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Restricted Lift  {Burnt Feathers}
                               M+/F, job, nc, pett, anal, humor)


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[Originally published in 1998 on ASS,  under an earlier
         pseudonym - "Godiva(@starmail.com) " no longer active.]

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Restricted Lift
by Burnt Feathers ©


Elevator number five, as everyone at Synthetic Systems Inc. knew,
was sacred to the executive staff. Mere, secretaries   no
euphemistic Personal Assistants, here   either transported their
commoner bodies on the ever-busy
elevators one through four, or accompanied mail clerk's push
carts and janitor' buckets in number six.

After three months, just barely past probation, Ella Twintrees
knew this fact, but she was late returning from lunch. She would
never arrive on time by bucking the waves of employees pouring
out of the common carriers.
Undoubtedly, her supervisor, Ms Fletcher, would make some pithy
comment, and inscribe a mark on her employee record.

Elevator number five was slowly folding its doors on Ella's crime
when a hand snaked out to catch it. The door chattered a moment
in confusion, then slowly reopened.

To Ella's chagrin, several executives stepped inside.  Ella
actually knew the name of one of the executives   Mr. Carruthers,
head of personnel.  The rest were no more than recognizable faces
from company brochures, or
figures glimpsed briefly while entering a limousine.  Ella
decided that her position couldn't be worse if Ms Fletcher had
caught her.

"Will you be seeing the senator this weekend?" one executive
asked another.

"Friday night," was the response. "If I get a chance, I'll bring
up your question about tariffs."

"Make your chance," the first commanded.  As he spoke, that same
commanding executive reached forward to grip one of Ella's
breasts.  Drawing her back against him, he absently mauled her
bosom and creased her crisp
white blouse.

"Oh!" Ella exclaimed, dropping her clutch purse.  She twisted out
of the first executive's grasp, and bent to retrieve her purse. 
A second executive yanked up the back of Ella's skirt, exposing
pale blue panties beneath a mesh
covering of nylon pantihose.

As her hem was hiked upward, Ella lost her balance and pitched
head first into Mr. Carruthers' groin.  Ella felt the personnel
director's well-manicured hands catch her by the shoulders. 
Nimbly they opened her blouse,
unsnapped her bra, and began massaging Ella's heavy breasts, as
she leaned awkwardly, face forward into his crotch.

At the same time, Ella's underwear had been swept down her legs,
exposing her nether region.

With her face pressed into Mr. Carruthers lap, Ella could not see
which executive was doing what to her.  Two hands - she thought
they were one person's - rolled and parted the rounded cheeks of
her butt, pressing a finger
tightly against the small, pink, central bud, until his finger 
popped through, past the frantically clenching ring of muscle.

Only two other exploring hands, seemed to Ella, to be matched.
The one had drawn her skirt away from her abdomen, and slid
downward between her legs. There it pushed upward against the
forward prow of Ella's pelvic
bone, while its fingers curled around to agitate her clitoris.
Then another hand - which perhaps it partnered - stroked along
Ella's inner thigh, keeping her knees well spread.

Still other hands were busy in their singular pursuits. One held
her opposite thigh spread in a tight motionless grip. Another set
of fingers on an unknown hand entered from behind, ploughing
deeply along her labia, then
steepening to enter and churn within her vagina.

Only Mr. Carruthers' hands upon her breast were completely known
by Ella. Those hands pressed and pulled, smoothed and tweaked, at
her pendant breasts and tightening nipples.   Ella gasped to draw
her breath through the
crotch of Mr. Carruthers' expensive English wool suit pants. 
Finally, Mr. Carruthers pressed Ella back by the shoulders,
allowing her to gasp urgently for breath, as he lowered his
zipper and presented his sturdy erection.

Attempting to rear away from the gaging object pressed against
the back of her throat, Ella was flung forward when another
stalwart penis rammed deeply into her vagina.  With Carruthers'
hands directing Ella by means of
his grip on her swinging breasts, and many hands assisting in her
coupling from behind, Ella rocked in the unsought thrall of her
twofold penetration.

Shuddering beneath waves of orgasmic sensation, Ella vaguely
heard the executives' continuing conversations.  Caught in a web
of sensuality, Ella had sweet words like 'integrated tax
displacement' and 'supply side financing'
even 'predictable post outsourcing downsize' cooed into her ears.

As the elevator reached the ninety-eighth floor, the men adjusted
their clothing and stepped from the elevator.

Unsupported, Ella had nearly crumpled into a prone position, when
powerful hands lifted her high into the air.  A zipper rasped,
and those hands lowered her onto a rapidly deploying male member.
 A second zipper sounded,
and a large rigid penis broached Ella's twitching sphincter.

In the thrust and jostle of the long journey to the ground floor,
Ella could not understand what the men were discussing. 
Sometimes, they seemed to review a sales campaign, as they surged
and withdrew in unison.  At other
times, the topic could have been a football game, as they
alternated, sliding Ella off one erection and onto its opposite.

She became so euphoric, Ella failed to notice that a third man
had entered the lift at the sixty-fourth floor, until he grabbed
her breasts and pinched her nipples.  Shocked, Ella jerked
spasmodically and came noisily. The man
repeated the manoeuvre nearly every ten floors, always with the
same result.

The elevator was crowded on its next trip upward. Ella never knew
who was doing what with her, but she was coming hard and often,
now.  Each new, dry hand grasping her crotch as she was passed
from one to another,
thrilled her beyond reason.

Throughout that afternoon, the number five elevator climbed and
lowered busily in its shaft, as Ella's every orifice was
displayed, probed, assaulted  and stimulated.  Even black
unconsciousness was no protection, nor was
Ella allowed to remain for long within its sanctuary before some
new response ripped her from her hiding place.

At three-thirty the elevator slowed to an idle.  Ella gathered
her clothes and dressed herself hastily.  With as much dignity as
she could muster, Ella wended her way from the number five
elevator to Ms. Fletcher's office.


*


Ms Fletcher glanced up as her missing subordinate collapsed onto
the chair before her desk.  Although Ella Twintrees' gait
suggested an afternoon of alcoholic revels, her attire refuted
that assumption.

Ella's hair was tousled and her features flushed.  The buttons of
her blouse were ill-matched, with one of the blouse's shirttails
flapping free from the waistband of Ella's skirt, and a lone
brassier strap dangled from her
untucked blouse. Ella's skirt was hitched crookedly about her
waist, and showed much evidence of wrinkling.

From Ella's foot, as she wobbled on her low-heeled shoes, Ms
Fletcher had seen a shrouding net of nylon pantihose dragging
behind, with pale blue panties visible caught within its folds.

"Well," Ms Fletcher began, clearing her throat. "I tell you girls
not to use the number five elevator.  I tell you girls a thousand
times a day that the number five elevator is reserved for the
executive staff.  I do everything I can
to make you girls stay out, but of course, what does an old woman
like me, know about anything?

"Now, you know that my warning was meant for your own good,"
finished Ms. Fletcher. "So, what have you got to say for
yourself?"

"Ms. Fletcher," Ella Twintrees requested, her voice shaking, both
with the after effects of violent emotions and with suppressed
ambition. "Would you please recommend me for a position as the
operator of elevator number
five?"





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  Comments are appreciated, contact: Burnt.Feathers@gmail.com

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