What She Looked Forward To

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Holly felt a welcoming cool blast of air as she entered the lobby of her apartment building. It was Friday afternoon, and she was happy to get out of work a little early to do some shopping ahead of the weekend. But between the street traffic and her lingering at the mall, she was arriving home later than she wanted, close to rush hour. She’d so looked forward to being home alone on a lazy afternoon. Open the curtains wide to the city sky, climb in bed, and have the kind of orgasm she’d sorely wanted.

Shopping bags in hand, she headed to the bank of elevators, where her heart sank immediately. There were four elevator banks, and there was a handwritten sign on one of them that read, with grammatical weirdness, SORRY NO SERVICING. Just one elevator, but one busted elevator had a way of becoming a serious headache quick, Holly knew. If it was a busy time of day, the 18-floor building could be crowded with people seeking to get up or down. And for Holly, who lived on the 18th floor, that could become a very serious headache. People crowding in, people hitting the button for just about every floor, that one guy who inevitably broke out that lame “guess we caught the local!” joke that left Holly murderous and fuming in the corner of the elevator car.

Something had made Holly especially horny this afternoon—she could feel the pleasant, slight, but urgent tingle between her legs as she anticipated climbing into bed. Luckily, there was nobody in the atrium, and one of the elevators opened with a polite ping, as if she were getting valet service to her destination: cumming hard. Stepping inside quickly, Holly pressed the CLOSE DOOR button repeatedly. She’d heard that the button didn’t actually do anything, that it was just there to appease impatient people. But what was Holly in this moment if not an impatient person in need of appeasing? Keeps on pressing the button but nothing happens, Holly thought, her clit pulsing. Story of my sex life.

She rolled her eyes at herself—that joke was nearly as bad as “guess we caught the local!” No matter. The elevator doors were starting to close. She was home free. She stepped back against the far wall of the car, pulling her shopping bags up to her chest. Maybe she’d inspect her purchases on the way up…

A hand sprung between the elevator doors just as they were about to close. The doors snapped back. A man stepped inside.

**

How long had it been since Holly had been truly well-fucked? If she had to think about it, it would have been depressingly close to a year ago. It would’ve been with Stephen, the IT executive she’d been flirting with for weeks on a dating site. There was a lot to like about him—a bit of a silver fox, confident, sexy blue eyes, and a nice thick veiny cock, judging from the pics he’d texted her. The downside was distance: He lived 500 miles away. But when he let her know he’d be in town for a conference for a few days, she cleared her schedule.

They already knew what they wanted from each other, thanks to their weeks of phone chats and sexts. He was a self-declared tit man, so she made sure to show up in a low-cut tank top that clung tightly to her 36DDs. She knew he fantasized about grinding against her from behind, so she wore a clingy pair of pants that rode high up her ass. You’re going to like what you see, she texted him an hour before they met, and she was right.

But even though Holly was sure she was going to have a good time with Stephen, entering the hotel made it feel even more thrilling. He was staying at an upscale hotel—and, this being Vegas, the atrium was super-sized, feeling as big as half a soccer field. When she knocked on the door to Stephen’s room, he led her into a roomy suite with large tinted windows open to the warm, wide desert. Something about all that space made her feel at ease and excited, like she had room to do anything. So after their first long, deep kiss in the middle of the echoey room, she flirtily asked him to grind on her ass while she stood in front of one of the windows. Displaying her eager body to whomever might have been squinting at the 35th floor, she let Stephen press the deliciously thick and firm bulge in his pants against her needy ass, let him paw her tits as she rested her hands against the tempered glass.

She denied him nothing, let him unbuckle her and unbutton her, tugging down her slacks and wet panties, let him get on his knees and eat her ass, something she didn’t do often but which got her pussy pulsing desperately. Soon Stephen’s cock was out and she was encouraging her to get on the king-size bed. They kissed as he stripped her, tugging off her tank top and unhooking her bra, freeing her full tits. Holly’s hand naturally drifted to Stephen’s cock, which she stroked in a slow, loving rhythm, coaxing fat drops of precum onto the suite’s floor.

“How do you want me?” Holly whispered huskily.

He guided her onto the bed, on all fours, facing antalya escort the window. She winced slightly as he entered her pussy—it had been so long, and he was big—but her pussy was eager for it, almost sloppily wet, and soon his fullness was something she could easily handle. Bucking against his cock as he tugged on her hair and spanked her ass, she moved her body toward the first of many orgasms. Hours later, there would be a lot of cum dripping out of her pussy, stuck to her cheeks and hair; her ass would feel beautifully strained and sore after his fingerfucking her in the shower; her mouth tasted like a man’s thick salty cum, and she was fucking proud of it. How wonderful to get so much out of this man, who gave her plenty in return. And all of it with the windows wide open. In the throes of her third—fourth?—orgasm, as Stephen sucked on her clit, she imagined the whole world watching her, and she felt no shame as her hips moved ecstatically.

**

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in,” said the man, who pressed the button for the 12th floor. Then, saying “oops,” he pressed the one for 11. Of fucking course, Holly thought.

“It’s OK,” she said, though it wasn’t. This man, with his clumsy fingers, was standing between her and a good orgasm or two. She gave him a once-over. Nice looking—dark hair, brown eyes, tall, and fit, but more from being young, it seemed, than from any workout regimen. A well-trimmed beard. Dressed in Friday casual—gray slacks, white button-down. Well-put-together. Still, not her usual type. Since Holly had come into her own sexually, most of her partners were around her age—late 40s—and professionally accomplished. Sometimes married, which she’d made her peace with. And their sexual eagerness was born of experience, of knowing what they wanted. Younger men tended to be led by their cocks, seeking out mommies to guide them. Holly, who’d never married and had no children, wasn’t comfortable with that role, and wasn’t about to start playing it with twentysomethings.

Holly sensed that the man was giving her a once-over as well—his eyes quickly taking in her dark work slacks and loose cream-colored blouse. She was, as a friend-with-benefits once put it, too busty to hide, pointing her to a website dedicated to large-breasted ordinary women, straining the buttons of their blouses, the seams of their shirts. Her top was a little baggy, to avoid defining her shape too much in an office environment. But men are smart in their dumbness—they learn early that baggy tops means big tits.

In a different situation, Holly might’ve been nervous. Don’t get into an elevator alone with a man you don’t know well—that had been drilled into her head from her mother, from college orientation leaders, from conversations with friends who had crap experiences. (Nothing serious, thank goodness; just handsy assholes who’d misread how first dates were going.) And she didn’t like confined spaces in general. But she knew the ride would be over soon enough. One stop to dump this guy, then another unnecessary stop, and then home free.

“Having a good afternoon?” the man asked.

“Pretty good,” she said, politely. “Just eager to get home.” The display counted the floors. Five, six, seven.

“Same,” he replied. “Just looking forward to—“

The elevator shuddered, halted. Not scarily or dangerously, Holly sensed. Just…wrong. They were stuck.

“Ugh,” the man said.

“Fuck,” said Holly. She was closer to the bank of elevator buttons, and she quickly found the bright red one, the one that said IN EMERGENCY PUSH. There was no phone, just a speaker. In the late afternoon, with one elevator already under repair, somebody had to be on top of this, Holly figured. She pushed the forbidden button, one she’d never had reason to touch before, and the car was immediately filled with a loud ringing. She looked at the man, as if for approval, or a suggestion for something else they might do.

But there was nothing to do. A minute passed, two, and nothing happened. Holly pushed the button again. Still nothing.

**

Confined places weren’t sexy to Holly. Never were. She hated adolescent games like “Seven Minutes in Heaven,” which meant enduring sloppy kisses and inept pawings by inexperienced classmates in closets. She’d had roommates for much of her life—from her sister growing up to roommates through college and beyond—so opportunities to luxuriate alone in a bed to masturbate were rare. Her discovery of her ability to orgasm—pressing against the vibrating dryer in the cramped laundry room—was a thrill, but always something she had to pursue furtively, before she was discovered. Sex, for a long time, was something done too often in close quarters, in a hurry.

Her early sexual experiences with men were often similarly frustrating. Boyfriends had roommates and shared rooms filled with other peoples’ socks and smells. antalya escort bayan Or there was car sex, which was usually too cramped to actually have, so she settled for handjobs, fingerfucking, and blowjobs. Fun in their way, but she hated the constraint, the haste.

Holly had something of an epiphany a few years after college, on a beach trip with some of her girlfriends. Late in the afternoon, the skies reddening as the sun began sinking toward the horizon, Holly left her friends dozing on the sand and wandered into the still-warm ocean water. The earth felt still, and big, and she felt alone and unseen within it, a secret. There were few people left on the beach, far away. She waded forward, slowly, the water up to her tits, covered, more or less, in a bikini top. Holly enjoyed the slow movements of the water around her body, and though there was nothing sexual about the surroundings, she found herself enormously turned on.

Her eyes fixated on a ship off in the distance, a pleasure boat lazily heading across the waters. Half-thinking, she slipped her right hand under her bikini bottoms and was surprised at how sensitive and ready her clit was. She wasn’t the focus of anyone’s attention, and the water was now so pleasantly warm. The world was wide, and catering to her. Holly stroked and stroked and stroked her clit, then filled her pussy with two fingers, three. Her asshole twitched needily; she wished she could finger her ass as well, or have somebody else do it for her.

She thought about the cocks she’d enjoyed, and wished that they were here, in this big amazing perfect paradise. Fucking her in the ocean. Filling her with their cum. Lots of it. All this space for fucking. Please, please, please, she muttered to herself. Her body quaked and she almost slipped under the water. She held her body rigid for the better part of a minute, overtaken by bliss. She took a deep breath and dipped her head underwater, then let loose a deep orgasmic cry. Nobody could hear it, but Holly knew it for the release that it was. She smiled and walked back to her friends on shaky knees, her body quivering. She felt utterly perfect.

For a little while, Holly figured that she knew what that experience meant—obviously, she loved public sex. She gave it a try—accepted dates on weekend camping trips where she fucked lustily under starlit skies, went on solo trips to uncrowded parks where she could slip a hand under her jeans while pretending to read a book. Those experiences were fine for what they were, but not exciting in the way she’d hoped. She knew what she didn’t want—sex that made her feel like she was trapped. And she kind of knew what she did want—sex that felt like freedom. But wide-open spaces, in themselves, weren’t quite the answer.

Once Holly’s career took off and she was able to live by herself, then able to live by herself on the 18th floor of a nice building, she’d spend a lot of evenings on porn sites looking for answers. Her favorite videos often featured sex in sunlit mansions, fake-tit women taken on couches by thick-cocked studs. So maybe it was sunlight. She tried various videos with various toys—dildos, bullets, vibrating butt plugs. She liked it with the windows open. When she had men over and drew the curtains wide, they’d often say she was “kinky.” But as she looked out at the city with her tits bare and her pussy flooding with need, she didn’t feel kinky, which for so many guys was a synonym for weird. She was just being herself. Why was it so hard for her to just say the things that made her herself and have a man say, Yes, good, OK? Why was freedom so absurd that people thought it was kinky?

**

It had been a minute or so with no response, and Holly figured she’d have to be friendly with the man she was stuck with. She set her shopping bags on the floor of the car, and asked, “Want to give it a try yourself?”

The man smirked. “I’m no better at pushing a button than you are, but, OK….”

He reached over to push the emergency button. Miraculously the speaker squawked to life. Maybe his fingers aren’t so clumsy, Holly thought. “We hear ya, we hear ya!” said a man. “How many people in the car?”

“Two,” they responded simultaneously.

“OK, we got people coming! You’re safe, but it’s going to be a while. Traffic’s a mess for some reason. Repair guy should’ve shut your car down too.” Holly mentally drafted a lawsuit in her head.

“How long is a while?” the man asked.

“‘Bout an hour. Can you hold tight till then?”

The man looked at Holly, who gave him a shrug that said I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I?

“We can handle it,” he said.

The speaker made a staticky noise and clicked off. The two were alone again. The man slid down the side of the elevator car and sat in the corner, opposite Holly. Holly set her bags down and did the same. They faced each other and smirked at their escort antalya predicament. He introduced himself as Tom. “Holly,” she replied.

A moment passed and then Holly said, “So what were you looking forward to?”

Tom looked confused for a second, then he smiled—he was about to explain before the elevator got stuck. “Oh. The weekend. I have a date tomorrow night.”

“I hope you’re able to make it,” she joked, gesturing at the elevator they were stuck in. “First date?”

“No, but it’s still early yet. Still feeling each other out a little bit, you know?”

Holly felt a twinge of inexplicable jealousy. He seemed like a nice guy, even if he wasn’t exactly her type. She could see herself going on a date with him, though she’d been avoiding dates for a while.

“I get it. Where are you going to go?”

Tom paused for a long moment. “I’m supposed to say dinner and a movie, right?”

Holly smirked. “But instead you’re going to…”

Tom nodded toward one of her shopping bags—the smallest one, but most clearly in his line of sight. Holly had forgotten amid the disruption of the stuck elevator. The sex-toy shop that Holly had gone to this afternoon, Solo and Partners, had an intentionally vague logo, a sinuous image of flowing and interlocking wavy lines. It didn’t announce “place to find thick 12-inch dildoes, paddles, and nipple clamps.” But if you knew the store, you knew the logo, discreetly placed in pink on the black bag.

Holly saw what he was looking at, finally. “Oh….oh!” she said. And she blushed. Old as she was, comfortable in her body as she was, sex-positive as she was, here she was blushing with a stranger.

**

Holly liked sex toys. But over time what she discovered was this: She liked somebody else using sex toys on her. One of her favorite partners—Juan, who was actually local—took great pleasure in trying things out on her. The way he would slowly caress her breasts, making her nipples achingly hard, and then apply nipple clamps to them. It was such an achingly pleasurable feeling, and Juan was a talented enough lover to know that his job was to sustain that ache, to keep her on that edge of pain and lust that promised the most intense orgasms.

He loved her ass too, more than any other lover she’d had. In a hotel room—he was married, and liked treating her to big suites—he would bend her over a desk and work copious amounts of lube around her asshole, sliding his fingers deep in her as anus tightly and slickly responded to his attentions. The lube dripped down her thighs, her shins, to the floor. Juan loved using lots of lube just for the sight of it, the fantasy of getting his “special girl” so wet she’d soak a hotel rug.

“So messy,” he’d coo in her ear lovingly.

“I’m your messy girl,” she’d coo back, grateful. “More.”

More meant a slim vibrating butt plug that she loved for him to use on her before he’d fuck her on the hotel bed. When he inserted it in her, she shuddered at first—the lube cooled so quickly—but then she settled into that gentle fullness. Then he’d push the button on the internal vibrator and Holly would writhe a little on top of the towel he’d considerately placed on the bed, there to accept the lube and her own very soaked pussy. Her tits lasciviously bounced up, practically to her chin—she clutched one in her hand and tugged on the nipple while Juan sucked on the other one. And then the feeling of Juan’s cock entering her, which seemed to send the vibrations in her ass all around her pelvis. Holly would be cumming even before he began fucking her in earnest. But then he did start fucking her, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting, and she relaxed and enjoyed this gift that he was giving her. Her orgasms were full and loud—hotels were so freeing that way. She imagined people hearing her. She didn’t care. Juan took his cock out of her and sprayed cum recklessly on her, spattering her tits, her chin, her belly, her bare pussy.

“So messy,” he said again. He gathered up some cum that had pooled on her stomach and fed it to her, dripping on her tongue.

“Messiest girl,” she replied. They kissed and held each other. At some point the butt plug stopped vibrating—either the button got pushed off, or the batteries ran down, or she broke it. No matter. She loved the idea of wearing a good toy out, putting it to its best use. She kissed her lover hard and the toy slowly slipped out of her. It thudded to the floor.

“Oh, no, my favorite toy slipped out,” she said playfully, like a girl who’d misplaced her homework. “What am I going to do?”

“We’ll find a replacement,” he said, and guided her hand to his half-hard cock. Holly began to stroke it.

**

But Juan didn’t last—he moved. She tried not to think about that too much in the elevator now—it would be a little awkward to have a reverie about her toys while a strange man was sitting here next to her. But then, the horse was kind of out of the barn—for the moment, the sole thing they had in common, besides their apartment building, was a favorite sex shop. Holly decided that Tom wasn’t giving up any creepy vibes and decided to run with it.

“First time you two have gone there together?”

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