These chapters are based on my own experiences and fantasies.
If it offends or breaks rules, please delete.
Chapter 1
Canary Wharf, London
Sunday, 5. A.M.
It began with silence, standing side by side in front of a round metal button illuminated by a blue ring. Just the two of us, no acknowledgment of each other, my heart pounding, my fingers fidgeting, the lift descending towards us.
The growl in his throat and unwavering eye control in his reflection in the mirrored lift door told me that his mood could flip at the slightest provocation and when the lift doors opened, revealing its empty interior, his excitement clearly increased. He strode inside with confidence and I followed, my stomach flipping as the lift doors slid closed, encasing us.
What had been an erotic exchange of ideas online was now, in this prearranged silent moment, a very stark reality, and potentially far too dangerous a situation.
He stood at the back, behind me, watching me nervously press the button for the fiftieth floor and shift ever so subtly on my feet hoping my movement was undetectable, wanting suddenly, a moment of invisibility in which I could compose myself and shake off the nerves. I could hear him breathe, feel him watching me patiently, hear him reach for something in his pocket, and heard the swish of a spray, knowing that he had just clouded the lens of the security camera, rendering it sightless. And as the lift began to rise, he stepped forward, pressing into my back, his intimidating breath on my neck, his larger frame dwarfing mine, then, with shocking speed his huge hand gripped my throat, squeezing it far too hard as he threw me back against the lift wall, his free hand ripping my shirt open, sending buttons everywhere, his other hand rising and retreating, up behind his shoulder, forming a fist that tensed, ready to punch. That patient violence in his eyes was now flaring wild into greed and in a shocking blaze of worried panic, encouraged abandon and the very real awareness of pain, he punched, twice, once in the cheekbone, the other in my jaw. I staggered sideways, stunned at the reality of the aggression and pain. His fingers fanned through my hair, pulling me upright, dizzy and stupid, reaching out for support until his mouth clamped wide over mine and a hard slap across my face forced open my mouth. His tongue filled me, aggressive and winning, taking away my breath. His free hand grabbed my crotch through my trousers and squeezed so hard that I started to cry out in alarm but this only excited him more so he twisted the handful, not caring how much it hurt, lifting me up onto my toes.
My face, still held firm in his grip was now being turned and studied, his eyes looking into mine until I reddened, feeling a much weaker, nervous and vulnerable man than I’d ever imagined. His eyes moved down, looking at my exposed dad bod, flicking open the ripped shirt that was never to be worn again. His eyebrows rising up to question me for even looking at him and his confident expression informing me that I was very easy pray.
Now his solid shoulders flexed so that shapely pectoral muscles stretched his white t-shirt taut, partly for show, to focus my attention on his strength and partly because the stretch clearly felt satisfying and empowering. It made his t-shirt ride up a little to reveal dark, wiry, belly hair, on a firm torso that drew my eyes to it, despite my resolve not to look.
He watched me, followed my eyes, reached down and tugged his t shirt up to his shoulders, allowing me to look before letting the material drop back into place.
My face throbbed. I was holding my jaw, watching the lift pass the midway point, floor twenty something. His growl had begun again and I felt myself staggering forward, my jacket and shirt being tugged back over my shoulders and down my arms until I was half naked. He separated them with a fast tug and threw my jacket back at me. My shirt, rolled into a ball was kicked into a corner. I raced to put the jacket on, looking at him horrified when he pressed the button to stop the lift at floor 30.
He was ending it, I thought in surprise, and despite this rejection, I felt relief. But when the door opened, a man, as big, if not bigger than my companion entered, acknowledging him and watching him undo my belt and pull it free, then pull my jacket wide, putting me on display to him.
I turned my head quickly, questioning him with my eyes. This had not been agreed. There was no mention of another person. There were rules, we had been very specific, and yet now, grabbing my chin and kissing me hard, his fingers moved to the button on my trousers, popped it open and he forced down my zip. Suddenly a second pair of hands were on me, pulling off my jacket and while a huge hot mouth found my nipple, the strangers hot tongue tongue run down my spine, my trousers yanked down my legs, a knife cutting the waistband of my underwear, four hands ripping them off me in a game of tug of war. My right shoe twisted off in the tussle and immediately a hand pulled off my sock off and pocketed it.
Then they both stood back, watching me panic, completely in shock, trying frantically dress as the lift pinged and the doors opened onto the top floor. No one was there, the floor was empty. All the office staff gone. It was five a.m. They knew precisely who was in the building.
The new stranger reached past me, watching me flinch and pressed the ground button.
I wanted to jump out, put an end to it but the doors were closing and now they both pressed against me, the new guy examining my face, then lifting his fist to strike two precise battering blows on the same spots. I could taste blood. I felt dizzy, I staggered, crouching low, needing to curl into a protective ball and then, suddenly, I was being hugged tight, my hair stroked affectionately, light kisses touching my lips, a hand sliding down my back. One of them was seeking out my most heated part with insistent fingers, mixing the affection with pain and the stronger pull of sex. The man I knew from online was thrilled at having a weaker male to control, possibly for the first time, and now stamped my trousers down offering me up as easy pray to the first, who leaned me forward, immediately, turned me, shoved my head down, opened my cheeks and found my hole. He began to rub it hard, tapping it with his finger.
Floor thirty, my trousers were only on one leg, naked, yelping out as his finger forced itself deeper into me, twisting, and then withdrawing it at speed, making me shout in panic. At floor ten, my trousers were being pulled up, my jacket tugged closed, the doors began pinging, we were at the ground floor and stepping out, both men, now chatting happily, walked through the lobby and unlocked the front door, opening it for me.
Nervous and embarrassed at the amount of flesh showing despite wearing my suit jacket, I kept my head down and walked fast, past them, out into the air, to London Bridge Station, to my train platform. In a train toilet, pulling on a t shirt from my bag, dressing fast to stand in front of the mirror to survey the damage to my face.
I was shocked. It was much more red and swollen than I'd expected, huge at the cheekbone, dark at the jaw. It could be disguised. I had stuff at home that will cover it. I have been here before. I know exactly what to do. I will be in work tomorrow morning as if nothing has happened and when I get home, I will excitedly relive it all, over and over but right now, all I need is sleep.
