Romona has a fear of heights. Also a fear of enclosed spaces. Can you imagine her horror then, of boarding a scenic elevator going to the top of New York’s third tallest building? Only Romona has no idea how bad her fear of heights can be. Nor what being trapped in an elevator with her amorous boyfriend can lead to. This afternoon she will find out. So will her fellow passengers. Join Romona on her four-page odyssey of phobia busting.
It was the tallest building Romona had ever seen.
She stood on the sidewalk, head back, staring upwards. Barely visible through the afternoon haze, sunlight reflecting off the glass, the top seemed to rear over her like a threatening bear. She experienced vertigo.
Oh, my God, she thought. We’re going to the top of that?
Claustrophobic as well as afraid of heights, Romona couldn’t imagine boarding an elevator in this building, much less riding it to the top.
“Ready?” Jason asked.
Romona shook her head.
Laughing, Jason took her by the elbow, and led Romona toward the entrance. Once beneath canopy, she lowered her head again, but continued to see the spire in her mind. She shivered lightly.
“It’ll be fine,” Jason said.
Right! she thought. When pigs fly.
Inside the lobby, Romona looked first to her left and then to her right. Impressively high ceilinged, the lobby was spartanly bare, with only a security desk and several marble benches breaking the floor. Brass, polished to a mirror-like intensity, trimmed the interior doors and the windows. There was a bar to her left with elegant brass stools; to her right were the immense brass doors of the restaurant. The elevator banks, straight ahead, were also trimmed in brass. The reflected sunlight hurt her eyes.
Leading Romona to the desk, Jason asked the guard for The Lexington Group. Looking them over, the guard asked a series of perfunctory question, then instructed Jason to the eightieth floor. They were both given badges. Both put them on.
Seeing Romona’s discomfort over the security arrangements, the guard said: “Thank our terrorist friends for that.” Then he grinned. “Be glad we don’t do pat down’s anymore, and strip-searches.”
Romona laughed, unsure if the comment was facetious. Jason led her to the elevators.
“Relax,” he said. “You look like a hostage.”
She felt that way too.
Dressed in a cobalt blue skirt and jacket, with a white blouse beneath, Romona looked both ravishing and professional. Blonde, with shoulder length hair–now atop her head in a neat bun–she wore tortoise shell glasses and hoop earrings. Her skirt was moderately short, showing off her pretty legs. She wore a pearl necklace and black, five-inch heels. Beneath her skirt, Romona was bare.
“They all want to fuck you,” Jason said.
“Who?” Romona whispered, looking around.
“The men in the bar.”
Romona found a handful of men observing her with interest. Most of them smiled. Romona, aware of how much she looked like the Assistant District Attorney on Law & Order, SVU, understood why. She looked quickly away.
“They’d like to see what you look like under those clothes,” Jason said. “And on their cocks.”
“Stop it!” she pleaded. “I’m embarrassed enough!”
“You don’t know what embarrassment is,” he said. Which, of course, was a lie. Romona lived in embarrassment.
With a soft chime, the doors opened and Romona stepped in. Jason moved in beside her. Two women and four men joined them, all of whom looked impatient. The men tried not to stare. The women, good looking themselves, scrutinized Romona from head to toe. They looked slightly unsettled.
Jason pushed the button for the thirtieth floor–the sky lobby–and the doors closed. Other buttons were pushed. Surreptitiously, he put his hand on Romona’s rear end and then caressed it. She could only hope the others didn’t see.
They’d like to see what you look like under those clothes, Romona. And on their cocks.
What are we doing here? she wondered.
Being alone for the weekend was remarkable enough–alone with Jason was astounding. Living in Pittsburgh with her husband and two kids–Jason lived in Philadelphia–she saw him rarely. Twice in the past year. Now, she was desperate for his cock.
The elevator stopped on the seventh floor and one man and one woman got off. Both looked cautiously back. Jason kept his hand on Romona’s rear end, and she fought not to fidget. Her face remained tight. Four harried looking men, who also tried not to stare, replaced the departing duo. She doors closed, and the elevator started to rise.
Romona was a programmer, attending a four-day seminar at the Hyatt Regency Hotel. An investment banker with J.P. Morgan-Chase, Jason was in town for a banker’s convention. They both had rooms at the New Yorker Hotel, on Thirty-fourth Street, but not adjoining rooms. Romona was in Suite 1801 by the elevators; Jason occupied Suite 1810. They were a hallway’s length apart.
“We should have taken the express,” Romona whispered.
Jason squeezed her butt.
Why are we here when we could be in bed? she wondered.
Why are you here at all?
Jason traveled twice a year to Pittsburgh, where they had met four years before. They both were married. Romona had two kids at the time and was twenty-four years old. Now she was twenty-eight. Jason had three kids and a gorgeous wife that he was not about to leave.
The elevator stopped and three women and a man got on. Romona made room. Jason let go of her butt. She still felt his hand, and her entire body felt warm. She felt school-girlishly giddy.
Oh, Romona, she thought. You are in trouble!
A voice inside her laughed.
The elevator halted and rose three more times, the cab becoming full. Men flanked her on all sides. Jason reclaimed her butt and by the thirtieth floor, she was glad to join the exodus into the lobby. Her breathing and heart rate had alarmingly climbed. When she swallowed, her throat gave an audible click.
“We’ll take the express this time,” Jason promised. He held her about the waist. “You okay?”
“Just needed some space.”
Jason led her across the lobby, where they both looked south, across the dozen or more blocks to the World Trade Center. Dust partially blocked the view, but Romona saw the towering cranes and the immense, clawhanded excavators; the site was almost cleared. It had been nearly a year.
“Did you know anyone?” she abruptly asked.
Jason slowly nodded. “A couple of guys. A woman too. She was in the South Tower when it fell. Above the crash zone. She never stood a chance. None of them did.”
Romona’s husband had lost a cousin in the North Tower, a Port Authority policeman. Romona lost a friend in the Pennsylvania crash, though she didn’t know it for a month. Reading her friend’s name in Newsweek one day, Romona had broken into tears.
Returning to the elevators, they joined half a dozen others. Romona checked to make sure it was express. Then she took Jason’s hand. She almost said, “I love you.”
God! she thought in shock. I am in trouble.
When the elevator doors opened, Romona was startled again. The elevator had a no rear wall. It was a scenic view.
“What’s the matter?” Jason said, much too calmly.
Romona rapidly blinked. “It’s glass,” she said, unthinkingly; those around her laughed. “Can’t we go another way?”
Jason fought a grin. “Not if you want express.”
“Jason–” she said. She gulped loudly again. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. The glass is thick, perfectly safe.”
“But I’m afraid of heights!”
“You’re inside a closed space,” he countered. “With three solid walls.”
“But I’m claustrophobic, as well!”
The others laughed again.
Whispered comments passed back and forth and a man held his finger on the hold button, allowing Romona to squirm. Finally, their condescending grins made her step forward. “Just don’t let go,” she said, taking his arm.
The doors closed, and everyone turned to look outside. There were assorted oohs and ahhs, fingers were pointed, and even Romona could appreciate the view. She refused to let Jason move forward, however. “This is close enough,” she said.
Nodding, Jason slipped his hand over her rear end. He caressed her inner thigh. Romona squirmed. People were casting backward glances.
“Quit it!” she hissed.
Then Jason bushwhacked her. Raising the back of her skirt, he ran his finger along the crack of her ass, and then between her labia. He entered her vagina. Romona almost died.
“What are you doing!” her eyes screamed. “Are you nuts?”
Jason’s finger moved deeper inside, making Romona shudder. Her legs involuntarily splayed.
Please don’t let anyone see! she thought. Please don’t let anyone see!
Leaning close, she whispered in his ear: “Stop it! Have you lost your mind?”
“Only my finger,” Jason teased.
“Jason!”
Laughing, Jason took his finger out. He clasped Romona’s hand, intertwining her fingers with his own. Her skirt was still up.
“Jason!”
“What?”
“You need to put it down!”
“I’m letting you cool off,” he said.
She needed to cool. Blood raced through her vessels, pounding her head. Her breath threatened to seize. And all the while, standing there, she waited for someone to see. Somehow, no one had.
Nearing the sixtieth floor, the elevator was beginning to slow. People were turning around. Sneaking her hand to her rear end, Romona clutched her skirt and pulled it down. Jason stopped her. Looking into her eyes, he smiled teasingly, then released her hand. She lowered her skirt the rest of the way. But not soon enough.
Startled, two of the passengers looked quickly at her hips, then quickly away. A pair of thirty-something females, wearing skirts and jackets themselves, went round in the eye. Red-faced, Romona looked away.
Thank you! she thought. You have just made my day!
When the doors opened again, Jason drew Romona aside. They let the others out. Only when the elevator started filling again, did Jason release. Romona hurried off.
“Relax,” he whispered, taking her arm. “You’ve been seen before.”
“Not like that!” she hissed.
Many passengers had remained in the lobby, waiting for the next lift. All but two were men. Jason moved her before the local elevators and Romona stared at the enunciator, her heart pounding. She felt the attention of the crowd. How many knew what Jason had done?
How many were thrilled?
When the elevator arrived, Jason led Romona aboard. The others joined them and Romona strove not to fidget.
Pushing the button marked eighty, Jason stood aside and let others select their floors. In all, seven buttons were pushed; four below the eightieth floor, and three above. Then Jason took hold of her tail.
If asked beforehand if she ever imagined being barebottomed in an elevator, Romona would have laughed. And been insulted. She may even have slapped the asker’s face. But here she was with Jason’s hand on her ass, and now slipping between her cheeks. Romona kept her eyes squarely on the display.
“Like that?” Jason whispered.
Romona fought with her heart. It wanted to burst. “You do,” she said.
“Want me to take it out?”
Romona fought her reflex to squirm. She loathed her excitement. She felt totally perverse.
“You do whatever you want,” she said, keeping her eyes on the changing digits.
The elevator stopped at the sixty-eighth floor and three men got off. One man got on. The man directly to her left, against the rear wall, understood what was going on. Or at least he suspected. Jason felt his attention as well, because his finger went deeper.
“Twelve more floors to go,” he said. “Three more stops. Think you can make it?”
Romona said, “I think I might die.”
Laughing, Jason moved his finger tantalizingly in circles. Romona whispered: “Why don’t you just fuck me right here? Pull the Stop button and put me down on my hands and knees. Do me the way you want?”
Jason laughed. “The alarm’d go off.”
“The alarm is going off,” she hissed. “If you hadn’t noticed!”
Indeed is was. Three men were showing intense discomfort, and two of the women. They shuffled back and forth, making apologetic sounds. From the sound of their breathing, the men were turned on. The elevator stopped.
“Seventy-three,” Jason said, obligingly.
The two women hurried off, though it wasn’t their floor. The two men hurried off behind them. Romona prayed no one would else enter, and no one did. The elevator doors closed again. They began to ascend.
“Two more,” Jason said. “Then we’ll get off.”
I won’t make it that long! she thought
With so much empty space, Romona’s plight was now unmistakable. The man against the rear wall stared intently and so did three of the others. None seemed to believe this was real. One man, blinking rapidly, scanned the ceilings and walls for a hidden camera. The man against the rear wall grinned. He had a powerful erection.
Romona thought: I’m not getting it off this elevator alive!
The elevator stopped.
“Seventy-seven,” Jason said.
None of the others left.
Romona, standing zombie-like by the door, her hips rotating uncontrollably to the rotating finger, finally lost her focus. “Please close the doors,” she begged. “Before somebody else comes on.”
The doors slid silently closed.
“Turn around,” Jason said.
Obediently, Romona turned to face the wall. She spread her legs and leaned forward, hands against the cab. She was beginning to moan.
“Like that, don’t you,” Jason observed.
Romona moaned even more loudly. Her forehead hit the wall. Jason’s finger, embedded fully within her ass, drove her toward orgasm.
“Please, God!” she begged. “Please let me come! I just need to come!”
Not only were her thoughts out of control, but so was her mouth.
“No!” she suddenly cried. “Oh, God, no!”
Jason, reacting to her climax, reached out and pulled the stop. The elevator halted, and the alarm began to sound. Romona, writhing with orgasm, banged hard against the wall.
“Jason!” she squealed. “Stop! Please make him stop! You’re driving me crazy!”
Her tail, with Jason’s finger inside, rotated and shook.
“I can’t!” she cried. “I just can’t!”
Suddenly, an orgasm wracked her and banging headfirst against the wall, she wailed, “Maawahhhhh!” and then, “Maawahhhhh!” again, and then Jason was up her with his cock and fucking Romona hard, and she wailed as she took him deep. “Fuck me!” she screamed. “Fuck me hard!”
Then Jason erupted in her ass.
“Oh, God, Jason! Yes! Yes, Jason, yes!”
Jason yanked her away from the wall and bent Romona double. She put her hands flat on the floor. She continued to wail.
“More, Jason! More!” Her face screwed up into a grimace. “Give me more!” she cried, even though Jason had all eight inches within her.
Thrusting backwards she impaled herself on his cock, bruising her rectum, making her anus scream. She’d pay hell for this tomorrow! She’d pay hell for this tonight!
And six men, Romona knew, would never forget this ride.
**
Exiting the elevator, Romona looked neither left, nor right. She walked beside Jason toward the guard desk, ignoring the eyes upon her. Eyes that she imagined knew. She did not imagine her own stiffness. Her whole body ached.
Returning her visitor’s pass, Romona offered a tiny smile. The guard was flirtatious, but nothing more. She continued to the doors.
Outside, the air was warm and the sunlight bright; she retrieved her sunglasses and put them on. A breeze fanned her arms and her legs; it tugged at her tuckedaway hair. Taxicabs honked, and Jason raised his hand.
“I say we head for the hotel,” he said. “What do you think?”
Romona bobbed her head. She’d think about eating later. She’d think about doing anything else, later.
Watching a cab free itself from traffic, she said: “Does Philadelphia have any tall buildings? I mean, really tall buildings? I seem to have lost my fear of heights.”