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From: "Michael K. Smith" <mksmith1@bellsouth.net>
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Wed, 25 Sep 2002 14:54:53 -0500
Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Going Up {MKS}
Date: Wed, 25 Sep 2002 17:10:05 -0400
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I'm on the road and bored out of my mind, so I find myself working on -- 
and finishing -- stories that have been hanging fire for some time. 

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
       THESAURUS (n.): An ancient reptile with
              an excellent vocabulary.
  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

                     GOING UP
               by Michael K. Smith


As she waited patiently on the 50th Floor for the
elevator, Lydia Pullman unconsciously and habitually
smoothed her skirt and readjusted the lapels of her
beige linen jacket. She glanced again at the sign above
the portal, making certain for the dozenth time that
this was, in fact, the express car that would whisk her
directly to the small observation platform at the top
of the Inter-Continental Tower. Then she checked her
watch again, caught herself at it, and made herself
fold her hands.

"Calmly, calmly," she thought. "No rush here, not at
all. It's just a break before staying late to work on
that damn presentation." Coffin, Goodbody, & Fitch,
which occupied the 10th, 11th, and part of the 12th
Floors of the Tower, were very particular about their
presentations to potential large customers. Lydia was
very, very good at her job and she was willing to work
late to do it right, even if it meant hers would be the
only office lit up on a Friday evening.

She took several slow, deep breaths but found it was
hard to force herself to relax, especially by
concentrating on it. Her hand twitched slightly as she
almost looked at her watch again. "What a Type-A," she
sighed inwardly.

It was late in the day, almost supper time (which was a
merely theoretical observation, since her supper had
consisted of a cup of warmed-over coffee and a short
stack of stale vending machine miniature doughnuts at
her desk), and she was the only person waiting for the
elevator. Which suited her just fine. She hoped the
observation platform was deserted, too. A dozen or so
slow circuits around the platform that surrounded the
elevator core, ticking off the coin-op telescopes with
her fingernail as she passed them, and with only the
gathering dusk overhead, generally allowed her to relax
sufficiently that she could go back to her office
(bigger and better furnished than last year's office)
and get some more work done.

But then the "local" elevator behind her opened and a
young couple strolled out, arms about each other,
trying to kiss and walk at the same time. Lydia glanced
once over her shoulder and turned right around again,
trying to ignore their public display. The couple
stopped behind her and she tried to shut out the girl's
giggles and the guy's murmuring and the slightly
comical lip-sucking sounds.

It wasn't that she objected to young love, not at all -
- she could remember quite clearly getting all giggly
and tingly in high school over . . . what was that
boy's name, anyway? Well, that was more than a dozen
years ago and she had better things to do, now. No,
what she objected to was such things going on in
public. Not that she was a prig, not at all. But there
was a time and a place for such things as had obviously
been going on in that elevator while it rose from the
street level, and. . . .  An otherwise deserted
elevator car, she realized. Not very public, actually.
She sighed a little and pursed her lips in vague
disapproval of herself. When had she developed into
such a tight-ass? She glanced down at her immaculate
business suit. Maybe something brighter, with stripes.
. . .

The express elevator finally arrived with a *ding* and
the door slid smoothly open. Lydia hesitated, waiting
to see if the couple was going to push rudely past her.
Instead, a pleasant male tenor said, "After you, lady."
The girl tried to stifle her giggles. Lydia stepped in
and moved to the back to lean slightly against the
chrome handrail, which gave her her first good look at
her traveling companions as they followed her aboard.

They weren't quite as young as she had thought -- they
both appeared, on closer observation, to be in their
early twenties -- nor did they appear to be students.
The girl's white tennis shoes and salmon-colored
polyester zip-front dress marked her as a waitress, and
a chartreuse plastic fanny-pack was draped low on her
hip. The man's cheap white shirt and probably clip-on
tie above baggy chinos suggested a mail room clerk.
They seemed cheerful, though, and pleased to be in each
other's company. Probably just got off work themselves,
Lydia thought.

Then the guy caught her inspecting him and winked at
her theatrically. Lydia blushed and studied the toes of
her Rockports, and thought vaguely depressing thoughts.
The couple faced front, whispering and nudging each
other, their hands deep in each other's back pockets.

Ordinarily, the trip to the 77th Floor required about
three minutes and most of that was taken up with smooth
acceleration and deceleration. But this time, about
halfway up, the car slowed suddenly, speeded up again,
and then slowed so abruptly that Lydia had to grab the
handrail to keep her balance. The girl's hand gripped
the edge of the door-frame and the man staggered a step
or two and muttered, "Wha' the fuck?"

The car came to a complete halt. Since this was the
express, the floor indicator over the door listed only
"50" and "Observation Deck"; both were flickering.
Lydia caught her breath and hoped the lights wouldn't
go out. She wasn't afraid of the dark, not at all, but
she suspected that extreme darkness in a strange,
small, high place would be unsettling.

All three passengers looked at each other, exchanging
annoyed-but-blase grimaces. The Big City in action.
They waited a couple of minutes to see if the problem
would correct itself. It didn't. The man *hmmph*-ed and
opened the little door at knee height to phone for
help. The open panel revealed two inches of armored
cable from which the handset had been messily
amputated. The young waitress rolled her eyes in
disgust.

Lydia wondered just how automatic the machinery was
anyway. Surely, there was a control room? Surely,
somewhere, an emergency technician was heeding an alarm
bell? She looked at her watch: A quarter after five.

All three of them jumped when the phone rang, the
strident *beep-beep-beep* within the metal wall
demanding a reply. They looked helplessly at each
other; there was no way to let anyone know they were
there. Lydia suddenly was concerned that the repair
crew might assume the elevator car was empty and would
therefore take its time making things right. Especially
if the observation deck was also empty at this hour --
as it probably was. She told herself, almost
successfully, not to worry.



At six o'clock, Lydia decided it was officially Time To
Worry, though the couple with whom she shared her
captivity seemed remarkably unaffected. The guy was
sitting on the floor, head propped against the wall,
staring off into space and humming to himself. His
girlfriend leaned back against his shoulder. Her shoes
were off and she was carefully taking inventory of the
contents of her day-glo pack: A small heap of edibles
was growing beside her, most of it manufactured by Mars
and Hostess.

Lydia's calves were getting stiff and she wondered if
it wasn't time to simply give up on keeping her suit
clean and just sit on the floor. Maybe she could send
the dry-cleaning bill to the management of the Inter-
Continental Tower. Besides, the car was getting a bit
stuffy. With a sigh, she took off her blazer and draped
it neatly over the handrail, and then lowered herself
awkwardly. 

"That's the way, lady," the young man drawled. "You
might as well get comfortable, too. I think we're gonna
be here awhile."

Lydia stared at him, then looked away. He wasn't being
insolent, exactly -- just remarkably laid-back. In
fact, his tone was reasonably friendly. She smoothed
her skirt over her outstretched legs, crossed her
ankles, and glanced back at him again. He was calmly
watching her with a slightly crooked, ironic smile.

"I'm Eric," he said, and tilted his head toward the
girl. "This here's Vicky."

"I'm Lydia Pullman." Dumb, she thought. Stick to first
names, like them. The elevator was absolutely silent
now and she was ashamed to admit she was becoming a
little afraid. Keep it friendly. "Just 'Lydia'," she
amended. "I work in this building."

"So do I," said Eric. "Thomas Graphics, down on the 4th
Floor. I do office work and deliveries -- exciting
stuff like that."

"I wait tables at the coffee shop over on Tenth," the
girl chimed in. "Only three days a week, though. I have
classes the rest of the week." She sighed and smiled to
herself. "Only one more year and I'll have my B.B.A.
Maybe that will get me promoted to shift hostess."

Eric reached out and stroked and squeezed her thigh.
"Nah, babe, you'll be CEO of some big company inside of
ten years. And I'll still be running errands,
probably."

Vicky put her hand over his and looked up at him
fondly. "You'll get your big break soon now, I know it.
Then you'll be off to Hollywood or Broadway, and you'll
forget all about me."

"Not a chance." He gazed back at her. Both of them
seemed to have forgotten anyone else was even present.

Lydia cleared her throat slightly. "I do P.R. and
graphics for a marketing firm," she said primly. "In
fact, I think some of our printing business is handled
by your company." How nice, she chided herself; you've
just put him in his place, or tried to. And they were
only being polite. "I go up to the Observation Deck
sometimes to unwind when I have to work late," she
added, forcing an apologetic smile.

"So do we," Eric replied with a smirk. "Sort of." Vicky
grinned and thumped his shoulder playfully. "Actually,
we---" Vicky reached around and clapped her hand over
his mouth. Eric leaned his head back and rolled his
eyes at her.

"We go up there in the evening to look at the view and
. . . hold hands."

"Was that only my *hand* you were holding last time,
babe?" Eric mumbled between her fingers. Vicky blushed
a little and added her other hand in a vain effort to
control her boyfriend's comments. Eric's shoulders
shook with muffled laughter.

"I live at home," Vicky explained. "Trying to save
money for school expenses. Eric has two roommates and
all three of 'em are struggling actors. It's hard to
find a place to be alone when you don't have much
money."

Lydia certainly hadn't been wealthy as a college
student but she'd always had plenty of scholarship
money and a rather nice apartment with only one
roommate, another girl just as conscientiously studious
as herself. But she'd never dated a boy she had cared
to become intimate with, so the privacy problem these
two apparently were having had never come up. How sad
for me, she thought ironically. I made all the right
decisions and my career is going just fine. I have no
reason to feel left out of things.

But that was exactly what she was beginning to feel.
She leaned her head back against the brushed aluminum
wall and let her eyes close for a moment. The soft
murmuring between her two companions was actually sort
of restful.

A few minutes later, Lydia jerked her head forward and
opened her eyes, suddenly aware that she'd dozed off.
How weird, she thought, that she could sleep in such
circumstances.

Eric and Vicky had settled into a corner and draped
themselves about each other. Their mouths seemed glued
together and Lydia could see the occasional tip of a
darting tongue. The girl's fingers stroked his cheek
while his hand moved slowly up and down her spine. How
in the world could they breathe? Lydia wondered.

But they did, finally, come up for air. Both their
faces were flushed and Vicky's hand was now clutching
the boy's shirtfront. They glanced at Lydia and their
expressions displayed frustration. Eric looked at his
girl and seemed to make up his mind.

"Ma'am, you might want to turn your back if this is
going to bother you. But I haven't been alone with this
woman in nearly a week and this is too good an
opportunity to pass up. Just pretend we're not here,
okay?"

Lydia stared at him, not quite believing what she was
hearing. Were they going to "do it" right here in the
elevator? Surely not! She gave him a challenging glare
and didn't move.

Eric waited a moment and then shrugged. "Okay, you can
watch if you want to, lady. Doesn't matter to me. But
remember: I'm an actor, so be sure to applaud in all
the right places." He turned his attention back to the
young waitress, who seemed less sure. As he nibbled at
her ear, she glanced at the older woman, a silent
pleading in her eyes. But when Eric began kissing and
licking a spot at the base of her throat, she
convulsively wound her fingers in his hair and closed
her eyes with a deep sigh.

Lydia licked her lips and tried not to watch, but she
couldn't help it. She felt like a voyeur, which was
quite ridiculous. She couldn't help being there any
more than they could. They should be more respectful of
her feelings! She glanced at her watch: 7:30. She
thought about the possibly long night ahead.

Within a few minutes, Eric had slid the front zipper of
the uniform dress down to a point between the girl's
breasts. She was wearing a very lacy white bra with
push-up cups that rounded and mounded the young flesh.
His lips were cruising along the upper surfaces of the
creamy hemispheres and the girl's hands were clutching
at the back of his head. Her lips were parted and her
breath was irregular and gasping with growing arousal.
Lydia couldn't take her eyes away.

Somehow, Eric's tie had come undone -- actually, *not*
a clip-on, Lydia noted absently -- and Vicky had
unbuttoned his shirt. The flat of her hand was moving
restlessly over his smooth, muscular chest. Then the
zipper moved down a few more inches and Eric's fingers
were working at what Lydia realized was the front
closure of the bra. Her own respiration was beginning
to increase. This was disgusting, she thought, trying
to summon up the outrage she knew she should feel . . .
but it was also exciting. She should say something, or
at least turn her back on the spectacle, but she
couldn't move.

The cups of the lace bra sprang back and Eric's mouth
fastened on the first nipple that appeared. Vicky tried
at first to cover her other breast with her hand, then
gave up and reinserted it in her boyfriend's shirt,
trying to pull him closer.

Lydia gazed in dizzy fascination at the jiggling breast
less than a yard away. The nipple was hard and stiff
and bright pink, and she was beginning to feel a
tingling somewhere near the tips of her own breasts.
She realized, with growing arousal, that she wanted to
cup that soft-looking breast in her own hand, to
squeeze and caress it. What must that nipple taste
like? Then she heard her own thoughts echoing in her
mind and was alarmed at what seemed to be happening to
her.

Vicky's fingers were fumbling with her boyfriend's belt
buckle, and then with the button of his slacks. And
then his zipper was parting with a metallic grating
that clashed in Lydia's ears. The younger woman stared
challengingly at her for a moment as she slid her hand
inside his briefs. Lydia could see the twitching bulge
within and she unconsciously licked her dry lips when
it appeared over the top of the elastic, like a
creature rising from the deep.

Eric's organ didn't seem larger than normal -- at
least, Lydia didn't think it was -- but it was stiff
and red and still growing. The girl's hand glided
slowly up and down the shaft and Eric moaned into her
breast. He pushed his underwear down out of the way and
spread his knees, giving her access to whatever she
might want.

Lydia watched, entranced, as his cock seemed to expand
even further. She watched as Vicky abandoned it for a
moment to manipulate and squeeze his testicles, which
caused him to groan again. And she watched as the
zipper on the girl's dress reached the end of its
track, somewhere in the neighborhood of her crotch. She
felt a dampness between her own heated thighs and
wondered if it showed. The close air in the elevator
car was becoming thick with musk that made Lydia's
hands tremble and her ears ring.

Before she quite realized what she was doing, her
fingers were slowly unfastening the buttons of her
white blouse, one by one. She slid her hand into the
top of her slip and touched her own breast, but she
couldn't reach far enough. Her business suit was much
too restrictive.

As Eric pushed the polyester dress and the bra straps
back off the girl's shoulders and down her arms,
leaving her naked from the waist up, Lydia scrambled up
on her knees, pulled out her shirt-tail, and hurriedly
worked her own blouse off.

That got the attention of her two cellmates and they
paused to watch, Eric's fingers still stroking the pale
breasts and Vicky's slender hand moving round and round
the rigidly erect penis. Lydia ignored them as they
glanced at each other and smiled.

Two quick movements and the skirt was unzipped and
disappearing over her head. A slip wasn't very
revealing, though, and Lydia paused and took a deep
breath before gathering up the shimmering material and
drawing it over her head as well.

There had always been something unpleasant to Lydia
about the crawling feel of pantyhose, so she hardly
ever wore them. Garter belts were simply too much
trouble, but she had cheered when thigh-high stockings
with built-in elastic tops appeared on the market. Hers
were so sheer as to be nearly invisible against her
lightly tanned legs. Her bra was practical but delicate
and expensive, and her panties were brief and nearly
new. (Her mother's warnings about being caught in old,
ragged underwear still resonated.)

She didn't quite know what to do, now that she had gone
this far. She paused, still kneeling, as the boy
cleared his throat.

"Very nice," Eric commented with what Lydia took to be
an appreciative smile. "Why don't you lose the bra,
Lydia? Looks like we're all friends here after all."
Vicky was looking on with interest.

Lydia slowly put her hands behind her back and grasped
the catch. Could she do it? She could simply stop and
put her clothes back on, and turn her back on all this.
She looked again at the younger woman's nipples, damp
and shining from her lover's saliva, and she looked
again at his gleaming cock, which twitched upward each
time his girl's hand completed a circuit of its head.
No, she couldn't stop now, she quite definitely could
not. She slipped the hook loose and let the garment
slide down her arms.

She glanced down, only slightly embarrassed, and saw
that her own nipples were harder and more prominent
than she could remember them ever being. Without
thinking, she lifted her full breasts in the palms of
her hands, cupping them and rubbing her thumbs over the
tips. The sensation made her gasp dizzily.

She looked up again to see Vicky imitating her. Eric
was looking from one to the other in fascination. Then
he quickly worked his girl's dress over her hips and
down her legs, leaving her in cotton bikini briefs,
bobby socks, and tennis shoes. Lydia admired her long,
lean body but knew that she was in excellent condition
herself, and she had what she considered the advantage
of maturity.

She rolled her nipples between thumb and finger --
something she did only occasionally, and then only in
the shower. It had always seemed a wanton thing to do,
yet look at her now -- caressing herself in front of
two near-strangers.

But there something else she wanted. Without willing
it, she had been edging closer to Vicky and now she
held out a hand to the younger woman's body -- but
stopped a inch or two away, suddenly aware of what she
was about to do.

Vicky watched the hand approach and when it hesitated,
she reached out and took it and placed it against the
underside of her breast. She locked eyes with Lydia,
and then drew a long finger across the older woman's
nipple, which seemed to be staring at her. Lydia
shuddered . . . and leaned into it.

Eric had drawn quietly back and was watching both women
avidly. He stroked his cock slowly and seemed to be
considering the possibilities. Then he quickly shucked
his shirt and socks, and let his other hand drift
lightly over his girlfriend's ass. Vicky had only one
hand to spare, but between the two of them, they pushed
her panties halfway down her thighs, exposing the patch
of fine brown hair below her belly.

Lydia felt the female hand stroking and inflaming her
and she watched Eric, who obviously was guiding his
busy fingers into the girl's cunt from behind. Vicky
had spread her thighs slightly and the dampness there
was evident. Willing herself not to think about what
she was doing, Lydia abruptly pushed her own panties
down to her knees.

She saw Eric studying her crotch and she knew what he
was seeing: A carefully maintained rectangle of dirty-
blonde fur that led the eye downward, between her legs.
For reasons she couldn't explain, even to herself,
Lydia kept her pubic hair trimmed and tidy in the same
spirit in which she straightened her closet and her
desk. She'd never thought of that as being especially
sexy -- just practical. But Eric's smoky stare as he
raised his gaze back to hers left no doubt what *he*
thought about it.

She was so absorbed in watching Eric watch her, she was
unaware for a moment that the girl had taken her hand
and was leading her even closer to the two of them. She
looked at Vicky, who smiled as she drew her boyfriend's
cock toward Lydia's hand. Then her fingers brushed the
rigid flesh and she felt as though she had stuck them
in a light socket. His cock was hot to the touch, hard
and solid, and yet smooth and soft at the same time.
She watched as her fingers moved by themselves, curving
and closing around the shaft. She looked back at Vicky,
who smiled again. She didn't seem to mind that a
strange woman was holding her private pet penis.

Eric shifted position slightly, which made his cock
move within her grasp. Without thinking, she tightened
her grip on him, but then loosened it again and began
to slide her hand slowly up and down, letting his pubic
hair brush her knuckles and then running her thumb over
the velvety head. Each time she made the circuit, the
penis in her hand twitched and throbbed, and so did her
clit.

Vicky's sandy curls cut off Lydia's view of her hand as
she bent toward the lap before her, but then Eric
sucked in through his teeth as the girl's head began to
move slowly up and down. Lydia felt the warm, wet lips
brush against her hand and then the girl's tongue slid
over her perfectly colored fingernail. She glanced down
the length of Vicky's back and reached out absently to
let her other hand stroke the curve of her spine and
her waist, down to her tailbone. There were smooth
muscles beneath the warm skin. She stretched a little
farther and her hand continued over the tight surface
of the girl's ass. Her brain felt disconnected from the
rest of her body, which seemed to be under the control
of some alien force.

Eric glanced toward Lydia; he seemed a little out of
focus. "You want to try some of this?" he asked,
stroking the other girl's head as she sucked in his
cock.

Vicky let the organ *pop* out of her mouth. "Uh-uh, you
don't want to start that way," she said to Lydia and
then fell into a wicked grin. She seemed somehow aware
of the older woman's relative lack of experience. "You
should start with something you know."

She quickly got Lydia to move from her kneeling
position, coaxing her to lie on her back. Then she
scooted around and lay down herself on the dusty floor
of the elevator car with her face between the older
woman's legs. "You know about your pussy, don't you?"

Lydia thought she would faint dead away when the girl's
tongue wiped a flaming stripe from the bottom of her
cunt up, over her clit, into her neatly mowed pubic
patch. She breathed in so deep, she felt she might
explode. The lust that seemed to have lain dormant for
so many years was beginning to awaken.

Eric didn't seem bothered at Vicky's desertion. He
smiled and slowly stroked and squeezed his abandoned
cock as he watched his girlfriend's tongue-work. Then
he bent toward Lydia, who glanced up at him with eyes
that were beginning to glaze. "Ever heard of 'sixty-
nine'?" he asked.

Vicky took the hint and immediately swung around,
lifting one knee over Lydia's body and maneuvering her
own pussy within reach. "Lick me," she insisted. "Do to
me what I'm doing to you."

Lydia enjoyed the feeling of the younger girl's warm
body stretched out on top of hers. They were about the
same height and there was a fragrant, moist crotch
hovering just above her chin. She hooked her arms
around the girl's thighs and pulled the moistness down
to meet her tongue. The taste was different from what
she would have imagined -- if she ever had imagined
such a thing, which she certainly had not. The wetness
tasted sweet and perfumy and she liked the smooth
hardness of the girl's clit against the tip of her
tongue. Vicky squirmed and tried to push her own tongue
far up into Lydia's cunt.

Lydia thought about what was going on with a small,
uninvolved part of her mind. She's licking my cunt, she
thought. Cunt. Pussy. I like eating her pussy. I wish I
could fuck her. Fuck me. Her brain seemed to be smoking
slightly around the edges.

At that moment, Eric carefully set his knees on either
side of Lydia's face. She looked up to see his balls
swinging just above her nose. His cock was pointed
toward the spot her tongue already occupied. "My turn,"
he murmured.

His organ seemed huge at this distance and Lydia
watched in a daze as it pushed slowly into the girl's
pussy. She imagined it disappearing inside, pushing
into the wet depths, and she trembled with new (or
forgotten) feelings of her own. Vicky moaned into
Lydia's pussy and clutched her thighs tightly as Eric's
penis buried itself in her.

Lydia watched as the cock withdrew part of the way, the
now-wet flesh reflected in the elevator's ceiling
lights. Then he pushed back into the waiting cunt,
driving harder, making Vicky's body jerk atop Lydia's.
Then out, then in again.

Her own pulse was pounding now and she moaned at the
vicarious sensation she was experiencing. She didn't
realized she had raised her head until Eric's balls
brushed roughly across her lips. She put out her
tongue, stretching to lick his penis as it plunged and
withdrew. The softness of his testicles bounced across
her eyelids, and her toes curled as Vicky sucked hard
at her clit.

It was obvious from the sounds in the back of Eric's
throat that he was nearing the culmination of his
journey. Lydia struggled until she had freed one arm
from behind Vicky's thigh, and as Eric drew back for
what she was certain would be his climactic thrust, she
grabbed his cock in her fist and yanked it down into
her mouth.

The sudden change of venue made him come even more
violently and he jerked and trembled as his cum shot
and sprayed across Lydia's tongue. She sucked hard,
trying -- almost successfully -- to stuff his entire
penis into her mouth, and she gobbled every drop of the
salty, viscous fluid she could. Eric, gasping,
gradually sank downward, pushing his dick into her
throat and it was all she could do not to choke.
Finally, he heeded her frantic hands urging him up and
off, and he rolled onto his side. Lydia inhaled the
mixed aroma from the girl's steaming cunt and ran her
tongue around her lips.

Vicky carefully rolled off her and Lydia took a deep
breath. She seemed almost a stranger to herself. She
was lying on her back, naked, in an elevator, having an
orgy with two other people. A few hours before, she
would have been incredulous and deeply offended had
anyone suggested to her what lay in her immediate
future. She couldn't imagine what might have come over
her. But when she examined her own mind, she found she
couldn't honestly object to what had happened, not at
all. Eric and Vicky both seemed nice enough, there had
been no coercion involved, and the physical sensations
certainly were amazing. And she was an adult. She knew
what she was doing -- sort of.

Eric was now sitting crosslegged between the two women,
absently stroking his cock with two fingers. "Lydia,
can I ask you something?" She nodded. "How long has it
been since you were fucked?"

Lydia dropped her gaze to his penis, which was red and
shiny. "I never have been, actually," she replied in a
small voice. "I seem never to have gotten around to
it."

Eric raised his eyebrows and glanced at the younger
girl, who seemed skeptical. "Never?"

"Never. I made out a few times when I was younger, but
I guess I've been too concerned with my career to have
time for boyfriends and such." The admission was making
her feel sorry for herself.

Vicky was slowly shaking her head. "Man, I can't
believe that. It's not like you were ugly or anything,
you know. You're very pretty, actually."

"Yeah," Eric agreed. "What a waste."

"Maybe we should do something about it now," Vicky
said. She looked at her boyfriend with a smile. "Eric,
would you mind fucking this lady?"

He grinned in reply. "Oh, I think I could be
convinced."

Lydia looked from one to the other and licked her lips.
Her pussy was still tingling and the image of Eric's
penis entering her body was speeding up her heart rate
again. "Do you have a condom?" And she realized her
question meant she had already made up her mind to do
it.

"No, 'fraid not. I wasn't expecting any of this," he
replied with a frown.

"And I'm on the Pill," Vicky added. "I don't suppose
just pulling out before you come. . . ."

Eric rolled his eyes. "Never works. You know how hard
that is, Vic? Fucking impossible, actually."

Lydia's mind had, to put it bluntly, zeroed in on that
cock and her cunt. She wanted it now, before she
chickened out. "Isn't there some other option. . . ?"

"Well, . . . there's always your ass," Eric said
thoughtfully. "But if it's your first time. . . ."

A cock in her ass? Wasn't that deviant? Lydia tried to
think about it rationally, clearly. Well, this whole
evening was pretty deviant. She knew that anal sex took
place, of course, but she'd never thought about it in
connection with herself. Of course, she almost never
thought about sex at all, in connection with herself.
Of course, she wouldn't get pregnant that way. And
maybe it meant that she would still retain her
virginity. Technically, of course."

Eric glanced down at his cock, which seemed to be
recovering its poise. "I swear I'm clean, Lydia. No
diseases or anything. I've only done it with Vicky here
in more than a year."

Lydia took a deep breath and sat up. "Okay, what do I
do?"

"That's the spirit," Vicky said with a bright smile.
"It's easy -- and you'll love it! And Eric's really
good at it. He won't hurt you, I promise." She leaned
against the wall of the car and stretched her legs out
in front of her. "It's best if you're face-down. But
this floor is pretty hard -- so why don't you come
across my lap?" She patted her thigh.

Lydia crawled slowly over to the younger girl and
stretched herself across her warm lap. Vicky's hand
stroked down her spine and traveled again over her
upturned bottom. She felt Eric's hands moving over her
buttocks, squeezing lightly and spreading them apart.
Her breathing was coming harder. His finger began to
gently explore her asshole, wiggling its way inside,
and causing a series of tiny electric shocks to travel
up her spine. The finger withdrew and then returned,
considerably wetter, to be inserted even farther. Any
reservations she'd had about this -- go ahead, she
thought, say it: Ass-fucking -- were rapidly
disappearing.

The finger vanished again and a moment later she felt
something larger and both hard and soft pressing
against her anus. Vicky continued to stroke her back
and she made an effort to relax her muscles. Worming
her hand down beneath herself, Lydia slid her middle
finger across her clit and gasped at the sensation.

"Lift your ass a little, Lydia," Eric murmured, and she
did. She tried to imagine what this scene would look
like to a security camera, had there been one: A
pretty, naked young girl sitting on the floor with a
somewhat older naked woman across her lap and a naked
young man kneeling between the woman's thighs, holding
on to her hips, slowly working his erect penis into her
ass. Her brain seemed to be seizing up -- but, somehow,
even though she was sort of at the mercy of two other
people, she wasn't at all frightened. She was
definitely weirder than she had ever suspected.

Eric's cock was gradually making inroads, pressing in,
pulling back, tunneling deeper with the next slow
stroke, until finally, he was entirely buried within
her. The swarm of sensations were making Lydia
lightheaded. She tried again to imagine what she looked
like: God, that was an erotic picture! And now Vicky
had reached beneath her and was massaging her breast
and rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger.
Lydia had become a single huge nerve, which was
vibrating wildly.

Lydia tried deliberately to focus her attention on the
penis in her ass, which seemed, in her perception, to
be growing in girth and length, swelling to fill her
entire intestine with sex. She concentrated on the
feeling of it sliding in and out, moving more quickly
now, adding to that the sensation of his balls slapping
against her pussy, and not to forget the sparks
shooting out from her nipple. . . .

Eric squeezed her hips in his hands as he suddenly
speeded up even more and then jerked once, twice, and
again. Lydia was sure she could feel his semen shooting
up into her, and that touched her off, too. She spasmed
and sobbed a little, and grabbed at her pussy with one
hand and clutched Vicky's thigh with the other. She
couldn't remember ever having an orgasm like this
before, burning her to a cinder, leaving her a little
puddle of molten flesh.

Eric was half-crouched over her back, gasping for
breath in her ear. "God, you are one hot lady! Fucking
incredible!"

Vicky stroked the older woman's head. "Good, wasn't it?
Did you like that, in your ass like that?"

Lydia tried to nod; she certainly wasn't capable of
speech yet. Yes, she definitely liked it. Maybe she
liked it better in her ass than she would the "right"
way, she didn't know. She thought vaguely that perhaps
she ought to find out. And then, before she could form
another thought, she dozed off.



A sudden mechanical clanging noise brought all of them
bolt upright -- Lydia scrambling up off Vicky's lap,
heart pounding, the younger girl gasping in surprise,
and Eric motioning at them both to be quiet. The sound
came again, from somewhere outside the elevator. Maybe
they were about to be saved!

Lydia checked her watch: Just after midnight. Then she
remembered her nudity -- amazing that she'd forgotten
about it, even for a moment -- and began hurriedly
gathering up her scattered clothing and struggling back
into it. Eric and Vicky were doing the same.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" The voice seemed to come from
below them. "Is anyone in that elevator?"

Eric grinned as he pulled on his slacks. "Yeah! There's
three of us in here! When you gonna get us out?"

"Be a few minutes! We gotta lower the car mechanically,
line it up with the door on the next floor down!"

They settled down and listened to the progression of
sounds echoing up the shaft, and grinned at each other
when the elevator car began jerkily moving downward
inch by inch. After a few minutes, the movement stopped
and they watched in fascination as the tip of a crowbar
appeared between the rubber seals in the door. Another
minute, and two sets of hands appeared to push the
doors open, and flashlight beam swept them quickly and
withdrew.

"You folks okay?" A face under a hard hat appeared out
of the gloom of the dim hallway outside the elevator.
"Sorry we couldn't get to you earlier, but we didn't
know there was anyone in this car. Nobody answered the
phone." The face looked disapproving.

"The phone's broken off, man." Eric gestured at the
open panel. "We heard you ringing but we couldn't
answer it." He was helping the two women to their feet.

The hard hat glanced inside the phone panel and nodded.
"Yeah. Damn vandals. Anyway, the security mike, uh, . .
. ." The workman looked quickly around at the three of
them and stood aside to let them exit.

Lydia suddenly had a strange feeling. "There's a
microphone in here?"

"Yeah," their rescuer replied. He wouldn't look at
them. "Back behind the panel there. We were having a
problem with drug dealers doing business in the
elevators awhile back. You have to deliberately turn it
on, and we usually don't, but then someone thought to
do it, and we heard you all, uh, . . . we heard you
were in here, so we mounted a rescue." He was turning
bright red in the face. As they waited in the dark
hallway to be escorted away, Lydia realized the other
two men in the work party, both much younger than their
boss, were watching her with intense curiosity. One of
them was attempting not to grin, and was not
succeeding.

Lydia felt her own face becoming hot. Eric obviously
had come to the same conclusion and appeared nonplused.
Vicky actually seemed to be enjoying the attention; she
actually swung her hips a bit as she passed the two
helpers. Lydia watched their faces -- and then actually
caught herself studying the fronts of their jeans,
looking for a telltale bulge.

She stepped between her two co-prisoners and slipped an
arm through each of theirs. "Listen, you two -- it's
obviously much too late to go back to my office, so I'm
going home. But I don't imagine I'm going to be able to
fall asleep -- again -- any time soon. In fact, I'd
like some company." She looked at each of them in turn.
"What do you say? Why don't you come home with me for
what's left of the night? Tomorrow's Saturday, you
know. Maybe we could find something to do this weekend.
Something we could share?"

Eric and Vicky exchanged quick looks and nodded in
unison. "Sounds good," he said. "Yeah, sharing's good,"
she said. "Absolutely," he said.

Lydia had a feeling, a very strong feeling, that she
wouldn't be working many late nights at the office any
longer.


                        END


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 2002 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and
posted elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial
rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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