steep diagonal angle, nevertheless she still felt, in her head, as though she was bent double and opening herself for him. Fuck, he was... really... oh, really fucking good at this. His dominant fingers kept up this incredible, driving, constant rhythm that... fuck, she couldn't have held out against this if she'd wanted to. He fucked her with his hand and she panted, bit her lip to stifle the cries of pleasure she wanted to make but that she still had the sense to refrain from. She was dripping, dripping onto the floor of the elevator, and it could have been sweat but most likely it was her - it was the slick, sweet juices that he was fucking out of her. He went faster and she straightened her legs a little, bent her back even more, throwing her head back. One hand on the doorframe, and one hand on her own frame, slipping down over her slight belly, over the boiling, soaking flesh and over the soaking tangle of her bush and... there. There it was. He fucked her cunt and she worked her clit, and for a moment she looked down at her discarded blouse and skirt, at her awkward posture, at the stretched and soaking panties that were at her knees now, at her own hand, furiously pleasuring herself while this stranger fucked the inevitable orgasm out of her shaking, sweating body, and she knew - this was the best thing she'd ever done at work. The heat was still rising, and how could that be? How could it still be getting hotter in here? Oh fuck, that was her wasn't it? She felt him, still so hard and so fast. His fingers forceful but not painful, controlling her pleasure and her temperature and driving them up and up and up until... until... Behind her eyelids the starbursts were red - flaming. The heat was a physical thing, another being in the elevator with them, filling up every bit of available space. She squeaked, almost screamed and bit hard on her lower lip. He didn't stop, he wouldn't stop finger-fucking her and then she was there, at the heart of the volcano and there was nothing she could do to stop the eruption. "Fuck! Fuck!" she whispered, hoarse, wishing she could scream it out. "Fuck you! I'm fucking... fucking coming!" The heat, that she had thought couldn't get any higher, climbed again and everything was liquid. She was dissolving, burning up and breaking down into molten lava. How her legs kept her up was beyond her. She might have been crying, weeping, but it was impossible to tell with the sweat pouring down her. "Mmmmph! No, stop!" He wouldn't stop of course. What a wrist, she thought for a split second, before he fucked another (or possibly a higher level of) orgasm out of her. Her fingers couldn't move, couldn't rub back and forth over her tender clitoris anymore. She froze, stood and tried not to fall down as he accelerated and finally sunk his fingers into her and stopped with a grunt, the heel of his palm slapping against her one last time. "There," he gasped, and she knew he must be burning up from his own exertions, "Fuck, I hope that was ok." "It..." she couldn't find the words, "It was." God, everything - her, him, the walls, the ceiling - was dripping. But in her almost stark naked state, and even having been fucked stupid in an elevator, she felt freer and more comfortable than she had in forever. "You think we have more time?" What the fuck was this wanting to talk shit? Wanting to think things out? The only thoughts she was having were variations on: 'Oh my God I just came so hard.' "We better do," she panted and pushed herself back off the door, falling against him. Her heat met his heat properly for the first time, and they stoked the temperature up to a whole new level. Her back hit his chest and slid, slipped. The air was thick in front of her, it weighed on her, and forced her flat against him, another layer of sodden clothing. There it was, bulging, throbbing, pressing through the rough fabric of his suit trousers into the hot wet orbs of her bare ass. She stretched her legs, tried to get some feeling back into them, twisted her neck and looked up at him. His lips met hers, just as she'd hoped. He tasted of apple, she thought, and she realised that if she tasted of anything, it was probably the bitter bite of cigarettes. Oh well. Her panties were easier to kick off than she thought, and the kissing continued - hot, quick and desperate - as she got her arms out of her bra-straps, twisting the underwear around herself and unfastened it at the front. "What if the elevator starts working?" he whispered, looking down her body as she leaned back into him, stark naked, totally exposed but for her sensible work shoes. "Then people are going to see this crazy, naked chick, dripping sweat and sex and I'm probably going to have to get a new job." "It's ok?" "And in about thirty seconds," she ignored him, guiding his free hand, the one that wasn't supporting his weight with the crutch, up to cup her left breast. They're going to see that chick fucking the shit out of this cute injured guy she got stuck in a lift with." "Oh boy. Watch the leg, huh?" He sounded vulnerable again, less pushy. He rubbed her nipple, tweaked it and pulled it out from her body, and she arched her back once more, moved her bum away from him and fumbled behind herself for his fly. As she opened it, as she fumbled with his belt buckle and the button behind that, she took a moment to savour his size and shape through his clothes. Nothing spectacular, but more than enough to work with. And hard, so hard, and burning with a heat that could only be matched by her own molten core. She pulled impatiently on his pants, then on his underwear, then he was in her hands and it was his turn to gasp. She stroked him, felt his own pre-sex wetness and smeared it around the hard head of him and down his shaft. She squeezed, pulled, pushed. She was rough and she took him and owned him like he had her. She used one hand to push his pants and underwear down and away. She wanted him to feel exposed, stripped in an elevator just like she had. She lifted her heels and wriggled her ass and felt him, hot wet and hard. She pressed the head of his prick into the left cheek of her ass, then the right. Joe, who had so controlled her and reduced her to a dripping mess moments before seemed to be leaning back both physically and mentally now. He gasped, gave little grunts as she took control of his cock and bent it down as much as she could, tracing a sticky streak of his cum between the cheeks of her ass. She teasingly let him nestle there for a second, his swollen head against the delicate flower of her anus, but quickly pulled him away. Laney did some elevator geometry. Every part of her was hot, every part (some more than others) was dripping. She realised that dehydration was a very real possibility. But she was naked, stark naked with this cute guy in this crazy situation and she felt free and in control. The height difference wasn't too much, she could get past that, and he could if he could stoop just a little lower. She shuffled back, his cock fit into the groove of her ass and he moaned again, louder, unrestrained, making her glance up and laugh. "Sorry," he whispered, then she was on her toes, leaning forwards, one hand out and against the metal of the door again, bending as much as she could, arching her back as much as she could. The other hand was reaching down, between her messy thighs and then up again, finding that hard, tumescent shaft where she could still feel it, grinding against her perky butt. She pulled it down, bent it insistently until the man attached to it moved too, his crutch clanking against the wall, and then he was there, his prick slipping under her, between her thighs and driving up. She barely needed to guide him in, he was in exactly the right place, and he bucked hungrily, a dumb animal wanting to fuck, and slipped into her. She cried out happily, as his heat met hers. He shifted his hips, and she hers and they found the angle together. She stayed on her toes and gently leaned back. She felt him invading her, penetrating her, deeper and deeper... almost too deep until... there it was. Her soft ass against the rough tangle of his pubic hair. He was in her, all the way, and she was fucking him. He moved his hips as much as he could, but his position was already awkward so he was pretty limited. Laney, though, found that she could move. She could lean forwards, support herself on the door with both hands, and then push herself backwards, taking him back inside her. His dick was a little slender she found herself thinking, ashamed to be thinking critically of it. But probably her dissatisfaction was down to the thorough, total fucking he had given her with his two fingers. And the angle made up for a lot of it. As she fucked back on his prick, it rubbed her in some... fabulous ways. And as she threw herself into it - getting hotter still, getting sweatier still, feeling the cell start to waver around her again - she found that the extra exertion really let her build up some power, some rhythm. She threw herself forwards, then backwards, and impaled herself on his jutting prick. He put one hand on her rolling, pounding ass and held on for dear life. The air was eighty percent sex now, thick, stinking, heavy, and the elevator, clamped in place as it was, made little rattling noises as she fucked Joe. He was swearing, a litany of curses dropping from his lips as her divine, molten heat engulfed him again and again. She squeezed him, she milked him with her pussy and she could tell he wouldn't last long at all. It was good for her, but she knew her satisfaction would be mental this time, more than physical. She wasn't going to come, a delightful as that would have been with this rigid, twitching cock driving up inside her. But she had him. He was hers now, and as she sweated and panted, her tits jiggling as she savagely humped him, she took a hell of a lot of satisfaction from that. Then there was a sound. She froze, pressed back against him, his prick at its deepest point inside her. She almost thought she heard Joe grinding his teeth as the muscles deep inside her gripped and released him without her thinking about it. Then a louder sound thumped out above them and Joe caught on. They both stared upwards. Neither of them dared speak. "Elaine?" It was her fucking boss. "Elaine are you down there?" "I-" she coughed. Her voice sounded breathless, mid-coital in her ears. She tried to sound weary, exasperated. "I am. We got stuck down here hours ago." Joe stifled a gasp and his prick twitched inside her. She almost giggled. "We hoped you were ok in there but the security guy couldn't find the keys to manually open the door." He was calling down to her, but hardly raising his voice. He didn't sound too concerned. The next voice did. "Bro! You down there?" Joe's brother. "I-" Joe had to clear his throat too, and as he did so his cock jumped in Laney's pussy. She reached back, one hand on the door still, and squeezed his balls with the other hand. Joe hissed something incomprehensible and used his free hand to try and push her hand away. "I'm here man!" he called out, his voice a little shaky. "Are you okay? Are you both okay?" Her boss again. "We're fine," she answered, squeezing and tugging that sensitive sack, teasing Joe mercilessly. "Super hot and pretty dehydrated, are you... are you coming right down here?" She bit her lip nervously, looked back up at Joe. "The elevator's between the ground and the basement, we can't work out how to get to it." But the clock's ticking, she realised. They didn't have long. She squeezed those heavy balls again and as quietly as she could, slid herself forwards off Joe's still-turgid prick. Then she relaxed and leaned back and let herself slide back onto it. Joe reached around her, grabbed at the wrist that she was supporting herself with, and tried to stop her. She felt him twitch and vibrate inside her, deep inside the soft walls of her. "Dude, is your leg ok? You must've dropped pretty far!" Joe's brother again. Laney shot a fiendish smile back over her shoulder. "Is this something you can tell your brother about later?" She whispered, and kept moving. He couldn't stop her with one arm, he was helpless. "It's... it's uh, a little sore, but it's ok... ok man." He shouted up. "Will you tell him how you fucked the girl you got stuck in the elevator with?" She felt him buck, felt him tense up. She put both hands on the door again and let out the loudest, most pornographic sigh she dared. She squeezed him, slid off him, teased him and then fucked back onto him. The sounds they were making were only audible to them, but she could tell that they were too much for him. "We're gonna try to work out how to get some water down to you, man." "Will you tell him how you... how you came... how you came in my cunt while you were talking to him?" She hissed, and then she slid back down onto him, taking him into her one last time. She felt him jump, and she felt a whole new kind of wet heat being pumped into her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He was hissing and shaking, his shoulders hunching as his prick dominated his senses and his balls poured their thick, creamy load into her moist, waiting centre. "Dude! You okay?" "I'm... I'm fine man! Seriously!" He didn't sound fine, Laney thought as she squeezed his prick inside her. She felt him continue to move and twitch as he forced himself to look up and control his voice. "I'm good!" "You naughty boy," she whispered, and he shot a soft, annoyed poke at her shoulder. "Anyway," her boss took charge again, "apparently there's someone coming out from the company, but this model is... obsolete or something. So there's one guy in the city and they can't get hold of him, but they think he should be here in an hour or so. You think you can hold on until then?" "I think we can last another hour," Laney called, leaning back against Joe as his prick slowly wilted inside her. His chest was shaking, and now she felt his perspiration dripping from his chin onto her shoulder. It mingled with hers and made its way down over the curve of her bare breast, down over her stomach and into her small, tangled bush of hair. And below that, as she leaned forward and pulled off him, she felt Joe's seed starting to ooze out of her. "Just send down some water if you can," she called, "and maybe some towels would be good. It's gotten pretty damp in here."