( I went to karaoke instead of working on “The Elevator – Part 2″ … oops, I’m a bad girl!

So, to tide over the gap, here is a micro-short-story, set in an alternative dimension in the future.)

A young woman becomes set on revenge after the Alliance tortures and kills her baby in the name of science. The top experiment honcho, Dr. Mengele (no direct relation to Hitler’s buddy), unknowingly hires her as his private dominatrix.

Will she get to kill the asshole?
Will she get to kill the asshole?

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Will she get to kill the asshole?

It’s a great night – but the party’s really gonna start once I blast this motherfucker’s face to smithereens.

In 5 minutes, I’ll reach back and pull the gun tucked in my bra strap. Whip it in front of me, cock it, lock it on target and put Dr. Mengele’s brains on display next to the fake Gaugin. Then I’ll throw the ends of the cable around the legs of that grand piano, sprint to the windows, and jump through the glass panes like a latex cowboy being thrown out of a saloon brawl.

I’ve assassinated plenty of Alliance officials before, but this time, I’m foaming at the mouth. If I had a cock, I’d be able to hammer a nail through the wall. Five years of working my way up the Resistance, and now I finally have this putrid maggot bent over the coffee table, milky white ass wiggling, almost demanding: get on with it.

You know what I should do? Kick the pointy tips of my boots straight into those contracted balls and boom over his spasm-ing body: “I guess we’re even now. Oh wait – you killed my baby. You win. Bye bye, fucker.”

But that’ll turn him on, so forget it.

But that’ll turn him on, so forget it.
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There is an ache in my phantom right nipple. She always rejected the left nipple, smart baby. My left breast was bone dry, while the right one was gorged with enough milk to nurse a baby hippopotamus.

After the Alliance took her, I pumped that right breast for almost a year, but it refused to believe that she was gone, baby, gone.

So I took a red-hot cleaver knife and chopped it off.

But th
::::::::::: t.

When I told the shitface that taking off my bra would lead to the falling splat of the silicone prosthetic, he told me to keep it on. What a moron.

He clears his throat and that gleaming bronze face looks back at me. “Don’t be afraid. Inflicting pain on another is a gift. Nothing else gives everyone’s synapses such a satisfying work-out.”

But that’ll turn him on, so forget i
:::::::::::t.

I know she cried, screamed, wailed for me. At 7 months, she was already singing Verdi operas, her little lungs so powerful that they could blow stacks of paper across the library as easily as blowing dandelion puffs.

She would grab the floating white pieces and say, “Mommy, mommy, I made it fly.”

:::::::::::

I walk up to his chained form, and he shivers as my shadow presses on his back.

“Yes,” he hisses, “yes, yes, yes.” He’s undulating his hips, dry humping the air. His hands, bound behind him, flex and pull against the ties vigorously.

“What did I tell you about trying to get loose?” I say.

The left side of his face is pressed to the glass panels on the table, muffling part of his mouth. “That every twitch equals a stroke of the switch.”

One, two, three steps and I am right behind him. A boot goes up, a boot goes down, the spiked heel resting on his cheekbone. I lean on that foot, digging my soles into that pretty face, forcing his mouth to gape open.

He whimpers from his throat.

My hand snakes behind me.

His eyelashes flutter close.

I grab the warm steel of the gun.

A stream of saliva starts to pool by his mouth.

I slowly lower the gun to his temple, until it’s just a hair away from his skin.

His mouth vainly tries to close itself. Like a guppy fish with sliced gills.

But that’ll turn him on, so forget it.
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I hear they drowned her. They made her fill those prodigious lungs with as much air as possible, and then the white coats, they dumped her in a tank.

She lasted an hour. Maybe 45 minutes.

What happens when a girl meets a fuck-tastic boy in an elevator?

This is Part 1 of what seems to be 10-part series…

It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of

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It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of cubicles. Tall office

It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of cubicles. Tall office buildings become ghost towns at this witching hour.

My eyes can’t keep open, even though my laptop screen is blazing like the sun. I turn it off – it’s time to go home.

I walk past a wall of windows that look out to the shiny rectangles of other skyscrapers. Their windows are gray, dim. Everyone else has gone home to their wife, mistress, husband, boyfriend, kids, dog, cat, the TV and Dancing With the Stars.

I clip my iPod to my skirt, put on my earbuds, and press play.

It’s Depeche Mode:

My secret garden
Is not so secret anymore
Run from the house
Holding my head in my hands…

Like a thousand times before, my index finger reaches out and presses the “down” button for the elevator.

It lights up.

…Ding…

The middle elevator chimes. I shuffle to the elevator.

And, like a thousand times before, the robotic curtain of the door opens.

But today, he is inside.
It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of

:::::::::::

It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of cubicles. Tall office

His eyes open with the door.

He is leaning on the back wall like a delinquent prep school boy, arms folded in front. Tie loosened, top shirt button undone. Hair mussed and fussed and falling on his forehead as if he had run his hands through them again and again.

The grainy overhead light bounce shadows off his cheekbones, his nose. Those open eyes are hidden by the spiked silhouettes of his lashes.

He swallows and his adam’s apple bobs.

I’m not sure if this happens to you…and I would have passed it off as melodramatic bullshit until it happened to me…but the snake of intense arousal bites me, poisons me, paralyzes me. He’s not even my type, and yet the only information my brain can process is the roar of sticky sweetness that rushes down and drenches my panties.

The shadows of his eye sockets stare straight into me, and I swear I could almost hear them whispering, daring me to lean forward, just a little, just a little…

And so, I barely notice the door closing.

Only when the last 2 inches threaten to cut out out that telepathic foreplay do either of us move.
It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of

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It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of cubicles. Tall office

He gracefully pushes himself off the wall, an arm outstretched.

Me, I wildly wriggle in sideways, like a fish being reeled in from the goddamn deep blue. Arms and legs pushing and squeezing in, fighting with the elevator sensors.

The doors fling back open in disgusted protest…

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!

And I stumble in, ramming myself on the side panel, my hip squishing into the emergency button.

BRRRRRRRRRIIIIIING!!

Fuck. Fuck!

My hands flail in panic in front of me, and successfully push me away to a proper space in the middle of the elevator. And the door closes at last, everyone inside as snug as a bug in a rug.
It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of

:::::::::::

It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of cubicles. Tall office

The reflection from the shiny brass interior shows a control panel with every single floor button lit up.

A heaving young woman, clutching her bag as if some thug had attempted an impromptu snatch.

And a much taller man behind her, his gaze burning into her doppelganger like a NASA laser beam.

Just when I think I’ll combust into a million flames, the elevator door opens to floor 45. Revealing another empty, dim elevator bank. A rush of cool air.

Then, the door closes again. Back to the enflamed, enclosed square.

He’s so close behind me, I can almost feel the thud of his heart. Or is that the roar of my blood? Or the thumping of the techno beats from my headphones? I don’t even know anymore.
It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of

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It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of cubicles. Tall office

Slowly, he presses up again me, his hands under my elbows.

I watch the reflection drop her purse, her arms lifted straight up over her head.

The touch of his warm fingers at my hip, as they hook underneath the edge of my light sweater. And so gently, it’s peeled up like the skin of a plum.

The sweater drops to the ground.

The elevator stops at the next floor. And the emptiness stares back at his hands, grabbing my breasts from behind, fingers digging through the top of my bra, other fingers roughly pulling the straps down.

My tits spring free, but my arms are tangled in the pushed-down underwire. Immobilized.

I make a small gasp, and he pauses a moment.

Then, with the most gentle motion, he puts a hand over my mouth. The door closes approvingly.
It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of

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It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of cubicles. Tall office

My short skirt is flipped up, and my panties and pantyhose are pulled down to my knees. I hear a ripping sound. He’s tearing my clothes to smithereens…

And then he grabs my pussy, and pushes me back against his crotch.

His hips swivel, as he slowly, so slowly, grinds his clothed cock over my ass. And his finger goes into the moist crevices of my pussy lips.

My moan comes out low muffle, as his finger finds my clit. A slightly rough finger rubs the nub, dipping into my pussy hole to get it all nice and wet.

WOOOOOSH.

The door opens again, bringing in a gust of cool air. My back arches, and my nipples get hard.

Two fingers go inside my pussy now. I’m so slick, so hot. I can feel some of my wetness starting to tricking down my inner thighs, and his fingers move in and out. In and out.

His thumb flicks at my clit again, and the door closes on my groaning into his hand, my hips swiveling to match his hips.

I can’t move my arms. I can’t move my legs. And my teeth are now knawing and sucking on his hand. I want something in my mouth…please…please…

As if he had read my hand, the hand in my pussy slide outs and comes up to my face. The fingers are glistening. I can feel the radiating heat, I can smell my cunt. On his fingers, in the air, everywhere.

He takes the hand off my mouth, revealing a smudged mouth. All my pink lipgloss, smeared over my cheek and chin. I don’t give a fuck. Instead, I open wide. Aaaaah.

And those two fingers come onto my tongue, and my mouth closes as the elevator door closes.

His other hand goes back down to my pussy, back to insinuate itself inside me. I shiver as they slide inside me.

His hips move faster, faster. His whole palm now is rubbing my pussy, giving him extra leverage for his cock twisting. And me, I’m sucking those fingers in my mouth faster, slurping, my tongue going in and out and polishing ‘em clean.

The fabric of his pants mix with the wetness that’s now spreading in my ass crack. And now he’s going up and down like a well-oiled piston, sandwiched between my cheeks.

The elevator stops at floor 17 and opens to more dim halls. Floor 16, endless emptiness.

His breathing becomes loaded with gravity.

My hips start to buck like a mindless animal. I’m so fucking close…
It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of

:::::::::::

It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of cubicles. Tall office

The elevator makes a smooth stop with a bell sound. And the door opens.

Ground floor.am alone in asea o

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It’s almost midnight on Monday. I am alone in a sea of c

To be continued this Friday in “The Elevator – Part 2 – Concrete Playground”…