Yes, Mr. Shaver (Part 1)

The elevator stopped at the ground floor, and I shuffled in ahead of the crowd, taking a spot in the corner and fidgeting with the hem of my too-short skirt. It was warmer in the elevator than the hall, but as was so often the case, the brush of the silk blouse over my otherwise bare breasts kept my nipples rigid. It was all men who filed in after me; I could feel their eyes run over me as they entered. I could imagine what they saw: the heavy press of my breasts against the taut white silk, the long stretch of my legs down to heels entirely too high to be appropriate for work. Looking away, I couldn’t keep the blush from my cheeks. This is how he wants me to feel, reminded myself. Exposed. Ashamed. Desired.

I shook my head, bringing myself back to reality and threatening the pins that held my thick auburn hair in a tasteful coil at the back of my head. Just then Pete Townsend entered the car, somehow squeezing his tall lean body through two layers of men to push up against my right side.

I hate Pete Townsend. But I didn’t bother pulling away as he brushed his hand against the back of my thighs, just below the hem of my skirt. It never did any good.

“What floor?” A tall young man asked, the last to enter the elevator. He was looking directly at me.

“22, please,” I responded in a tight voice. Several of the other riders spoke after me, but I was too distracted by the movement of Pete’s hand under my skirt. He cupped my right cheek, his fingertips searching into the cleft of my ass and lower, finding my pussy lips inside of the lace boyshorts I wore. Thank god I wore panties today, I thought.

Despite the barrier of lace, my tightly closed thighs, and my hatred of the man, I could feel my cunt twitching and growing hot against Pete’s probing finger. I did my best to act normal, even holding my breath to keep from gasping. But when I took my next breath I could smell my sex, hanging heavy in the air. I couldn’t be the only one.

Here I was, the scent of my pussy permeating the confines of the elevator, surrounded by strange men. Every movement and small noise they made became about me. I could imagine them growing hard in their pants, starting to breath heavy. Any minute now they would turn on me, lust in their eyes, tear my clothes, violate every hole—

DING!

We were at my floor. No-one moved out of the way as I exited, forcing me to graze them with tits or ass as I maneuvered out of the elevator, tugging my skirt back down over me ass and the my damp panties. A few followed onto my floor but I ignored them as I strode quickly past the reception desk and into the relative quiet of my office.

I threw my purse down and sat trembling in my chair for a brief moment.