Another Time, Another Place

***

I give myself a final check in the mirror on this fine, sunny Tuesday morning. This short black skirt, tight-ass slate-blue blouse, and black, ankle-strapped pumps will do.

“Kiss-kiss, Keith. Gotta get to work. See you tonight.” I blow him a kiss from across the bedroom and try to rush out of the door.

“Hold up. Don’t a brother get a hug or somethin’?” I hug him and entertain his everlasting tongue kiss, then release my embrace just enough to look at my watch behind his head. Damn, now I’ll probably miss Bishop in the lobby.

I drive like a bat out of hell trying to get to work by eight a.m. Traffic is heavy and delays my commute by fifteen minutes. I rush into the building’s lobby and wait for an elevator.

“Eight-fiftee

n. Kind of tardy, aren’t you, Connie Winslow?”

The deep, tranquil voice penetrates my thoughts and the playful tone lets me know that the six-foot-two Adonis likes what he sees. Why else would he remember my name? My womanhood starts to throb as Bishop stands directly behind my short skirt. What is it about this man that strikes me so? I pretend not to hear him. He steps closer to my ass and breathes onto the nape of my neck, “Are you having a good morning, Miss Connie?” I refuse to turn around. I wait to see what he does next. He damn near presses his penis on my skirt. “Someone is definitely not having a good morning. Problems at home, Connie?” The elevator door opens. Interestingly, it’s empty for a change.

“Ladies first.” Bishop extends his hand with a gentlemanly gesture. My wet box is sending down uncontrollable juices. I feel the cotton patch in my panties saturate from my natural lubricants. The door closes. “Cat got your tongue this morning?”

“No. I have work on my mind. My manager is out this week and I have a lot of work to do,” I finally reply.

“Really. Yesterday, you mentioned that you’re an assistant attorney, but you didn’t mention what you do.” He takes two steps toward me and invades my personal space. I step back one.

“I review outsourcing contracts for the firm,” I reply, trying not to look or sound too interested.

“Damnnn. No shit. Sexy and smart.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment and you should watch yourself. I could report that comment as sexual harassment.”

“I know. But you won’t,” he says in an arrogant, matter-of-fact kind of way.

“Mighty cocky, aren’t you, Bishop? Does your wife approve?” His wedding ring blings in the elevator light like rare African diamonds. He takes two steps toward me. I don’t move, as I secretly desire him. His bulge comes to my mind. Is his dick a six- or nine–caliber? I wonder. He ignores my question—typical—and continues to walk toward me. I see right through his pants and can imagine his long dong bouncing in the air as it approaches me. He stops in front of me.

“Is there something over here that I can help you with?” I ask, trying to remain cool, but my wet pussy is a dead giveaway. I want his cock in me.

“No, there’s something over here that I can help you with,” he insists.

“And what might that be?” I look at the red numbers, only eight more floors before he has to get off.

“I can help you with this.”

He reaches under my skirt and into my panties, getting a handful of my lubricants. I stand motionless against the back wall. As excited as I am, I forget that anyone might be waiting for the elevator doors to open to take them to the next floor. Just as I want to say something to him, I see the red number “15” above the door and the bell dings.

“I’ll see you later, Connie,” he announces.

“Uh, yeah. See you later,” I reply still in a daze. The doors close. No, he didn’t just grab my snatch like that. He did it so quick and smooth that my pussy wants a repeat of his middle finger in my wet, enlarged opening. He doesn’t know that he’s playing with fire. I’m a sexually frustrated, twenty-eight-year-old young lady who is dying to get bottomed out. And he just lit my fuse.

***

The packed elevator stops on the fifteenth floor to let the lunch crowd in. I scoot to the side and stare up at the bright-red numbers and ignore Adonis’ entrance to the increasingly packed elevator.

“Bishop Thomas? How’s heading up the accounting department going? Haven’t seen you or your staff since we closed the books on the Miller account. Love the work you did. Absolutely on point with our goals.” The senior executive from upstairs obviously admires his abilities. I must admit that I want to know more about his abilities, too. Bishop moves closer to me. I stand catty corner to him and place the palm of my left hand behind my back and in position of his zipper. He covers my wandering hand with his briefcase so others don’t see. I squeeze gently and get a huge handful of what he’s packin.’ He struggles to reply to the executive. “Ah, yes sir, Mr. Steinman. Thank you. Just let me know anytime I or my staff can be of service.”

Mr. Steinman exits at the tenth floor. More people get on to journey out for lunch. The elevator is totally crowded now with lots of small talk. I slightly unzip Bishop’s pants. His hazel eyes monitor the crowd as I search and find what feels like nine inches. I squeeze and rub harder. I hear him swallow dry spit. I grin at the lady across the elevator who starts to look suspicious at us. I ignore her, look up at the red numbers, and squeeze harder. At the fifth floor, I release Bishop’s swollen dick and quickly zip his pants. I continue to look at the numbers, then at the lady. I’m certain she knows something is up, but I don’t care. I have my thrills to fulfill.

The elevator bell dings for the first-floor lobby. Everyone exits except the nosey lady who tries to linger, but Bishops escorts her off in a gentlemanly fashion.

“Connie, wait,” he insists.

He presses the “close door” button, then takes out a special badge, slides it across the sensor and presses “PH.” How the hell does he have a VIP badge to the penthouse? I wonder. He’s the director of accounting. Only senior executives have privilege to the penthouse floor. He must know someone important. His network connection turns up my fire another degree because someone of high status at the firm trusts him.