Goin' Down 1

by Renee Michaels, Collette Thomas, Aspen Mountain Press Authors

  "I want to watch you come,” he said.

  Not caring at all, she groaned.

  He stopped sucking on her tits, but his hand kept active. She opened her eyes to see him holding her open and exposing her clit. Softly, he blew on her wet flesh. She shivered. He wet his finger inside her and proceeded to rub her clit hard and fast. He pressed down while he rubbed, only slipping inside her to wet his finger. Her climax was shattering. She arched her back and tried to press her legs together.

  He wouldn't let her. Instead, he kept rubbing her until another explosive orgasm had her shaking and crying out. Only then did he lift her and hold her tight.

  Marietta didn't come to her senses for a while. Her cunt was still spasming when he nibbled his way down her breast to her bellybutton.

  "I can't, Cord."

  "Yes, you can.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I'll help."

  She managed a chuckle but choked it off when his wide, flat tongue slid between her labia and lapped at her. She shuddered. He was relentless. When he finally let her up she was wet to her knees. He stood in front of her with the hard-on of a teenager. She grabbed his hips and wrapped her mouth around his dick, sucking and licking for all she was worth. He pulled her off him and plunged deep inside her.

  She screamed. Her oversensitized flesh pulled him in eagerly. Marietta clutched at him as he made love her. He pounded in and out all the while whispering he loved her, wanted her screaming his name in the middle of the night. It wasn't quite the middle of the night but she screamed his name several times before they finished.

  "Now, no more talk about age. You just came six times. That's as young as it gets."

  She smiled and agreed. “Think you can keep up with me?” she asked with a purr.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  The End

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  The Elevator Man

  Collette Thomas

  Chapter One

  Anna Jacobsen winced and cursed for not seeing that hole on the jogging path the week before. And why she now found herself scanning the list of offices in the lobby of the new facility that housed medical and businesses.

  She could have walked the distance, but with her injured foot she had no choice but to drive the several blocks instead. Plus the rain was coming down hard and streaks of lightning lit up the late afternoon sky.

  Since the mishap, the foot hadn't felt right. It made her wonder if she had done more than sprained it. Her friend Madeleine told her she could be walking on broken bones and needed to check it out.

  Unable to wear regular shoes, she wore flip flops that gave little support and did nothing to disguise her swollen, bruised toes that now looked like cold cocktail wieners.

  As she looked up and down names, she noticed the podiatrist Madeleine recommended was located on the tenth floor.

  "No shit!” she muttered, wishing she had asked her for the suite number. Now she would have to take the fucking elevator.

  She hated elevators!

  But no way was she hobbling up ten flights of stairs!

  She glanced down at the foot. If there were broken bones, she couldn't risk walking any more than she already had from the parking lot. Even from that point she was pushing it. At least with the buffered aspirin she'd been taking she had no real pain except for a constant dull ache.

  Reluctantly, she walked over to one of the three elevators and pushed the UP button, then stepped back to watch while the flickering lights indicated what floor the elevator was still on.

  When it arrived at lobby level the doors slowly opened. She hesitated before stepping inside. Once in she took a deep breath, thankful that the interior was fairly good in size with bright interior lighting. Not dingy and coffin-like, that would have had her wondering if regular maintenance had been performed. She didn't need to have this thing get stuck between floors and live out one of her worst fears.

  It's not going to happen again.

  Still despite the inner voice's reassurance, memories surfaced and she saw herself five years old with her friend Madeleine and Madeleine's grandmother, all of which reminded her that the fear of becoming trapped like that had never left her.

  Grandma Fassino, rest her soul, had not been the most calming factor during that episode, instead had screamed up a storm letting whoever was in ear shot know that they were trapped.

  She and poor Madeleine had nightmares for weeks afterward.

  Even now, Anna could hear the woman's high maniacal shrieks, in broken Italian, yelling how the maintenance guys were going to see the gates of Hell if they didn't free them soon.

  When the elevator car stopped, Anna's heart jumped, especially since it hadn't reached the tenth floor. When the doors open, she heard the rolls of thunder, and spotted a flash of lightning coming in through a hallway window.

  Not the best place to be during an electrical storm.

  The hallway window was partly obstructed by a tall, dark haired man in his early to mid-thirties. He was dressed in black, tight jeans and a matching tank top that clearly revealed the man worked out on a regular basis. She tried not staring from behind her dark lenses, but found it impossible not to.

  He entered, gave a slight nod. She felt her blood pressure rise not by fear, but from a growing anticipation.

  His broad shoulders, tapered waist, and sinewy arms that sported well developed biceps, had her imagination going full steam ahead!

  Imagine getting trapped in an elevator with this one.

  The possibility had her almost hoping the thing would get stuck before it reached the tenth floor.

  The man wore his hair longish with flecks of gray at the temples. Thick hair that any woman would love to draw her fingers through. When he turned to her again, he smiled. That's when she noticed he wore a black eye patch covering his left eye, giving him a distinct air of mystery that caused her heart to beat a little faster, and a little wilder.

  Wouldn't you like to jump his bones? She could hear Madeleine telling her as her eyes traveled downward, focusing on his crotch, wondering how well endowed she would find him there. Images of her giving him a blow job right then and there filled her wayward mind.

  She attempted to ignore the inner voice, but to no avail. The man was the epitome of one sexy hunk!

  The short, well kept beard added to his virility. This one hot-looking specimen reminded her of a modern day pirate—an extremely well put together Johnny Depp in the flesh. Someone who went after what he wanted and always got it.

  They were only on the third level. She knew she should be nervous being inside there with him, alone with seven more floors to go. She wondered what floor he was getting off on.

  Getting off on???

  The words produced a giggle, and she covered her mouth.

  Again, he turned to her, nodded, and resumed his frontward position.

  Neither said anything and both kept their eyes on the flashing numbers. Easily she could imagine this man making love to a woman, and suddenly envisioned him taking her right there inside the elevator as it gradually made its way upward.

  She was glad, despite the ugliness of her foot, that she had put on make-up that morning—dark mascara, eye liner and light foundation. She had just had her hair colored, a light brown with soft coppery highlights, and cut in a flattering mid length that fell just below her ears. She wore a short white denim skirt that hugged her form, along with a braless red tank top that complemented her late August tan.

  Okay, so what if she was on the higher end of forty? Her time at the gym ensured she could still manage to turn a few heads.

  Another crash of thunder broke overhead. She jumped and made a short little cry, then gasped when the overhead light flashed on and off, then back on.

  Another crash followed and the overhead light went out. She held her breath. They waited in the silence for the light to turn back on.

  It didn't.

  The numbers of the floor blinked on and off and died.

  Anna fe
lt a sense of having just entered elevator limbo. She said nothing, yet knew her silence would be short lived. She wanted to scream for help, use some of those Italian words favored by Madeleine's grandmother.

  Ahh fongool!

  Get this fucking thing moving!

  But she refrained, not wanting him thinking of her as some crazy lunatic.

  Immersed in the darkness, the realization came that the elevator was no longer moving up or down and seemed to float, putting them into a state of suspended animation.

  Shit ... this cannot be happening!

  Her mind still refusing to believe what had just occurred, she reached outward and groped for the panel of buttons. Finding it blindly she pushed every button, not caring what floor they were on or what floor they were going, only needing to get the damn thing moving again.

  "I don't think we're going anywhere,” the man said, in a calm relaxed voice that felt like rich dark velvet chocolate.

  "The generator should be kicking in soon,” she said, to reassure herself more than him, sensing the man needed no reassurance about anything.

  "It might, then again they were having trouble with it earlier,” he responded through the darkness.

  "How do you know?” she asked.

  "I just got through telling them they've needed to replace it since the last storm when the same thing happened."

  "What are you talking about?” She wished she could see him and then remembering a small penlight inside her purse, quickly opened it and rummaged through until she felt the familiar touch of the instrument. She pulled it out, aimed it his way but downward and not directly at him.

  "I know because as this building's manager I just got out of a meeting with the owners."

  "Please don't tell me we're stuck here until the power comes back on...” She remembered the last big storm in the area that had taken hours to get everyone's service reinstated.

  "I think that might be the case."

  The faint glow of her penlight cast enough illumination that allowed her to make him out. She didn't mind the dim lighting knowing that she probably looked better beneath it than the horrid florescent lights that had her wishing she had opted for Botox.

  "I'm sure they'll get the power back on soon,” he said.

  "How can you be so sure, especially after what you just told me?” She hadn't minded the problems they incurred with the last storm, considering she had been home at the time. Inconvenient, yes, but at least she had candles to fall back on in the comfort of her own bedroom.

  "I just hope I don't...” she started, then stopped.

  "What?” he asked. “I hope you're not going to tell me you're claustrophobic."

  "Not exactly ... well, okay ... I've suffered from a slight panic disorder since I was five ... and I don't do well under these circumstances.” Great, she thought, tell a perfect stranger you are a freaking lunatic.

  "I hope you're not going to scream. People might think I'm attacking you inside here,” he remarked in a composed voice that made her wonder if he wasn't making light of her predicament. “Then again it might bring a quick rescue."

  "Don't worry I'm not going to scream, not unless you give me a good reason to."

  "If you do, warn me beforehand."

  "Hey look, if anything I'll probably hyperventilate. But don't go worrying about it. I always keep a paper bag inside my purse."

  He glanced down at the purse.

  "It helps,” she said, not wanting to go into any in depth explanation.

  "You mean you might pass out?” The possibility of that happening produced concern in his voice, which made her feel better knowing the man possessed some compassion.

  "Well, no. I've never actually passed out, but if this power outage lasts much longer and I keep thinking about me being trapped like this, I might panic and then I may feel like I am going to pass out. And that won't be a pretty sight."

  "Then shouldn't we be thinking about other things besides our present situation?"

  She looked at him through the shaky shadows. His eyes—or in his case his one functioning eye—was focused on her in a way that caused a shot of warmth to pass through her, making her realize just how handsome he was, eye patch or no eye patch, and not in a conventional sense. Some would say his looks were far too rugged to be considered strictly good looking. Yet the strong determined chin, the sensuous mouth, the look of confidence that commanded attention, she could guess most women would regard him as one helluva sexy hot specimen who knew exactly what women wanted beneath the bed covers..

  "Let's share fantasies,” he suggested. “That, I guarantee, will keep your mind off the possibility of you doing a Marie Osmond and falling to the floor."

  Shocked by his comment, she moved backward until she felt the guardrail at her back. “Share fantasies?"

  "And I'm betting an attractive woman like you has a few she could share.” He smiled a wide sexy smile. “One of mine is to find myself stuck inside an elevator with a gorgeous lady who's willing to play out such a fantasy."

  She scoffed. “Really?” she croaked. “And that's supposed to keep my mind off having a panic attack? I think not."

  "It might if you listen to what my fantasy is."

  "I'm not sure if I should be listening to anything you say."

  "Maybe that's your problem."

  "My problem? I don't think I'm the one with a problem."

  "Maybe you're the kind of woman who needs to let go more, learn to release some of that tension. We're two strangers here who'll probably never see each other again. And because of that we need not be so judgmental of each other."

  "That's the point. You're a stranger. Plus you're a man, a very strong easily able to overpower me man from what I'm seeing here with this light.” She shook the penlight at him. “I'm a defenseless woman stuck inside this fucking elevator with you. And you're telling me that I shouldn't panic. Especially now that you're telling me you want to talk about God knows what, maybe the adult version of Jack and Jill and instead of fetching that pail of water Jack goes down on Jill, and vice versa."

  "But that's what fantasies are about. They take us out of our present situation. Put us into a place where we can enjoy a part of life we know will give us pleasure."

  "Exactly what part of life are you referring to?"

  "We get to enjoy our sexuality. What better person to share a fantasy with than someone you don't know? This gives us a chance to be honest about what we share. We'll probably never see each other again. I'm betting we have a better chance at getting struck by lightning.” His eyes held her gaze. From what she could tell he was serious.

  "You just told me you're the building manager. Meaning you're probably here on a regular basis. And if I need to see this foot doctor again, it'll be just my luck to meet up with you again. And if we've shared a fucking hot fantasy, you don't think that might present an awkward moment?"

  "Are you always this pessimistic?"

  She hesitated. “Not really, except lately things have been on a downhill side."

  "Why is that?"

  Did she want to go into it?

  "Let's just say when you reach a certain age, pessimism comes more naturally. Before you know it, you find yourself looking at life through not so rosy-colored glasses."

  "A change of attitude helps."

  She leaned back against the rail. “You think?"

  "We're going in circles,” he said.

  Anna sighed. Her life had just come full circle. Here she was living a single life after her divorce. And then again, here she was inside this elevator with an extremely handsome masculine man who was practically propositioning her to engage in some form of sex play.

  In the ensuing silence, she realized her foot had started to throb and lowered herself to the carpeted floor.

  "Not a bad idea,” he said and followed suit.

  She heard the downpour of rain and an occasional rumble, and sensed the storm was not ending anytime soon, either out there or inside.

&
nbsp; "I suggest we share our fantasies because we may not get this opportunity again,” he said. “At some point in that future, behind those not so rosy lenses, you may regret not following this through. Besides, I find the idea of an older woman and younger man very sexy and sensual. With all sorts of possibility."

  "Whoa! Who says I'm older?"

  "Okay, then—"

  "You're fucking right,” she interrupted. “I probably have at least several years on you,” she replied, “But not much more than that,” she quickly added.

  "Does age matter? I'm a guy who just happens to be extremely curious about women, older or not.” Suddenly, his cell phone rang.

  While he answered the call Anna found herself studying him, all the while wondering if the man was for real. Deep inside she knew there would be no problem fantasizing about him. A hunk in any woman's estimation, she could hear Madeleine telling her what a fool she was for not taking him up on this offer, that this might be her one chance to get out of her latest funk.

  "It might be another hour,” he said, “possibly longer. They need to bring in a new generator. Seems lightning actually struck the damn thing."

  Anna felt that familiar uncontrollable panic rising inside her chest. She feared she would need to resort to fishing out the brown bag, folded in so many places it was a wonder she could use it anymore.

  Suddenly, she didn't want to. She didn't want to have to rely on anything besides herself to get her through this latest crisis. And she certainly did not want to appear like the emotional disaster she had become since her divorce from Allan.

  Cold, frigid, no longer attracted to her, her ex husband of twenty-five year's last words to her before signing the papers and then taking off to Puerto Vallarta with his latest new thirty-something fling.

  "Would you actually fuck a stranger in this thing?” she heard herself asking, the words pouring out before she could rethink and pull them back.

  "Is that your fantasy? Getting laid in an elevator?"

  She put the penlight to one side. She brought her knees upward, circled her arms around them. “I dunno. It could be ... with the right man. I'd like to feel that the man who fucks me views me as the one woman he wants to fuck, and not thinking of anyone or comparing me to anyone else. I want him doing all those wonderful things a man does to a woman and not be thinking about anyone else, because I'm the one who occupies his mind. And I certainly don't want him fantasizing about someone else while I give him a fucking blow job.” She stopped, waited for her panic to increase. Instead, she felt a freeing inside, letting her know she was in control. “Nice girls don't think that way, do they?” She gave a half smile.