After a hectic day of meetings and presentations in the city, Silvia decided to treat herself to an early dinner at the exclusive Overlook room, on the 85th floor of the City Center Tower. She reasoned that by getting there early, she would be able to have a relaxing meal, a few drinks, and watch the sunset during dessert.
The gorgeous Latina was still dressed to kill in her grey pinstriped business suit and skirt, with a white silk blouse sheer black stockings, and shiny black pumps with three inch heels. She wore her luxurious dark hair down over her shoulders. After a whole day of having it pinned up, it felt relaxing to let her hair down,
Usually the express elevator would have taken her all the way to the restaurant, but it was out of service, so she waited to take one of the regular business elevators. Some of those were also under repair, so it was taking a while.
While she waited, a handsome man in an expensive, charcoal grey silk business suit stood near her. She felt his gaze before she saw it, and glanced over to in the mirrors of the elevator lobby catch him unabashedly appreciating her curvy feminine form.
Silvia had often wondered what the phrase "undressing her with his eyes" meant, and this man's attention made the meaning crystal clear. He wasn't staring, or leering. There was nothing unsettling about his subtle appreciation, but at the same time she imagined that he could see right through her clothes.
He scanned her body slowly, almost tenderly, from ankles to face, and when his eyes met hers, he smiled warmly, and Silvia blushed. She averted her eyes before he did.
Before the elevator arrived, more people gathered to catch a ride to an upper floor. By the time the doors open the small crowd obscured Silvia's view of the man. She assigned the brief encounter to the 'pleasant memory' category, guessed that she'd probably never see him again, and boarded the elevator car to ride to the top floor.
With so few elevators in service, the car seemed to stop on every floor. Some people got out, but as far as she could tell, he never did. She began the ride near the front of the car, but after a few floors she found herslf being crowded toward the back of the car by the growing press of attractive people in business attire.
Eventually Silvia was pressed by the crowd almost to the back of the car. As she carefully stepped back to avoid stepping on the feet of the person behind her ... those black stiletto heels would certainly cause discomfort to anyone in dress shoes ... she recognized his shoes.
He was standing directly behind her now. She had pulled her hair forward over one shoulder, and now she imagined she could feel his breath on her neck. The elevator stopped on another floor. Sylvia's tension rose as she wondered whether the elevator would empty more, allowing more space, or would fill, and push them closer together.
She gasped slightly, almost inaudibly when she noticed a crowd of people waiting to get on, and only one getting off. Most of the crowd outside elects to wait for the next one, but more than a few impatient ones "excuse" their way aboard.
Silvia has no choice but to inch carefully backward as the crowd shifts. Her curvy bottom brushed against the front of his pants. She held her breath momentarily, but didn't shift forward. Sylvia was holding her stylish clutch purse in her left hand, using her right to steady herself on the railing of the elevator car.
The stranger's warm masculine hand suddenly covered hers, gently holding her in place. Her heart began to pound as he eased his body closer and closer to hers, pressing against her from behind. She felt the shape of his warm unmistakable presence against the curve of her left cheek. She felt the impressive growth as he leaned harder against her.
"Relax" he insisted, whispering in her ear so quietly she almost asked him to repeat himself.
The elevator was so crowded; no one could really see what was going on the in far corner. The stranger grew bolder. He removed his hand from Silvia's, placing it her right hip. His fingers trailed down one hand down and rested on her hip, then deliberately moved to her shapely ass. He slowly bunched the fabric of her grey pinstripe skirt, making the hem creep deliberately upward until his fingers are touching her bare skin above her stockings.
It was all she could do to keep silent as he persisted. He confidently, boldly, grasped her cheek in his hand, and slid his fingers under her panties, continuing inexorably to his target. He traced the cleft, grazed her tight back entrance, but did not stop until he gently poised at the entrance to her moistened pouting lips.
But there he paused, his fingers warm enough to almost feel on her labia, but not quite. She yearned for the contact, shifted back toward it, tried to secretly lower her hips into it, but just as she moved so did he, always close enough to nearly feel the touch she desperately wanted to have, but not quite.
At the 80th floor the elevator began to empty when a large group exits to attend a conference presentation. As the crowd withdrew so did the stranger, taking his hand out from under her skirt, smoothing it down and placing it back on top of hers. Silvia trembled with mounting desire. There were only a few people remaining when he leaned forward and whispered, "84."
Silvia looked up at the floor number. 81. She needed to go to 85 for the restaurant. She had a reservation. What was on 84? Why should she trust this stranger? Her head was spinning. She shouldn't go ... she wouldn't go. She'd go to dinner as planned. 82. Just another memory, an intense memory, but something she'd always look back on fondly ... and wonder. 83. She took a deep breath, tried to compose herself, and made a final decision to go to dinner. 84. The door opened.
Silvia stepped out of the elevator. She heard the stranger step out behind her. She looked down a long narrow white corridor, only one elevator opened onto the hall, and a single door waited at the other end. The floor was covered by a fine red carpet with gold floral trim.
Three ornate crystal chandeliers lit the way to the simple white, wooden door with a large brass knocker. There were no signs, no mirrors, no indications at all to say what company, law firm or agency inhabited this space. She started to fear that an impulse had led her to make the wrong choice.
She turned to call the elevator as the stranger deftly moved to stay behind her. "I. I can't. I'm sorry." There was no button to call the elevator. There was no longer an elevator door at all, just the same painted white panels that lined the rest of the hall.
She felt the man's hand on her hair, this time she trembled as much in fear as in excitement. "You can't leave that way," he whispered darkly. "You must trust me," his low, steady voice was had taken on a sinister edge.
Then suddenly, the hall went pitch black, and the stranger was no longer gentle and teasing. He grabbed one of her arms and twisted it behind her. He wrapped his other hand in her hair and pulled back hard. "You can scream if you want ... if it makes you feel better," he hissed as he spun her around and guided her blindly toward the door.
But she couldn't scream. She didn't want to scream, somehow. She was terrified but she was certain that screaming would do no good. She tried to walk as gracefully as possible but in this position it was impossible. She stumbled, but he would not let her fall, even to her knees. He stood her up pulling her arm and her hair until she had her feet under her, and led her on.
.... There is more of this story ...