In Defense of Long Elevator Rides… Sort of

As we get on the elevator, I realize we won’t be alone.  I had hoped to give the security camera guys an eyeful as we rode the elevator up and walked to our room, but it just wasn’t meant to be.  It seems like stream of people getting on just never stopped.

That was when I realize you were backing into me, subtly, and driving me with your body to the back corner.  I lean against the back wall, trying to not be too disappointed that we aren’t alone.  I realize with start that your hand has remained behind you and, though it may (may) look innocent to others, it was positioned just so… before people even finish streaming in, you are slowly unzipping my pants.

You have this very convincing look on your face like you’re watching the ads on the monitors.  You’re even talking to me about how much you’d love to go eat out.  How hungry you are.  You can see people picking up on the innuendo, shifting and trying to pretend they’re not listening in.

All the while, your hand is slowly snaking in my pants, pulling on my cage, working down and around, squeezing.  With a jerk, you squeeze hard as the elevator stops at the first stop.  Hard enough that I squirm a bit to keep from making a noise.  I have nowhere to go, I’m wedged in the corner.  You squeeze again, holding this time.  It’s everything I can do to not make noise, to not pull away, but of course that would be even more interesting, the stainless steel would show in a heartbeat and really give everyone a show.

You keep talking, pulling, squeezing, working your hand in.  Somehow you’ve actually managed to pull my cage and balls out of the zipper and I feel like I’m hanging out for all the world to see, but of course you’re leaning into me, hiding me, at least for now.  But I’m very aware all you have to do is take a small step forward and I’m in a completely different situation.

I can feel myself pushing on the cage, subtly pressing myself into your hand now.  Every time the doors open to a new floor, people do the elevator shuffle, not realizing, or at least pretending not to, that you’re torturing me, right there in the middle of it all.   They look, say hello, keep talking between themselves.  I catch a look every now and then… oddly, the women seem to give me a nice nod, almost approval?  The guys, just something along the lines of wondering what my problem is.

I realize we never pushed the button for our floor – this has turned into a tour of the hotel – all 60 floors of the hotel.  I can feel myself straining hard against the cage now and you keep on…

Then the move to end all moves.  You keep talking to me, and draw your hand up – I realize I’m leaking now – and you nonchalantly lick your fingers before putting your hand back on me, lean back a bit and give me a kiss so I know precisely what you’re doing.

I can taste me on your lips.

This does nothing to slow me down of course.  I feel myself pulsing, pressing against every millimeter of the cage, pushing it out, fighting the base ring, the tube, the PA, all of it.  It’s all conspiring to hold me in place now.  As the last couple gets out at the 55th floor, you press the topmost button.  We have a couple of floors to ourselves… maybe.

You immediately turn and kiss me, pulling on me, massaging my aching cock and pulling seriously on it to test the cage.  You bring your hands to your mouth again and make a show of licking them clean, then continuing to kiss me.

My head is spinning, forgetting where we are.  You spin, grabbing me, re-positioning yourself and pressing the number for our floor.  It’s about halfway down.   As we descend, we find we’re continually stopping to pick up new people.  I can smell me on you now, or perhaps it’s just the kisses, but, to me, it’s very clear.  I feel you on me, not sure how this will play out.

As we start to get close to our floor you somehow fish me back into my pants, your hand inside, forcing me to continue leaking, to continue wincing from the grasp.  It’s getting unbearable as we approach our floor.

As the doors slide open, I realize my fly is still open.  You draw your hand up and lick it, making a quick show of it that would be easy to miss, but impossible to mistake if seen, as we walk out, complete with the undone zipper.

Come along now…” is all you say as the doors close and I hear conversations start from within…  All I hear is “Was that…” and the door closes off the rest of the sentence.

5 thoughts on “In Defense of Long Elevator Rides… Sort of

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