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From: "QSliver" <qsliver68@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Elevatrix (MF, cons, voy)
Date: Tue, 14 May 2002 16:10:04 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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If you're scouting for material to offend your sensibilities or to populate
your pay site, move along; there's nothing to see here.  This is a work of
fiction, and any resemblence to real persons or structures is purely
coincidental.  If you like it, please let me know -- your kind comments are
all I get out of this.

     ~  The Elevatrix  ~

".and the elevators may just be the most advanced feature of the new Johnson
Tower.  Each cab includes a large flat screen monitor, which can display
information about the destination floor, as well as providing information
and entertainment.

"They have load sensors, combined with lift computers to detect the probable
occupancy and select appropriate content to display on the ride.  Because we
can use this capability to show well-targeted advertising, tailored not only
to the passengers' projected interest, but to the length of their ride,
these elevators are yet another way in which Johnson Management is using
technology to reduce your costs."

         ~

Tracy pulled into her parking spot, tossing the seatbelt back as she popped
the door.  Late again, thanks to the city's insistence on spending money on
half-empty, half-crocked mass transit plans.  She paused only long enough to
hear the cheery "boop-bip" from the car's security system, and then dashed
for the elevator, glad that she'd picked the more practical sandals, rather
than her favorite heels.

As usual, there was a car already waiting, doors open, by the time she
reached the elevator bay.  Until she started this job, she would never have
described an office building as 'thoughtful,' but it certainly seemed as
though this one possessed that pleasant human trait.

She slid into the corner of the elevator cab and spoke to it.
"Twenty-three," she said, the throaty contralto of her voice a surprise to
most listeners, coming from her petite frame.  The elevator appeared to be
beyond surprise, though, and merely confirmed her selection, parroting back,
"Twenty-three.  One stop.  Good morning."

Hiking her short skirt back down a bit after her run from the car, she
silently cursed the predicted stop along the way.  A glance at the time on
the elevator display showed that she had only a minute and a half to clock
in.  The soothing ocean sounds that swelled into the air as a backdrop to an
ad for a vacation in the Caribbean distracted her.

Her breathing was nearly back to normal as the elevator slid to a stop on
the 14th floor.  The doors glided silently open, and a man in typical
business-casual dress stepped aboard.   He was of medium build and average
height, with a face that demanded no particular attention. Tracy favored him
with a quick smile, and then turned her eyes to a neutral examination of the
elevator ceiling.

"Forty-two," he commanded in a gruff voice.  "Forty-two," repeated the
elevator as the doors closed, "One stop.  Good morning."  He rolled his eyes
in Tracy's direction, and she shrugged.  He watched her reflection in the
polished door panel, and quickly appraised her as a particularly pleasant
companion, if even for the brief ride.

An ad for a trendy local restaurant replaced the Caribbean vacation, the
music less strident than it would be for the same ad that afternoon.  The
computers were well programmed to make the most of their revenue
opportunities.

An unprecedented jostle, though, spoiled the effect.  Tracy and her
inadvertent companion both grabbed for the railings as the car stopped much
more suddenly than usual.

The happy diners on screen were replaced with a "System Error - Call for
Service" message, and Tracy almost shrieked in her frustration.  Being late
*again* for her new job was not the way to make a good impression.

After a moment, the error message disappeared, and the music turned even
more soothing.  The screen now showed an ocean beach at sunset, with a small
caption, "Problem Reported - Please Stand By.  Estimated Response: 45
minutes."

"May I report your delay to anyone?" the elevator inquired.  Tracy and the
man exchanged glances, and he gestured for her to go ahead.  "Polsen
Services, 281-2991," said Tracy, anxiously.

"Thank you, dialing 281-2991," replied the elevator.  Tracy explained her
predicament briefly to her supervisor.

"No problem, Trace - I'll go ahead and check you in."  Tracy was relieved
that Ms. Gilhooley was a great deal more understanding than her last boss.

"Is there anyone else I can call?" the elevator asked, when Tracy's call
ended.  The man spoke up, his voice no less gruff than when he boarded the
elevator.  "Yes, please.  Webb, Dunratty, and Young, 282-4931."

"Thank you, dialing 282-4931."  When the receptionist at the law firm
answered the phone, Tracy's companion struggled to keep the irritation out
of his voice.

"Hello, Kelly.  Listen, I'm stranded in the damned elevator - looks like I'
ll be at least an hour late.  Can you tell Webb to go ahead with the depo
without me?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Tolley.  Anything else?"

"Naw, that oughta do it.  Thanks, Kelly."

"No problem, sir.  See you soon."

Tolley said good-bye, and the classical guitar was back on the speakers.

"Well, looks as though we'll be here for a while, Tracy.  May as well
introduce ourselves.  I'm Justin."  He stuck his hand out to her, and she
shook it, a little unsure at the prospect of spending the next half-hour or
more with such an evidently powerful man.

"Tracy Bracket, Mr. Tolley."  She wished he would release her fingers, as
the handshake was stretching longer than she was accustomed to.

"Please, please - call me Justin!"  His face split into a suddenly merry
grin, and he gave her hand one last squeeze before releasing it.  "Actually,
I'm sure this is going to be a lot more pleasant than sitting listening to a
discussion of the finer points of patent law."  He slid down into a sitting
position, crossing his legs tailor-fashion.

She sighed internally, and sat in her corner of the elevator, tucking her
legs demurely under her.  "So you're a lawyer?" she asked, a bit intimidated
at the thought.

"Naw, just a propeller-head.  I give the lawyers advice on the technologies
involved in their cases.  How about yourself?"

Comforted by his more down-to earth occupation, Tracy found herself spilling
out her entire brief employment history, responding to Justin's now warm and
friendly demeanor.  The discussion ranged from there to a wide variety of
topics, although Tracy still did most of the talking.

As they talked, her eyes slid to his hands, and she noticed that he had no
wedding ring, but he did have an indentation on his ring finger, as though
he usually wore one.

She broached the subject.  "So, there's a Mrs. Tolley?"

"No," he said, and his face tightened again.  Fiona left me three months
ago.  Final divorce papers showed up last week.  I honestly didn't think
that she meant it... but I'm coming to accept it."  His eyes brightened with
unshed tears, and he turned away suddenly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said automatically reaching out to touch his arm.
He drew a shuddering breath, and put his hand atop hers.

"Well, I know that these things happen. I just always thought that we'd be
able to work out our differences.  At first, we talked about everything.
With the stress of the job and all, though - I guess I just didn't notice
that she had stopped telling me when something bothered me."

"I guess I really just blame myself.  Sorry for getting all emotional. I'm
still getting used to the finality of it."  He turned back to Tracy, and she
saw a lone tear that had escaped to trickle down his cheek.  Instinct again
took over, and she kissed him, tasting the salt.  She drew back suddenly,
aware of her forwardness.

"Sorry, Justin," she repeated.  "I. I don't know what I was thinking."

He said nothing, but just pulled her back for another, more intimate kiss.
When she came up for air, she could hear the hunger in his voice.

"No, Tracy.  I'm sorry for bringing all this up. My, but you're beautiful."
He stroked her cheek with his thumb.  "Maybe I just need to forget for a
while - and remember what it is to spend time with someone who enjoys being
with me.  Is that okay with you?"

Tracy looked into his eyes, and saw the sincerity there.  She thought about
her apartment - she jokingly referred to it as "still life in waiting" - and
her seeming inability to find anyone to relate to.  Without any appearance
of hesitation, she replied, "Yes, Justin.  Actually, I'd really like that."

Moving into his arms, she pressed the kiss forward.  His hand found the
small of her back, holding her to him.  She could feel the stirring in his
trousers as his body responded to hers, and she reached down for his belt as
their kiss continued to gain intensity.

His hand strayed lower, cupping her ass through her skirt, and then skimming
lower yet to dip under it.  He groaned into her mouth as her hands found his
cock and delicately stroked down its length.

The tempo of the guitar wafting over them sped up to match the tempo of
their mouths together, as his hands worked her panties down over her hips
and her skirt up and out of the way.

She sat up as he entered her, slowly, slowly.  A look of concentration held
his face, his eyes closed, as he savored the sensation of her sweetness
accepting him inside.

As she came to rest at the base of his shaft, fully impaled on him, she
reached down and pulled her sweater off, revealing her braless breasts,
nipples already crinkled with the thrill of the moment.

He looked up at her and gave her a slow smile as he started to move within
her.  His hands rose, as if of their own volition, and he cupped her
breasts.  "Do you like.?" he asked, his thumbs grazing her nipples.  Her
moan and spasmodic jerk on his cock gave him the answer he needed

He pulled her down to him again, and flicked one nipple, then the other with
his tongue.  Her body jumped as if a current passed through her with each
tweak.  "Unh, unh, oh, God, that feels sooooo good."  Her voice was
throatier than ever, and she could hardly believe that this guy had found
the shortcut to her most powerful orgasms so naturally.

For his part, he could feel her sliding up and down his cock, her pussy
getting wetter by the second.  His mouth clamped around the apex of a
perfect breast, he grabbed her ass and pumped at full length in and out of
her.

Once. twice.  three times. and then he erupted.  Before he had even stopped
gushing within her, her thrashing redoubled, and she let out a keening wail,
as a deep flush spread down from her neck to her belly.  Her pussy clamped
tightly around him, spurring another spasm from his depths, and it seemed
like an hour later before they lay still, her nearly naked form draped over
his nearly completely dressed one.

They did not notice a long, low groan from the mechanism of the elevator, or
the sated shudder that passed through the car as they lay there.

The changing of the music from classical guitar to a slow saxophone solo
roused him, and he glanced over at the screen.  Seeing that it now read,
"Service Will Be Restored in Approximately 15 minutes. Thank You For Your
Patience," he stroked her back slowly, sighing.

"I think we'd better get ourselves together, Tracy."

She took a deep breath, and then sat up, feeling suddenly modest, even
though he was still buried completely within her.  She crossed her arms over
her chest and said, "Yeah, uh, I guess we'd better."  She scrambled back
into her sweater, and then struggled to her knees over him, pulling her
skirt back down.

"Tracy."  She looked away from his cock, shiny with their juices, jerking
her gaze up to his eyes.  "That was wonderful.  There's no need to feel bad
about it."

"It's just that I, uh, I'm usually not this way."  She cast about, looking
for her panties.

"Sweetheart, do you think I am?"  She smiled suddenly, realizing how silly
she must look.  "No, I guess not.  I just don't know what came over me."

He shrugged, and sat up, helping her to her feet.  "I don't, either.  But I'
m sure glad that the same thing occurred to both of us."  He smiled.  "I
know that this may seem like an awkward time to ask, but are you doing
anything for dinner tonight?"

He caught her glance down at his rapidly shrinking penis, and shared an
amused look with her.  "No, I guess I'm not.  Your place?"

"I'd like that," he said, standing up and tucking himself away.  Zipping his
fly, he stooped and retrieved her panties.  Holding them up for her to step
back into, he said, "Six o'clock okay?"

She nodded, a sudden cheerfulness entering her mind.  At least she didn't
have to worry about how far she'd go on this first date.

         ~

When the elevator technician arrived, he swore under his breath.  "Damn it,
it's that number five car again.  Damned thing's done this four times in the
last month!  What the hell is the matter with it?"  He punched up the
diagnostics, looking for a pattern.

Each time, two occupants.  Each time, at least a thirty-minute breakdown.
He shook his head.  Something about the load distribution?  He sighed
gustily, and typed in the reset code.  He pulled the security tapes for
review to see what he could determine from them.

He slouched in his chair as he zeroed in on the time of the first failure.
Slowing the playback to four times normal speed, he watched a young couple
board the car, engaged in an argument.  The elevator stopped, and the
technician's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright as he watched them very
clearly settle their differences amicably.

He resisted the urge to be a voyeur, and skipped forward to the next
failure.  A bored twenty-something guy got on the elevator and was joined a
few floors later by two women.  One of the women left a few floors down, and
the elevator failed immediately after the doors closed behind her.  Some
chit-chat, and the remaining two quickly grew amorous.

The technician wiped sweat from his brow and skipped forward again, pretty
sure that he had the pattern figured out.  Sure enough, a group of people
got in; all but two got out, the car stopped between floors, and two became
temporarily one.

He shook his head and moved on to the most recent "failure."  He played this
one to the end, his head shaking in disbelief.  He watched Tracy and Justin
depart on their respective floors, and wondered just what exactly was going
on with this elevator.  If he'd been on board the car himself, he might have
recognized the tune that started up after the lights flickered and the car
glided back into motion.

Tracy and Justin each spent the day wondering exactly where they had
recently heard the song that refused to leave their heads, and then each
remembering with a little grin that mystified their co-workers.

"Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match!"

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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