Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Going Up!

Story courtesy of PeePlay.net FREE

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By John Martin

Melanie looked up at the elevator indicator panel: 8...7...6...5... She was a good ten minutes early, but she always allowed herself plenty of time before important meetings to look her best. She'd been in Purchasing for over five years now - long enough to know that if you LOOK right, they'll buy. And Melanie certainly looked right.

A striking woman in her late twenties, Melanie's long blond hair contrasted with her jet black two-piece suit. She was nearly 6 feet tall and still had a tremendous figure. But then, she would never allow it to be any other way. She was extremely sef-disciplined and managed to go to the gym every single night, wherever she found herself. It was one of her rules. Ever since she'd dumped her boyfriend a year ago, she'd thrown herself into her work and into feeling good. And that meant being super-fit.

The bell sounded and the gleaming silver door of the elevator slid silently open. The lift was empty so she marched in, put her briefcase down and hit the button for floor 27. She hardly noticed that someone else had also entered the lift and had pressed the button for floor 8. The doors moved together without a noise, and the lift very slowly started to rise.

She looked at her watch; 9:51. She glanced across at her travelling companion, a slight, rather gaunt-looking man in his mid-thirties. The kind of man nobody noticed. Which is probably why he'd worked in the same office block for 9 years doing virtually the same job, processing expense claims in the Finance Unit of Findlay Marketing. He too was looking at his watch, but biting his lip nervously. He was nearly an hour late and his boss was going to kill him.

Just then something weird happened. The normally smooth and silent movement stopped: the whole lift jerked noisily, and a distant high-pitched whining was heard, well above their heads. Then the lift stopped dead, throwing Melanie and her companion off-balance. They were plunged into complete darkness for a second or two, before a dim, greenish glow from the Emergency Light came on. Silence. Then the stillness was punctuated by a single word said in unison, "Shit!".

Melanie smiled and the man spoke. "Well I guess I'd better introduce myself, as it looks like we'll be here a while. I'm John, John Webster." He extended his right hand towards her, but Melanie didn't even notice. Her mind was on other things. She cursed again and decided there was no point in standing, so she sat down on the scrupulously clean, carpeted floor of the lift. She kept her legs together because these days she never wore underwear; just crotchless tights and no panties.

She discovered two years earlier that it allowed her a freedom and a sense of power which gave her a strangely competitive edge. Perhaps it was the thought, surrounded by a boardroom of men, that she was sitting there in the middle of them, pointing her vulva at them under the desk like a loaded rifle, which gave her so much confidence and authority. She also noticed that men became far more attentive whenever she wasn't wearing underwear. Presumably it was because of her pheromones,
odourlessly filling the air. Whatever it was, last year she won the company's Buyer of the Year Award - the first time ever it had been won by a woman. She felt half the credit should have gone to her vagina!

It's amazing how low their prices will go when they can smell "fanny". Men are so easy to control.

She gazed over to her companion. It was so dark she could barely make out his features. She decided it was pointless to keep her legs so carefully pressed together: he was hardly going to see anything, after all. She bit her lip again and decided she had to do something to take her mind off her pressing problem. She opened her briefcase and took out her laptop PC. John tried again.

"I work on the 8th floor, in the Finance Unit. Been here years. Must say, this is the first time I've ever known the lifts to pack in. But I'm sure they're doing everything to get us out of here. . .". He looked across at Melanie who was now tapping at the keyboard. The screen display was illuminating her face, giving out almost as much light as the dim green Emergency Lighting. She looked very anxious.

John wondered whether she might be claustrophobic. "Look, love, there's no need to worry. I'm sure we won't be here. . . ". Melanie cut him off. "Look, buddy, I'm not 'worried' at all. And I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your mouth shut. If you really MUST know, I really need to go for a wee, and your constant babbling isn't helping matters."

For the first time for a couple of minutes the lift was completely silent again. John turned his face away so she couldn't see him blush slightly. Melanie looked back at the keyboard and tapped away in an effort to occupy her mind.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Twenty minutes later, not much had changed. John hadn't said another word, Melanie was still tapping at her keyboard, and occasionally a distant banging was heard from well above their heads, at the top of the lift shaft. Except that Melanie was now absolutely DESPERATE to go to the Ladies'. She always ate a full English breakfast at whichever hotel she was staying, complete with orange juice and two cups of coffee. And right now she was beginning to curse the coffee. She looked around the lift which was now becoming a little airless and very hot. She could squat down over the carpet but then it would be obvious that SHE had done it. John was now sitting in the opposite corner of the lift with his eyes closed, trying to be quiet so as not to annoy his companion. Melanie looked down at his trousers. If only he was unconscious she could relieve herself on his crotch and pretend later he must have wet himself. She pressed her thighs tightly together. These fantasies were not helping her.

She found herself staring intently at his slightly open mouth. Just then he opened his eyes and feeling her eyes on him, he glanced across. She looked pretty desperate. He laughed out loud, and then stopped. "And what's so damn funny?", Melanie asked, in a mixture of anger and desperation. "Nothing, well, I was just thinking: it's ironic. You desperately need to go to the loo and I desperately need a drink. That's all." Before he realised what he'd said, Melanie had leapt to her feet and was now gazing relentlessly at his mouth. There was only one thought in her mind.

"No, I didn't mean that", John protested, now realising exactly what she was thinking. Melanie was now towering over him. "Shut up and listen. I am going to pee any moment now. Either I do it on the lift floor and we both have to put up with the smell; or I piss all over you and it looks like you've peed yourself; or you can drink it. Your choice." This was all happening too fast for John. She decided he needed to be sold the idea. Her marketing skills snapped into action.

"Listen, it's only water you know, it won't do you any harm. And anyway, you did say you were thirsty. Tell you what: a hundred quid if you drink it.". John blinked. Did she just say 'a hundred quid'? This was pocket money to Melanie. The sort of cash she might spend at lunchtime getting her business associates well-oiled ready to sign the deal in the afternoon. But to John it was nearly a week's wages.

"A hundred quid? Well I guess I do need the money and uarrghh. . .". John was unable to finish the sentence. In less than one second, Melanie had loosened her skirt and pulled it up high, started peeing and had pushed her now dribbling fanny onto his mouth. A loud torrent gushed out between her legs, hissing and spraying, hitting the back of his throat with considerable force. He nearly swallowed his own tonsils. She was pulling him by his hair into her gushing cunt, yelling "Swallow, SWALLOW, I CAN'T STOP!".

Under the circumstances, he didn't have much choice. He drank faster than he had ever done before. He almost managed to keep up, but not quite. She was absolutely bursting and could do nothing to stop her torrent of liquid abuse. He swallowed and swallowed but a fair amont of her piss was dribbling down the front of his shirt. He realised she had lied: it was not 'only water' at all, in fact it was hot, salty and
disgusting. In fact, most of it missed the tip of his tongue, so it didn't taste as strong as it should have done. He couldn't see just how orangey-yellow it was, this being the first time she'd peed since the previous night. In fact, she'd completely fooled him.

Gradually, the torrent turned to a stream, then to a trickle. And then it stopped altogether. Melanie had her head back with her eyes closed: the sense of relief was overwhelming. She also felt strangely turned on by the whole thing. She had never peed on someone before, let alone into a guy's mouth. She realised she was very, very wet - and not because of the pee either! Her clittie had hardened and she was dying to put her hand down there and frig herself off. John tried to pull his
head away. Involuntarily she pulled his head back with his hair and tightened her muscular thighs on his neck. She didn't want him to move. As if to punish him for trying to, a final squirt hit him in the back of the throat. Dutifully, he swallowed (anything to make the awful taste go away).

She opened her eyes and released her grip on her human toilet. He pulled away and gasped for air: in her enthusiasm she'd almost drowned him in pee. She returned to her corner of the lift, found a tissue in her bag, and wiped herself dry. Miraculously there were only a couple of drops near the top of her tights, but otherwise she was dry. She pulled her skirt down and adjusted her clothing. Perfectly presentable!

John hadn't come off quite so well. He was feeling decidedly queasy, his stomach almost bursting with Melanie's bright yellowy-orange pee. The front of his white shirt was no longer white either. He was beginning to feel sick. But then that was HIS problem. Okay, it HAD been Melanie's problem, which she'd solved. That's why she was such a good business-woman, so good at turning problems into solutions. In a few seconds her 'problem' had passed out from between her legs and was now sitting in the guy's stomach. Definitely his problem now.

"So, where's the money then, lady?", John asked. Melanie was checking her make-up in her pocket mirror. "What 'money' is that then?". "Come on, lady, you said you'd give me a hundred quid if I drank your pee for you. I've kept my side of the bargain. So where is it?". Melanie looked him straight in the eyes. He had been very useful to her, she had to admit. She reached into her bag. John's eyes lit up.

She took out a short cylindrical object, unscrewed the top and applied some lipstick, without saying a word. When she'd finished she replaced the cap and put it back in her bag. She looked at John again. "Listen, I am going to give you something FAR better than money. Something you'll remember for the rest of your life." She drew close to him and took his left hand and pushed it under her skirt. She wiped her still wet cunt lips on the back of his hand, as if he was toilet paper. She released him, and he observed the wet, sticky, smelly patch on his hand. There was no doubt that she still wasn't wearing underwear. "It's advice", she said, moving closer to his side. She whispered slowly in his ear, "Never trust a woman who isn't wearing knickers".

Just then the lights flickered on and the lift lurched briefly. All the lights on the control panel lit up, then went out again. Then the number 11 light came on (as if it had been pressed by an unseen hand) and the lift began to move. Soon it glided to a stop, the doors opened and a sea of people outside the doors peered in. Melanie picked up her briefcase and bag and stepped out, as if nothing had happened. Everyone
clamoured around her.

"Are you okay?". "How do you feel?". "Shall we get you to a hospital?". Melanie waved her hand nonchalantly. "I'm FINE, honestly. Just a little shaken that's all." One of the men looked back at John, who was still in the lift trying to make sense of what had happened in the last couple of minutes. It LOOKED like he'd been sweating
profusely, judging by the state of his shirt. The man touched Melanie on the arm and spoke gently, "He didn't, er, try anything did he?", glancing back into the lift. "Oh, him?", said Melanie, laughing. "No, no, he was fine. A bit talkative perhaps, but he didn't 'try' anything. No it was quite a, er, relief to have him around. I feel a lot more, um, relaxed than I did a few minutes ago."

Melanie was ushered out of the lobby by her accolytes. Nobody even noticed the man in the lift. John picked up his jacket and slipped out of the lift to go to the Gents'. His head was spinning, his breath smelled like a Ladies' toilet, and he was beginning to feel quite sick.

-THE END-