If only, she mused, her fantasies were real. Were able to be made real. The elevator landed smoothly at the lobby level, the doors opened with a silent sigh of air. Everyone exited the compartment except for Abby.
Poor little Abby, she thought. Too busy for sex so she has to create nasty little fantasies -ones that only added fuel to her raging libido.
She fantasized about her boss spanking her. She was sure Mrs. Carstairs would not approve. Which really only made the fantasy hotter. She had the drive of a drill sergeant, Mrs. C did, tough and no-nonsense until the task at hand was complete. She’d successfully raised six strapping boys, she would say, and an office of flighty young women was easy as pie in comparison. Imagining the 60 year old woman in black leather going after her with a paddle, hands tied and ass bared for that same no-nonsense spanking? It made her wet to think about it.
She fantasized about the copy machine guy, too. Maybe he was the all-around tech guy, but she always thought about him bending her over the glass, and running copy after copy of her tits as he ruthlessly fucked her ass. Just watching him wrest the guts of the copier out, the sheer rough handedness of his motions made her juicy.
She was a sick, horny bitch, to be sure. Pushing off the back wall of the elevator, she stepped forward, only to be pushed back by the one person she didn’t fantasize about.
“I thought you got hung up, stayed late or something,” her husband said.
The doors closed behind him, a soft puff of air carrying the scent of day-old working man to her nostrils. He was…pungent.
“No, just lost in thought. If you push the open button…”
“Too late,” he murmured as the car began to rise. “Forty seventh floor? This will take all evening to get there, this wheezy box.”
A funny smile crossed his face.
Her words were cut off as he whipped her around, shoving her hard against the back wall. Hands on her hips pulled her ass backwards, then slipped her skirt up.
Before the sound of his words hit her ears, his cock was in her. Panties rucked to one side of her slit, her already wet cunt welcomed the thick, hard mass of his erection. Hands pulled her back against him as he pumped quickly in and out of her. Grinding deep, he came with a quickness that was shocking.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the floor lights rising. 38. 39. He pumped one last gush of his seed into her as the number went to 42. With a tug, he settled the crotch of her panties over her pussy.
“Keep that juice up in there, whore,” He growled into her ear, hand fisted in her hair and tugging her head uncomfortably backward. Her back arched. Her tits, disappointed by his inattention, thrust out in an invitation he couldn’t see.
Her skirt tugged back over her hips, she was swung quickly back to upright, back against the wall. His hands finally gripped her tits, squeezing roughly.
“Later,” he whispered. “Tied, beaten, bitten.”
The elevator stopped as the number 47 glowed. The doors opened, and she silently urged the riders to enter, to press the button to the lobby. She was eager for later, now.