Woman trapped in an elevator molested by pantyhose pervert.
Chapter One – Justine
*****
The elevator stopped suddenly between the twelfth and thirteenth floors. The lights went out and suddenly all was quiet except for the sounds of the two occupants breathing in the silence.
A small LED above the floor buttons provided the only illumination.
The Prudential Building had over thirty floors with a bank of six elevators to service them. Justine had never been caught in an elevator like this before, but some of her colleagues had told her stories of being trapped for up to half an hour when the elevators malfunctioned.
Justine was pleased to hear the whirr of the fan and feel the cooling effects of the air conditioning; at least she wouldn’t have to sweat while she waited for the elevator to commence its journey to the ground floor.
Justine was wearing her usual mid-week work attire. A navy-blue business suit, jacket cinched tight over her small but pert breasts; her skirt, a little shorter than most of the lawyers in her office wore to work. The hem rested a good eight inches above her knees.
She wore a plain white silk blouse; her company had a dress code, which some of the younger staff found restrictive, but Justine was pragmatic. If you wanted to be taken seriously then you should dress seriously, she thought.
Justine wore her brunette hair in a bob that rested on her shoulders and bangs on her eyebrows; she also knew that some of the younger staff members thought she was dowdy that way, but she preferred a more traditional look.
Her feet, which she always thought were too large being a lady’s size nine, were shod in black high heels. At home she had two pairs of Christian Louboutin’s which were her one tilt to extravagance, as she was a very frugal lady.
Justine had had just five beaus in her thirty-nine years. One had taken her virginity at the age of twenty-three, late in life she knew, but she had no time for frivolity or romance; she was nearly forty and she was a Senior Associate at a law firm and going places, she hoped to make Partner this year.
Her makeup was very precise. Black eyeliner and mascara, aqua hued eyeshadow, rouged cheeks and ruby red lipstick; she wasn’t stupid enough to think that looks didn’t count, even in her chosen profession; that’s why her skirt was so short, to show off her best asset; her legs.
Justine wore Wolford Neon ‘Gobi’ pantyhose or tights as the English called them. At nearly fifty dollars a pair they were an expensive luxury but she loved them. She thought the pantyhose were amazing to wear for business and even with evening attire; although she often wore stockings to go out on the town. The Wolford’s had just enough shimmer to make her legs glow and had a natural tan look while slimming and holding everything in. They were almost like dancer tights and didn’t stretch out or pull even after wearing for a week straight. Justine often did get a week’s work out them and when asked how come they lasted so long, she said she refused to kneel or stretch while working in them. She jokingly quoted the actress Jan Stirling: ‘I don’t go to church; kneeling bags my nylons’.
In a world where women eschewed stockings and pantyhose as a subservient deference to female stereotypes invented by men, Justine loved the look and feel of expensive hosiery. She knew that some of the younger female staff at the firm talked about her behind her back; commenting that she was some sort of throwback to a world where men dominated the corporate world and dictated women’s work attire. But when she looked at her colleague’s blotched white legs sometimes ludicrously fake-tanned with commercial bronzers, she laughed inwardly.
Justine was actually a fan of the TV show ‘Mad Men’ and adored the retro fashions and the exotic hosiery that the actresses wore.
But back to the here and now and Justine was starting to feel a little claustrophobic in the confines of the dark elevator.
The man standing behind her did nothing; nor did her utter a word. Weren’t men supposed to take charge in these sorts of situations?
Justine slammed her finger into the button for the ground floor half a dozen times, her red-painted long fingernail splitting with the force.
“Shithouse mouse!” she barked and bit off the shard of broken fingernail.
The elevator didn’t budge. Justine felt the man behind her take a step forward but he remained silent.
Justine jumped when the man brushed against her but then she realised he was only reaching for the emergency phone. The man felt around in the dark and found the handle to the little compartment and took out the phone. He held it to his ear briefly and than rapped it against the wall of the elevator. He grunted as he returned it to the little compartment; it obviously wasn’t working either.
“Why is it so dark in here!” Justine whined.
There was no reply; just the man’s heavy breathing.
“How long do think it will take them to realise we are trapped in here?” she turned her head and looked over her shoulder into the gloom.
There was no reply. The man remained silent. She could smell his aftershave, something expensive but not too obtrusive. She hadn’t taken much notice of him when she’d entered the elevator, her mind lost in thoughts of which Weight Watchers meal to microwave for dinner and how many of glasses of wine she could drink to stay below her daily calorie count.
Justine seemed to be constantly dieting but never losing weight. She wasn’t fat by any means; but she was buxom and carried a few extra pounds on her derriere and her breasts, and she had a little pot belly. Her last lover had liked her buxomness but in a world where women were defined in how well they filled their skinny jeans, she insisted on trying to slim down, even though she was nearly forty.
Her thoughts abruptly returned to the present when she felt the man’s breath on her neck; she sensed that he was standing right behind her; that he’d stepped closer. His breath was sweet; like he’d just used mouthwash or was chewing gum.
Justine put a hand behind her in the darkness then quickly retracted it when her finger brushed against the man; it felt like his leg but the touch was so quick she couldn’t tell. She heard him grunt and there was no doubt that he’d taken another step forward.
She could feel his body pressing against hers. More precisely she felt his groin pressing against her buttocks.
Justine attempted to step forward but her foot slammed into the elevator door.
“Excuse me; can you please give me some space? I’m right up against the doors,” she said, trying to keep any panic out of her voice.
Nothing.
“I said…” Justine raised her voice but was quickly silenced.
The man had pushed himself harder against her. There was no doubt now that she could feel his erection through the fabric of his trousers and her skirt. He felt big.
“Oh dear; stop that!” Justine tried to sound forceful but even she knew she sounded like a petulant schoolgirl.
The man pushed harder against her and began to rub against her in a circular motion. She heard him purring like cat.
“This is very inappropriate!” Justine hissed.
It worked. He stopped.
Or so she thought.
Justine heard the ominous sound of the man unzipping his flies.
She was too shocked to even mouth a protest when the man pressed against her again and this time there was absolutely no doubt he was brushing his erect penis on her buttocks.
She sensed that she could feel the heat and weight of the man’s flesh through the material of her skirt but she knew this was an illusion. But she could definitely feel his hard phallus rubbing on her globes and then settling into the crevasse between her buttocks, rubbing on her skirt.
She was of a mind to scream or to reach behind and grab the offending appendage and remove it, or squeeze it to hurt it but she decided to do neither. Screaming might make matters worse and she had no intention of touching the disgusting limb.
The man was breathing heavy; the purring in the back of his throat was now quite palpable.
Justine froze!
The man’s penis, rubbing up and down in valley of her bottom, had snagged the kick-pleat at the back of her skirt; the vent cut into the fabric to allow free movement when she walked.
This caused her skirt to ride up and now the man’s cock was thrusting under her skirt directly on her pantyhose-clad bottom.
Justine’s hand shot to her mouth to stifle a scream.
She was not wearing panties.
Justine did not like the visible panty-line caused by wearing panties under or over her pantyhose. In her opinion, the reason pantyhose were called ‘panty-hose’ was because they were supposed to be both garments in one; panties and hosiery.
The man’s breathing became deeper and quicker; she could feel his erection nestle in the crevice of her buttocks, pushing against the gossamer sheer-to-the waist gusset of her pantyhose. Her skirt bunched up higher as the man thrust in a slow but steady rhythm.
She felt his hands rest on her hips, not hurting her, just steadying her as he pushed himself against her. Then his lips brushed her cheek and then gently kissed the soft delicate skin at the back of her neck. He murmured something incomprehensible; a groan of pleasure perhaps.
Justine was getting wet. She couldn’t help it.
But she didn’t want to. This wasn’t right. This stranger was taking advantage. But what if she just let him…what if she just let him satiate himself against her? What if she allowed him to that? If he didn’t put it inside her there was no harm no foul was there? He might get angry otherwise. He might try and rape…no! He wouldn’t surely! Maybe just let him continue to do what he was doing? So-what if she was a little wet?
The man kissed her neck again; he pressed a little harder against her, one hand moved from her hip and slid under her skirt began to search her intimately. His fingers found her mound and discovered her to be warm and moist. He hissed; the air soft against her nape. He kissed her neck again and his fingers began to explore her through her silky nylons.
Justine was shaved. It was a necessity because she didn’t wear panties with her pantyhose, and if she weren’t wearing pantyhose she would wear sheer stay-up stockings with satin or nylon panties. Her vagina needed to breathe, needed to stay fresh, so she wore vaginal deodorant and she kept herself fully shaved.
The man lightly ran fingers over her pubic mound; caressing her whole sex. She gasped and involuntary pushed back against him causing his cock to nestle further in the crevice of her bottom. The man sighed and his fingers slid across the silky nylon and opened her outer folds. His middle finger explored her inner labia whilst his first and third fingers kept her outer folds open.
Justine shuddered as the man pushed the slippery gauze into her vagina, his finger pressing on her clitoral hood. She began to unconsciously rock back and forth on her heels. The man repositioned his erection so that it was between her legs.
Justine clamped her legs shut; trapping the hard cock between her ample, diaphanous-clad thighs and rocked back and forth in time with the man’s thrusts. She could feel every detail of the man’s cock every vein, every sinew; the sleek shiny skin of the shaft, the purple bulbous head with its delicate phalanges running around the base, and the ever so sensitive fraenulum. She could picture the hard phallus thrusting against the tan, translucent pantyhose encasing her bountiful thighs. The glans disappearing and then reappearing at front of her legs as he fucked them.
Justine turned her head and opened her lips. In the dark elevator the man couldn’t see her do it, but he felt her harsh breathing and his lips found hers. His tongue slid into her mouth just as the tip of his finger unsheathed her clitoris and lightly pressed the sodden sheer gusset of her pantyhose against it.
She bit his lip, encouraging the man to press harder. But he didn’t. We worked the pad of his middle finger in small light circles against her nubbin; the sleek fabric felt like a thousand butterfly wings fluttering against her sex.
She could smell herself. The musty smell of an excited woman wafted from under her skirt. The man fucked her thighs a little harder and his kisses became more passionate, his tongue explored her mouth.
Finally, the man pressed down harder on her clitoris and Justine felt rings of pleasure radiate from her cunt. That’s what it was now. Her cunt! In her subconscious she was no longer the professional Associate being assaulted in a pitch-black elevator. She was a wanton slattern who wanted the man to finger her cunt and make her come. She wanted to feel his cock pulse between her legs and ejaculate.
She got her wish.
The man forced his finger hard against her tender clitoris and rubbed in a fast, circular motion, using the base of his middle finger; the rest of the finger entered her vagina, encased in the mellifluous shiny hosiery.
It felt wonderful and Justine thrust and gyrated her hips, forcing the man to finger her harder while she fucked him with her thighs. His tongue was like a slippery eel in her mouth and his lips crushed hers. His free arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back against him.
The man gasped. He ejaculated.
Justine orgasmed at the same time. Wondrous rings of intense pleasure radiated from her clitoris and vagina, coursing through her body. She would have collapsed but the man held her close to him and fucked her thighs as she gyrated against him.
She felt his hot wet seed splash on the inside of her thighs; quickly absorbed by her pantyhose, only to be followed by another eruption of creamy semen. The musty stench of it filled the elevator, mingling with the aromas of her own secretions.
She could feel the man’s cock convulsing as it thrust between her thighs, her vagina spasming with her own climax.
They remained clinging and pressed against each other until they were both sated. Justine felt the last of the man’s ejaculate drip from his penis and the globule of starchy semen fell to her ankle. The tops of her pantyhose were soaked with wet semen and the gusset sodden with her vaginal secretions.
Justine put her hand between her thighs and gently eased the man’s hand from her sex. Her orgasm was subsiding and her clitoris was too sensitive to take further stimulation.
The man took a half step back and his semi-erect penis plopped from between Justine’s thighs. He wiped the last dribble of his ejaculate on the back of her pantyhose, which was still dry, and stuffed it back inside his trousers.
Justine heard him zip himself up and felt him take a step back; she could no longer sense his presence or feel his breath on her neck. His breathing was heavy but becoming more regular; as was hers.
Now she had to deal with practicalities. Her skirt was still hiked up and the gusset of her pantyhose was soddened with vaginal juices and her thighs soaked with semen. She could feel gobbets of the starchy viscous liquid on her calves and ankles from where the man had sprayed his ejaculate.
She coughed and carefully bent down to find her handbag, which she had dropped during their tryst. It was difficult doing so while holding up her skirt but she didn’t want any semen stains on it. Justine found her bag and rummaged around and found her handkerchief. She dabbed and wiped at herself as best she could then carefully lowered and smoothed her skirt.
She brushed her hair and straightened her clothing; doing her best in the dark.
She could feel the man’s presence somewhere behind her but he still said nothing.
Justine was beginning to fume. How could this man do what he had just done to her and not say a word!
“You know!!” she never finished her sentence.
The lights suddenly came on and the lift jerked and then plummeted to the ground floor.
The sudden bright light and the speed of the descent shocked Justine; her eyes were still trying to adjust to the light and she gripped the handrail to keep her balance when the doors to the elevator opened.
The doors opened to a foyer devoid of people.
The man eased himself past her leaving only a glimpse of his suit and a waft of his aftershave to mark his passing. She leapt from the elevator but the man was gone; out on a busy street full of men wearing similar suits.
She looked around the foyer and saw a technician working on an open electrical panel. Had he repaired the elevator?
Justine looked down at her feet and saw a single globule of semen on the toe of her black high-heel. She lifted her foot and wiped it on the back of her calf.
She smiled to herself and started walking towards the street exit.
To be continued
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