It’s 8:55 AM. I slide into the tight crowd at the Seal Tower elevators. Usually, I beat the rush. Skip the jammed subway, the sardine can ride up 82 floors. But today, a soaking wet dream glued me to the sheets too long.
Doors hiss open. We shuffle in silent, bodies mashed—shoulder to shoulder, chest to back. Eyes locked forward. I’m buried at the back. Short, surrounded by suits. All men, it seems. Young bucks, older execs. Dark jackets, briefcases dangling. Some clutch folded newspapers. Others nod to invisible beats from earbuds. Thank fuck no cell signal here.
The Awakening Rush
Stops at four levels. More suits cram in. Tighter now. Bodies grind. I drop my bag at my feet. Cross arms over my chest. Thin summer tee, no bra—my perky tits float free. Don’t want hard nipples poking some stranger’s back. But behind me? No escape. His crotch presses my ass crack. I wiggle forward. Makes it worse. Harder bulge nestles in.
Elevator hums up. Sudden brush on my right thigh. From knee hollow up under my mid-thigh skirt. I whip my head. Side guy’s blank stare ahead. Everyone frozen. Then left thigh—firmer stroke. Turn left. Same zombie faces. Heat floods me. Not accident. Twice? Guy behind me.
I twist, shoving suits. Panic spikes. He’s got newspaper front, briefcase right. No way he groped both legs without notice. Brain spins. Elevator jerks—40th floor. Lights out. Blue emergency glow. Murmurs, curses, watch checks. Voice crackles: computer glitch, tech coming, minutes.
I barely hear. Skin burns from those touches. Then—hands return. Soft at first on hot flesh. Then grip my ass cheeks. Heart hammers. Eyes dart wild in the dark forest of black suits. Nothing moves. But hands bolder. Under skirt. Tracing ass crease. Kneading sweaty globes. Light, then firm. Owning my tight little butt.
I crush arms to chest. Nipples diamond-hard. Sweat drips—neck, back, tits, belly, down ass crack to my throbbing bush. Tiny yelp as rough hand grabs right cheek. Left next. Both kneaded like dough. Fingers probe between, testing wet heat. Four more hands now—thighs. Stroking sweat-slick muscles. Teasing cotton panty soaked through.
The Raw Act Unleashed
Twenty fingers claim thighs and ass. Bugs swarming. They pry legs apart. I fight—hands to pussy. Too late. Wrists caught, pulled away. Legs spread. Arms flop. Now tits attacked. Fingers climb ribs under tee. Pinch, twist nipples. Lightning jolts. Pussy lips swell, drip.
Fingers dip panties, scoop juices. Feed the assault. Minutes blur. Eyes shut. Body floats. Hands lift under arms. Thighs hooked, spread wide. Panty elastic snaps down—stings ass peak. Slides off wet thighs to floor. Skirt unzips, drops. Tee yanked up over tits.
Naked from neck to ankles. Just sandals. Cool air kisses sopping slit. Clit peeks, gleaming. Petals part, dewy. Hot cockhead teases ass crack. Slides up-down. Kisses clit. Coats in nectar. Nudges anus. Back and forth. Shivers rack me.
Lights blast on. Elevator surges. Cock plunges anus deep. I buck wild. Hips grind, milking shaft. Friction builds fire. Cum jet blasts inside. My squirt floods out. Mixes hot. Doors chime—80th.
Space opens. I slump against wall. Cum trickles thighs. Body glistens. Grab skirt, yank on. Wipe pussy with panty, stuff in bag. 81st. 82nd. Suits part like honor guard. Out. Glance back—no eyes meet. Doors close.
Now I arrive early mostly. Love the quiet. But when lonely, horny—join the herd. Tremble waiting to ride up. To heaven again.