Going Down?

A Freaky Friday Short

The elevator doors were already sliding shut when she rounded the corner, heels clicking too loud in the nearly empty lobby.

“Wait!” she cried out, pushing herself to run faster. The elevator always took so long to come back, and she didn’t want to wait around for ages on a Friday evening.

A hand shot out, palm flat against the metal. The doors hesitated, then parted again with a tired sigh.

“Going down?” he asked, slightly breathless.

She laughed, relief spilling out of her. “Yes. Thank you.”

She stepped inside, close enough to register the warmth of his arm, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping her. The doors closed, sealing them in.

As the elevator began to descend, he spoke.

“Have big plans tonight?” he asked, his eyes taking her in. The perfectly tailored dress, long legs, and heels.

“No, not really. I’m just ready to get away from this place for a couple of days,” she replied, tucking her long hair behind her ear.

His eyes followed her hand as it smoothed her hair and went to play with her necklace. “Is that so? I figured you would have a hot date tonight,” he teased, eyes dancing.

“No, not tonight. That’s tomorrow,” she teased right back, her eyes lingering on his lips just a moment too long.

They’d flirted like this for months around the office floor. Nothing overt. Just glances that lingered too long at the copier, jokes that carried subtext in the break room. Nevertheless, she felt a little thrill each time she saw him.

He was just about to respond with a witty comeback when the elevator jolted and came to a sudden stop.

She grabbed the rail instinctively.

The lights flickered once, then stayed on.

She stared at the numbers above the door, waiting for them to change. They didn’t.

“Did we just stop?” she asked nervously.

He pressed the button for the lobby. Nothing. He looked at her with concern before trying again, pressing the button repeatedly, as if that would do the trick. Still nothing.

“That’s…not ideal,” she said, already feeling her chest tighten.

“Old building,” he replied, though his voice had shifted, too alert now.

He reached for the emergency call button and held it down. A ringing tone filled the elevator. They both stared at the blinking call light as ring after ring filled the shrinking elevator.

The ringing stopped. They looked at each other, concern growing on their faces.

He tried again. Ringing filled the elevator once more. Again, no one answered.

“No one’s answering,” she said, as though he hadn’t already come to that conclusion.

“Friday afternoon,” he replied. “Most people are gone by now.”

“Shit,” she muttered as she pulled out her phone, thumb hovering hopefully over the screen. No bars. Her stomach dropped.

“Shit! Shit! I don’t have reception.”

He checked his phone. “Me neither.”

“Maybe a text will go through?” she asked, hopefully. At once, they both began texting frantically.

She hit send, and immediately a red exclamation point with a circle around it appeared. It read, “Not Delivered.” She tried again with no luck.

“Are you getting anything to send?” she asked, attempting to make her voice calm.

He looked at her, eyes filled with concern. “No, you?” he asked.

“No, nothing,” she responded.

Panic began creeping in like a hand closing around her ribs. She told herself it was fine. Elevators broke all the time. Someone would notice. Someone always noticed.

Except it was Friday evening and the building was nearly empty. Except the help button kept ringing into nothing.

The walls felt closer than they had a minute ago.

She took a breath. Then another. They didn’t help.

“I don’t do well with small spaces,” she said quietly, more to the elevator than to him.

He turned fully toward her then. “Hey.” She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “You’re okay,” he added. “We’re okay.”

She nodded, but her heart was already racing, breaths coming shallow now. The thought of being trapped made her hands tremble.

“I know it’s irrational,” she said, hating how thin her voice sounded. “I just—”

“It’s not,” he interrupted gently. “You’re claustrophobic. And we’re stuck. It’s not irrational.”

That surprised her enough to make her look at him.

“Claustrophobia isn’t about logic,” he continued. “It’s about control. And right now, we don’t have much of that.” He shifted closer, holding out his hands. “Can I?” he asked.

She hesitated for half a second before nodding and placing her hands in his.

“Okay,” he said. “Breathe with me. Slowly.”

He demonstrated, exaggerating it just enough for her to follow. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

As she breathed with him, her shoulders dropped a fraction.

“Good,” he said softly. “That’s it.”

The elevator creaked faintly, settling. Her panic spiked again.

“It’s just the cables adjusting,” he said quickly, as if he were trying to convince himself as well. “Totally normal.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “You sound very confident for someone also stuck in here.”

“I’m very good at pretending,” he replied, smiling.

This time, she let out a hearty laugh, and the sound surprised them both.

He leaned back against the wall, giving her space but staying close enough that she felt less alone.

Minutes passed in silence.

“I always wondered what it would be like,” she said suddenly.

“What?” he asked.

“Being alone with you,” she admitted before she could stop herself.

The words hung between them, heavier than the air. His gaze held hers. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

She became acutely aware of how close they were. How little room there was to move without brushing against him. How warm it had gotten.

She swallowed. “This is probably a bad idea,” she said.

He didn’t argue. “That doesn’t sound like a no,” he replied.

“It’s not,” she admitted.

Her panic had faded into something else now. Adrenaline, maybe? Or the strange clarity that came when there was nothing left to do but be honest.

“If we weren’t stuck,” she said slowly, “this wouldn’t be happening.”

“If we weren’t stuck,” he countered, “we’d still be thinking about it.”

The quiet was deafening. He stepped closer, bridging the small gap between them.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, her fingers curled into the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him toward her with a urgency that surprised even her. Their lips met in a rush, without preamble. His mouth was firm, tasting faintly of coffee and mint, and she parted her lips for him without hesitation, her tongue sliding against his in a slick, desperate dance.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands finding her waist, gripping hard enough to bunch the fabric of her dress. The elevator felt even smaller now, the air thick with their shared breath, but the claustrophobia had twisted into something electric, something that made her pulse throb between her legs. She pressed her body against his, feeling the hard line of his erection through his pants, already straining against her thigh.

“God, I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against her neck, his lips trailing down to suck at the sensitive skin there. His hands slid lower, cupping her ass and lifting her slightly, pinning her against the cool metal wall. She gasped, her heels scraping the floor as she wrapped one leg around his hip, grinding against him shamelessly.

Her dress rode up with the motion, exposing the lacy edge of her thong. His fingers traced the hem, dipping beneath to tease the damp fabric between her thighs. “You’re soaked,” he whispered, his voice rough, fingers circling her clit through the lace before pushing it aside to stroke her bare, slick folds.

She whimpered, her head falling back against the wall as he slipped one finger inside her, then two, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her knees buckle. “Fuck,” she breathed, her hands fumbling with his belt, unbuckling it with trembling fingers. She yanked down his zipper, freeing his cock, thick, veined, and pulsing in her hand. She stroked him firmly, thumbing the bead of pre-cum at the tip, loving the way he hissed through his teeth.

He pulled his fingers free, slick with her arousal, and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean while holding her gaze. The sight made her clench with need. “Turn around,” he commanded softly, his voice laced with authority that sent a shiver down her spine.

She did, bracing her hands against the wall as he hiked her dress up to her waist. He tugged her thong down her thighs, letting it pool at her ankles. His hands spread her cheeks, and she felt the hot press of his cock against her entrance, teasing, rubbing along her wetness.

“Please,” she begged, arching back into him.

He thrust into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely. She cried out, the stretch exquisite, her pussy clenching around him as he started to move, slowly at first, then harder, deeper, the rhythm building like the tension that had been simmering between them for months.

The elevator creaked with their movements, but neither noticed nor cared. His hands roamed, one gripping her hip for leverage, the other sliding under her dress to pinch her nipple through her bra, rolling it until she moaned. “You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his breath hot on her ear. “Tight and wet for me.”

She pushed back against each thrust, meeting him halfway, the slap of skin echoing in the confined space. Sweat beaded on her skin, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit again, rubbing in tight circles that matched his pace.

“I’m close,” she moaned, her body coiling tighter, the pressure building until it snapped. She came hard, her walls pulsing around him, a gush of wetness coating his cock as she trembled and cried out his name.

He kept thrusting through her orgasm, drawing it out, but his rhythm faltered soon after.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice strained, fingers digging into her hips. She nodded frantically, still riding the waves of her release, and he pulled out just in time, his hand wrapping around his slick cock. With a few rough strokes, he came with a low groan, hot spurts landing on the curve of her ass and the back of her thighs, marking her skin in thick, sticky ropes.

They stayed like that for a moment, panting, his forehead resting against her shoulder as they caught their breath. He gently wiped her clean with his pocket square, ever the gentleman, before helping her pull her thong back up and smooth her dress down. She turned to face him, their kiss this time softer, lingering, a mix of satisfaction and something deeper.

“Well,” he said with a wry smile, tucking himself back into his pants, “that was one way to pass the time.”

She laughed, still flushed and breathless. “Best stuck elevator ever. For a moment there, my mind completely forgot about my claustrophobia.”

He started to laugh when suddenly, the elevator lurched with a mechanical whir, the lights flickering once more before steadying. The numbers above the door blinked back to life, and it began descending smoothly again.

“What the—?” she exclaimed, stepping back in surprise as they both stared at the panel. “Did it just... fix itself?”

“Power surge or something? Old buildings like this…who knows?” He glanced at her, a mix of amusement and relief on his face. “At least we didn’t have to explain this to maintenance.”

She chuckled, adjusting her hair as the doors dinged open on the lobby floor. They stepped out into the cool, empty space, sharing a secret glance. “Hey,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Give me your number? In case we get ‘stuck’ again sometime.”

She smiled, typing it in quickly. “Deal.”