Going Down



     Level eleven…

     When the doors swished open, Amy found herself face to face with a woman she both feared and revered. Marsha Hardwick: businesswoman extraordinaire whose racy looks and appetite for scandal, were as legendary as her razor sharp mind. Heart pounding, Amy wiped her sweaty palms before extending a hand and timidly mouthing, “Hello.”

     The greeting was acknowledged with a polite nod but, disappointingly, nothing more. Ignoring the outstretched hand, Marsha punched level one and twizzled to face the exit. Her long, red fingernails impatiently tapped the wall as she waited for the doors to close.

     Amy shrank back, hand dropping limply to her side. She leaned against the wall while philosophically deciding that Marsha’s indifference was probably a blessing. Getting noticed by Ms Hardwick was a dream but introductions inside a lift might give entirely the wrong impression. Amy was a nervous wreck in lifts. They scared the crap out of her. Especially when going down.

     As the crack between the doors zipped up tight, she reached for the polished steel hand rail and curled her fingers around it. Wait for it… there was a slight jolt then the shiny metal box plummeted at an alarmingly rapid rate.

     Feeling distinctly nauseous, Amy held on tightly. At least she had the distraction of a sexy woman in front of her. She could hardly believe Marsha was standing so close. She could smell her perfume and hear the rustle of her skirt as she shifted her weight from one Italian stiletto to the other.

     Level ten…

     Thoughts raced through Amy’s mind, possibilities: she could tap Marsha on the shoulder, boldly present herself and see where it led. She could cough to get her attention, bat her eyelashes and throw her a winning smile… or not. Amy tightened her grip on the rail as the lift continued to accelerate. Her heart raced dangerously fast and her stomach churned. She prayed she wouldn’t throw-up. Imagine vomiting over Marsha! That would end her career. She slapped a hand firmly across her mouth, just in case.

     Level nine…

     Resigned to staying invisible, Amy admired her idol from behind, without disturbing her. Marsha’s glossy, raven hair was fascinating. It shone under the lights, reflecting back hints of red and plum among the black. It was cut into a sharp, stylish bob, dramatically framing the face Amy could see reflected in the polished metal doors. Although not pretty in a traditional sense, Marsha was striking. High cheek bones, a straight nose and dazzling eyes, gifted her with a rare, timeless, allure.

     Huh! Amy gasped as the object of her regard glanced sideways. She swiftly bowed her head, feigning an interest in the floor until the urge to peep overpowered her again. Peering cautiously, she drank in the hand-tailored suit cut to hug Marsha’s hourglass curves. Then, her gaze swept down to shapely, silk-stockinged calves and onward to those glorious, custom-made shoes. Both the shoes and the suit were scarlet - an audacious, lustful colour that few could carry off.

     Level eight…

     Risking another look at to Marsha’s reflection, she gaped at the semi-transparent, cream silk blouse beneath the red jacket. She’d noticed it the second the doors had opened at level eleven. How could she fail to when it was worn with the top three buttons undone to brashly display an ample cleavage, cradled inside a teasingly visible, red, lace bra?

     The lift groaned as brakes kicked in and Amy’s stomach lurched as it halted at level seven. The doors swished open and she watched Marsha step forward to glare at the secretary who’d dared interrupt her ride. The poor girl backed away, muttering apologies. The doors slid shut again without the extra passenger.

     Jolt… drop.

     “Holy fuck!”

     Amy clamped her jaws together but it was too late to prevent the profanity slipping out. Mortified, she winced as Marsha turned to face her, eyebrows arched in disdain. She felt the burn of a harsh stare lingering on her face before those penetrating hazel eyes flicked downward, switching their focus to her hands. To her surprise, the corners of Marsha’s mouth twitched and a faint smile curved her glossy, red lips.

     “Holding on, I see,” Marsha commented. “Do you grip the seat on aeroplanes too?”

     Amy’s cheeks grew uncomfortably hot and she knew without looking, they’d turned a similar shade to Marsha’s suit.

     “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease,” Marsha apologised with laughing eyes. “This lift’s quite a ride, isn’t it? I used to find it unnerving. Well, a bit.”

     Level six…

     The lift lurched, shaking its passengers.

     “Ooh,” Marsha grinned, “it’s bumpy today.”

     Bumpy? Understatement! Amy’s knuckles turned white.

     “You’ll put a dent in that rail, if you haven’t already,” Marsha tittered. “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll soon be-”

     She was silenced mid-sentence by a sickeningly loud, grating squeal. A series of violent judders followed, rocking the lift, before all momentum abruptly stopped, throwing the two women against the walls. The lights flickered and died, plunging the metal box into total darkness. The blackout lasted a second, maybe two, but during that time, neither woman dared breathe.

     When the emergency lighting kicked in, the dim glow illuminated two sets of eyes, both wide with fright. Amy, hands still glued to the rail, stared blankly into space. Of all the places to be trapped - a lift! Her body shook with terror.

     It was Marsha who broke the silence. “Fucking hell,” she gasped. “I hate it when it does that.” She shook her hands as if to rid them of fear and cricked her neck from side to side. “Second time this week… ugh!” Peering at the lift’s control panel, she stabbed the button beneath the intercom. “It’s stopped. Again. Get us out of here.”

     There was a distorted reply from the other end and words of encouragement spewed forth.

     Huffing loudly, Marsha nudged Amy. “They’re sorting it, apparently. You okay?”

     No response.

     “There’s nothing to worry about,” she continued. “They’ll fix this thing in a jiffy and we’ll be on our way. Hey, look at me.”

     Obeying the voice, Amy focussed on Marsha’s face. Amazingly, she looked perfectly composed - like an air stewardess, smiling blithely at her panicked passengers after a particularly turbulent take-off. It was comforting. Swiping the tears from her eyes, Amy managed a smile.

     “There’s a good girl. You’re safe, the lift can’t fall. Safety mechanisms, you know. Look,” Marsha stamped a stilettoed foot, “solid as a rock.” She stamped again, vibrating the lift’s floor like the skin on a drum.

     “No, no, no… don’t do that. Please stop, Ms Hardwick.”           

     “Ah-ha!” Marsha twirled a finger and pointed it at Amy. “You know who I am.”


     “Hmm… do I know you? Let me see.” Snatching up Amy’s I.D. tag, she read, “Amy Fellows, Marketing Assistant.” A frown creased her forehead. “Amy from Marketing? The Amy?”

     “Er… I guess so,” Amy replied nervously. “I’m the only ‘Amy’ in the department.”

     “Well,” hands on hips, Marsha pursed her lips, “I do know you.”

     “You do?”

     “By reputation. Your magazine ads are dynamic, fiery. I love them.”

     “Do you?”

     “Yes.” She squinted at Amy. “You’re not what I expected.”

     “I’m not at my best in lifts.”

     “Evidently. So why didn’t you take the stairs? I mean, twelve floors is quite a lot but you’re young and fit.”

     Amy bit her lower lip.

     “Oh, I see, it’s not just the lift… vertigo? Oh dear, our architects had it in for you, didn’t they?”

     “Acrophobia not vertigo. I get height vertigo when the acrophobia kicks in and I can get it standing on a chair, so this tower block…” Amy drew a breath, “Bloody ‘modern’ design,” she growled. “Who puts the only staircase on the outside of the building and encases it in glass? It’s ludicrous! It’s not even properly attached to anything, it just kind of hovers.”

     “Clever, isn’t it?”

     “No, it’s fucking stupid. I want a nice, safe, fully enclosed staircase that isn’t transparent. In the centre of the building would be ideal - where this sodding lift is.”

     Marsha cocked her head to one side, eying Amy curiously.

     Noting her reaction, Amy shrank away. “Sorry. I’m ranting.”

     “Not at all, carry on. That’s the fire I expected from you.”

     “Oh… is it?”

     “Yes, much better,” Marsha smiled. “I’m confused, though.”

     “Oh? What about?”

     “Well, the Marketing Department’s on the ground floor and, I assume, its non-elevated location was an important factor when you chose to work here?”


     “So why were you up on level twelve? Not for the view. Did you have a meeting with the Directors? Are you up for a promotion or something?”

     “No. No, I erm…” Amy cleared her throat. “I ride the lift to the top every day. I’m trying to get used to it.”

     “Really? So you see yourself strutting around up there one day?”


     Marsha snorted, “Good for you. It never hurts to be ambitious although I think you’re a little young to have your eye on one of those big, plush offices. I haven’t got one yet. Do you think you’ll get there before me?”

     Amy held her tongue while she tried to formulate an answer that wouldn’t sound arrogant or sycophantic. She opened her mouth to speak but, as she did, the lift lurched again. It only dropped an inch or two but the unexpected movement sent Amy’s pulse through the roof. Unable to contain her panic, she filled her lungs with air and screamed.

     “Amy, don’t… it’s okay, it’s stopped. Amy, please… oh sweetie, come here.”

     Amy suddenly found herself enveloped in Marsha’s arms. The warmth comforted like a blanket and, as her head came to rest upon Marsha’s chest, she detected the soft thump of her idol’s steady heartbeat. Drawing a breath, her nostrils flooded with Marsha’s delicious scent: the subtle florals of expensive perfume mixed with the aroma of her. It was wonderful… cries fading to whimpers, her eyes closed.

     “That’s it, nice and calm. We’ll be out of here soon,” Marsha whispered.

     Amy shivered as a hand gently stroked her hair. It felt safe, lovely… but it was Marsha! Catapulted back to reality, she wriggled free of the embrace.

     “Better?” those succulent, glossy lips enquired.

     Amy gaped. “I feel so foolish.”

     “Don’t, there’s no need. You should see me when I’m confronted by spiders.”


     “Yes.” She shuddered dramatically. “Hairy blood-sucking monsters.”

     Amy couldn’t help giggling.

     “Ah, that’s better. You’re pretty when you smile.”

     “Am I?”

     “Very.” Marsha brushed a strand of hair away from Amy’s eyes. “So pretty,” she said softly. “Are you wearing make-up?”


     “Huh… I thought not. I can’t do that. Not at my age. Make-up, hair dye and the odd shot of Botox.” She pointed to her forehead. “No surgery, yet, and the body’s all real. I’m proud of my figure.”          

     “You look great.”

     “Thank you.” Marsha ran her hands over her curves. “I have an excellent personal trainer. Twenty-five-years-old and an ex-rugby player, he’s got a huge, solid… six-pack,” she grinned. “He always gives me a great workout.”

     “So I’ve heard.”

     “Have you? Am I the subject of gossip in the Marketing Department?”

     “Oh no, no I-”

     “I sincerely hope I am. I like being thought of as a bit of a goer.” A tinkling, girlish laugh erupted from her throat. “Did I really just say that?” She grinned, her eyes shining. “A goer? What is that? Such an old-fashioned term.”

     Amy smiled.

     “Anyway, gossip’s good. I rue the day when I’m thought of as an ageing business woman too old to have a scandalous private life.”

     “I don’t see that ever happening.”

     “Good. And for the record,” she smirked, “any juicy titbits regarding my personal trainer are all true, okay? Every single sordid de-”

      The lights flickered as the power briefly whirred back to life.

      Spinning on her heel, Marsha pounced on the intercom. “Is it fixed?”

     “Almost,” hissed the disjointed voice. “We’re just going to try something.”

     “Okay, be quick.” Marsha turned to Amy. “Damn, I thought they’d sorted it. I’m sure it won’t be… ooh!”

     The lift bounced three times in succession, dropping an inch each time. Marsha grabbed Amy’s hand and held it tight but the petrified girl had already gone rigid. When the juddering stopped, however, Amy’s instincts kicked in and, instead of freezing, she launched herself at the doors.

     “Let me out of here,” she shrieked, fists pounding the shiny metal. “Open the fucking doors.”

     “Amy, they can’t. We’re between floors.

     “Yes they can, they fucking can!”

     “Amy, stop. You need to calm down.”

     “I’ll calm down when I get the fuck out of here.” Amy banged harder, throwing everything she had at the unrelenting doors.  

     “Stop. Now.” Bright red talons grasped Amy’s wrists, spinning her round.

     “Let me go. I have to get out. I… oooh…”

     Amy’s cries stuck in her throat as Marsha’s soft, ruby lips squashed against her mouth, kissing her hard. Completely stunned, she ceased fighting and melted, placidly, into Marsha’s arms. Their limbs became entwined and a delightfully sensuous shiver trickled down Amy’s spine, igniting tingling nerve impulses in its wake. She moaned, her body no longer quivering with fear but trembling with desire.

     When Marsha broke the kiss and pulled away, Amy stared at her, unblinking. “You kissed me,” she stammered in a choked whisper.

     “I certainly did.”

     “You kissed me. Why?”

     “To stop you freaking out. Would you rather I’d slapped you?”

     “You kissed me,” Amy repeated dreamily.

     “Yes. I did. I think we’ve established that. I-”

     Flinging her arms around Marsha’s neck, Amy slammed her mouth against hers, kissing her feverishly. She pulled Marsha close, squashing her magnificent cleavage and sliding a hand down to grasp that delectably firm arse. She let the kiss linger as long as she could, savouring the taste of Marsha’s lipstick and the warmth of her responsive, wet mouth.

     When she finally broke contact, a sweat had broken out on her brow. “I can’t believe I just did that,” she gasped, running her hands through her silky, blonde hair.

     “I’m glad you did.” Marsha’s eyes shone with a mischievous gleam. “It’s been ages since I was kissed by a pretty, young thing like you. Too long.” She smiled at Amy. “What’s the matter? Still scared? Or are you scared of me?”

     “You… yes… scared stiff.”

     Marsha laughed. “I don’t bite… much. Anyway, you like me, don’t you?”  

     “Of course, I adore you. You’re the reason I work here. Worked here…”

     “Oh Amy, you’re not in trouble. In fact,” she inched closer, plump lips brushing Amy’s cheek, “I’d like to kiss you again… maybe touch that sweet little body of yours.”

     Amy’s heart thumped against her ribcage. “Would you?”

     “Oh yes. The thing is, Amy, I despise wasting time. Loathe it. Every second is precious and each one wasted can never be retrieved.”


     “I’m compelled to seize every opportunity. It’s made me who I am. And this - stuck in a lift going nowhere - pisses me off.”

     “You want to touch me because you’re bored?”

     Marsha rolled her eyes, “Amy, beautiful Amy, seize the moment and live life dangerously. As soon as this lift reaches level one I’m going to a meeting. When it finishes, I’m catching a flight to New York for another one. That’s my life. That’s the pace I live at. So, if you fancy getting intimate with a power hungry, sex-crazed woman in a lift, now’s your chance. Your only chance.”

     “But you don’t like girls.”

     “What? Where did you hear that?”

     Amy shrugged.

     “No rumours flying around about the secretaries I’ve fucked?”


     Marsha frowned. “I’ve definitely let my reputation slip. I love girls.” Her gaze dropped to Amy’s breasts and, reaching out, she gently traced the contours beneath her blouse. “Girls are so soft and curvy,” she sighed longingly.

     Heart pounding, Amy lifted Marsha’s chin and kissed her again. The kiss quickly intensified with the women’s lips interlocking, their eager tongues probing the other’s mouth. Sighs broke the silence in the tiny lift as their bodies, pushed against each other, began to writhe.

     “Can I go down on you?” Amy uttered breathlessly. “I want to taste you, love you-”

     “Live dangerously?”

     “Very dangerously.”

     Marsha’s smile blossomed, “Actually, I prefer giving.”

     “You do?”

     “Does that surprise you? There’s something quite exquisite about watching a girl’s expression when she’s brought to orgasm because of me. It’s probably a control thing. Amy? Amy?” Marsha glared. “Are you even listening?”

     “What? Sorry, yes. I’ve had dreams like this but I never-”

     “Do you want this or not?”

     “Yes. Oh yes.”

     “Good… good girl.”

     With a dissolute moan, Marsha caressed Amy’s cheek with the back of her hand. Then her fingers trailed gradually downward, the tickling sensation promoting the growth of the rosy flush already blossoming across Amy’s skin. Marsha leaned in to kiss her lips. The kiss was slow and tender. Amy caught her breath, amazed by the gentleness. Moaning with pleasure, she leant back against the cold metal, willingly becoming Marsha’s toy.        

     Marsha’s lips made contact with the soft skin at the nape of Amy’s neck. Tiny kisses danced upon the sensitive flesh, soft as falling rose petals. Amy shuddered, her body heating up, her sex throbbing deliciously. As nimble fingers unbuttoned her blouse and peeled it back, her breasts heaved, hardened nipples pressing against their white, lace cage. Red-tipped fingers teasingly traced the contours of the soft orbs, then suddenly, pinched and pulled, rubbing the bullet-like nipples until they ached.

     “Umm,” she moaned, “that’s so good.”

     With more fleeting kisses upon Amy’s neck and shoulders, Marsha’s fingers dallied onward, circling her belly with wide, lazy strokes. She slowly traversed the waistband of Amy’s pleated skirt before descending, rapidly, gliding over her peachy ass and slender thighs to reach the skirt’s hem. Amy quivered excitedly as Marsha hooked it upward exposing the flesh-toned stocking tops and skimpy, lace panties.

     “May I?” Marsha asked, her eyes glinting thirstily.

     “Yes… please.”

     Body smouldering, Amy could hardly keep still as Marsha’s fingertips delicately stroked her silky, inner thighs. Warm, slick juices dampened her panties even before the fabric was eased aside. Amy snatched a breath, her mind reeling in disbelief when Marsha, the woman she idolised, sank to her knees before her. Relishing every moment, she closed her eyes and opened her thighs…

     Puckered lips lightly kissed Amy’s swollen sex, sending tiny convulsions racing back and forth along nerves already on fire. A wet tongue snaked out, unhurriedly lapping her moist slit. The tip curled over her hardened nub, repeatedly, making it burn. There was a guttural moan, a gasp, the shuffling of limbs as bodies entwined. Closer, tighter, the two figures merged into one with Marsha’s lips firmly attached to Amy’s sex, sucking hard.

     Groans rumbled in Amy’s throat and pearly juices dripped from her depths. She fidgeted, shifting her weight as her knees shook. Her hips moved, driven by the waves building inside her and, biting her lip, she fought the urge to clamp her thighs around Marsha’s head.

     Reading her need, Marsha’s agile tongue made one more swirling pass over her clit then jabbed inside her sensitive tunnel. She probed deep, her chin pressed hard against Amy’s pubis while those red talons left their imprint in the milky flesh of her pert derriere.

     Mirroring its occupants, the lift groaned and juddered. Marsha, startled, sat back on her heels. Her eyes locked with Amy’s and the women held each other’s gaze while the lights flickered as if possessed and the metal box rolled smoothly downward for a metre or so. It slowly eased to a sedate stop.

     “It’s fine, all fine. Not long now,” Marsha whispered. “Not long at all.”

     To Amy’s horror, she pushed herself to her feet, dusting herself down.

     “What are you doing?” Amy implored.

     “We’re out of time, my sweet girl.”


     “Finish yourself off. Do it, now, quickly. I want to see.”

     Cunt on fire, Amy leant against the metal walls with legs open wide. Without hesitation, she plunged three fingers inside her slick hole. Ramming them deep, she fucked herself forcefully. Again and again, she thrust, interspersing the fucking with frantic rubbing of her clit. Harder, faster, juices flowed to lubricate her movement and the musky scent of sex overpowered Marsha’s perfume.

     Lusty groans bounced around the metal walls as Amy’s climax quickly built. With time precious, she did nothing to slow it.

     “Ugh… ooh,” she cried as her cunt contracted, sucking at her fingers. Droplets of slick, hot juice spattered the floor between her feet. Panting, sweating, a satisfied smile bloomed across Amy’s pretty face and, exhaling slowly, she shuddered with contentment.

     A hand clasped hers, gently withdrawing the encased fingers. Amy watched, delighted, as Marsha sucked her sticky fingers, one by one. She licked them clean, juices spilling from her lips to mingle with her glossy lipstick. When she was done, she kissed Amy’s lips then, tilting her head, her gaze drifted upward to the translucent dome set into the ceiling just above the lift’s doors. With a smile stretching the corners of her mouth, she pressed a manicured fingertip to the intercom button.

      “Okay boys,” she said, calmly and clearly, “shows over. Turn the power back on and let us out.”

     The lift immediately buzzed into life. The lights flickered on and the mechanism hummed. It began sliding downward, smooth and fast.

     Level five…

     “It’s fixed?”

     “Yep. Didn’t you notice the difference last time it moved?”

     “No. I was a bit occupied.”

     “They got it going then turned the power off again.” Marsha shot Amy a sideways glance. “Smile at your fan club, Amy.”

     “What? Oh, my goodness… we’ve been watched?”

     “Of course. The camera’s right there, it’s not hidden.”

     “Yes, but when the power went off…”

     Marsha shook her head. “The maintenance department all love you and the security guards. Me as well, of course,” she added with a playful smirk.

     Level four…

     Red-faced, Amy gaped at the camera.

     “Does it bother you?” Marsha enquired.


     “Why? It doesn’t worry me. I’m looking forward to hearing the rumours.”

     “Rumours? About us?”

     “Does that bother you?”

     Amy blinked. “I guess it depends...”

     “Oh? On what?”

     “On whether this is a one-off or not.”

     “Amy, sweetie, my schedule’s full, I told you that. I only fuck my personal trainer because he’s already in my diary.”

     “So put me in your diary.”


     “Yes.” Amy stood tall, determination in her eyes.

     Level three…

     Marsha’s smile wavered. “If it’s a helping hand to the top you’re after, you don’t need to see me again. I’m sure a clever girl with a talent for marketing can make today work to her advantage.”

     Amy snorted, “Do you think I’m that shallow?”


     “I’m not. Invite me to dinner. Get to know me.”

     Marsha frowned. Glancing nervously at the rapidly descending numbers on the lift’s display, she rummaged in her handbag and fished out her powder compact. She proceeded to dab her nose then reapply a layer of rich, red gloss to her smudged lips. She shunned Amy, yet her eyelids fluttered longingly when Amy’s fingertips brushed her arm.

     Amy smiled. It was enough.  

     Level two…

     The powder compact snapped shut and Marsha, looking cool and composed, positioned herself in front of the doors, poised to exit. “Come on Amy, get dressed,” she urged. “Chop-chop. That door will open in about five seconds.”

     “Five seconds? Shit.”  

     Panicked, Amy sprang into action. She struggled with buttons, flapping like a chicken in her struggle to do them up. Catching sight of her reflection in the polished metal walls, she laughed aloud.

     “Something funny?” Marsha asked.

     “Look at the state of me.”

     “A little ruffled, that’s all.”

     Amy grinned. Buttons fastened - more or less - she tucked her blouse in and flicked back her hair. Just in time…

     Level one…

     The lift came to a stop and the doors slid smoothly open.

     “Ciao,” said Marsha, throwing Amy a mischievous smile. “It was fun.” She marched out of the lift, head held high, Italian stilettos clicking on the polished concrete.

     “Wait,” Amy cried, “is that it?”

      The shoes kept on clacking but Marsha raised a hand, “Until next time.” She waved without turning around.   

     Grinning from ear to ear, Amy fist-pumped the air as she watched Marsha’s curves sashay away. Then spinning around, she gave a thumbs-up to the camera.

     “Thank you,” she mouthed.

     Taking a deep breath, she stood in the centre of the lift with her hands on her hips. The doors swished shut and the shiny metal box continued going down.