Take the elevator down with Jenna.

Going Down

“Can you hold that?” you call after a moment of indecision as you rush toward the elevator. You can feel the eyes of executive assistant Aubrey Merriman on you, and sure enough, as you take your place beside Jenna, she is watching the two of you. Does eagerness to take an elevator ride with the CEO’s mistress (girlfriend? daughter? call girl?) merit a report? Probably not. You hope.

The door helpfully closes the two of you away in seclusion. You touch a finger to the nick on your chin, hamming up the wince of pain. In truth, it’s not even on par with the cut you got shaving that morning. Still, Jenna seems to be a font of empathy, looking at you with grave concern. “You’re sure you’re OK, Mr. Saxon? I feel just awful about what I did.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you assure her, waving off her concern for your war wound. One more wince, to make sure she knows you’re being stoic. Is it even bleeding any more? “I’m just glad my hard head didn’t break those pretty glasses of yours. Can’t have you wandering around blind, can we?”

Your compliment, mild though it was, seems to land. Jenna taps the frames by her temple. “Well aren’t you sweet. Honestly, I can’t imagine! I’m helpless without them. I never take them off.”

“Not never, I hope,” you joke. Nice, you tell yourself. Subtle. Could be referring to naked times, could be talking about the gym. Mildly suggestive, but leaves you an out.

“No, seriously! I wear them at the office, at home, I sleep in ‘em… maybe this is TMI, but I even wear them in the shower.” She nods earnestly.

Fuck. The casually gifted image of this beauty wet and naked hammers through your cool. So much for being too forward. “The shower? Don’t they become sort of a problem? Sorry, I’ve never needed glasses – knock on wood, right? – but I have sunglasses, so.”

“And you tried them on in the shower?” There’s that giggle of hers. It starts in her throat and ripples through those spectacular tits of hers. Is this love?

“What? No, I mean… you know. Like, when it rains, or whatever.”

“You wear sunglasses on rainy days? Starting to think you don’t get how sunglasses are supposed to work, friend.”

“I… I suppose maybe you’re right,” you chuckle back awkwardly. “So, you work here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t. I’m special assistant to Ms. Merriman, so I’m mostly only ever upstairs.”

“Oh, you’re assistant to the assistant, huh? How meta.”

“Hm? Oh, no, that’s just my title. I mostly work under Mr. King. Technically according to some chart or something it says I work for Ms. Merriman. But she never really asks me to do anything, so I just kind of do what needs doing.”

“Oh.” You catch yourself short of asking what kinds of things she does under Mr. King. God, the smell of her fills the elevator. Two parts perfume, one part raw woman. And what a woman. Simply standing there, letting you smile at her as you wait for the elevator to move.

Oh. Oops. Neither of you have hit a button yet. With a sheepish grin, you gesture to the panel. “Uh, what floor can I hit for you?”

“Seven.”

“Seven, right.” You tap the button, but the elevator doesn’t respond. You try again. “Huh, it’s not, uh… weird.”

Suddenly she’s not merely near you, but next to you, close enough you can just feel the fabric of her vest through your shirt. Her eyes are on you as she flips open a metal panel you didn’t realize existed to reveal a set of numbered keys. Jenna’s fingers tap them without looking, her smile becoming less innocent in this proximity. Or maybe you merely want it to be.

The elevator starts downward. Jenna doesn’t step back. In fact, she takes a deep breath, and the brush of contact becomes an intimate pressure, chest to chest, that neither of you could miss. If there were twenty other people in this thing, she wouldn’t need to be this close.

“I think I like you, Mr. Saxon. You make me laugh. Sorry I messed up your meeting with Nolan.”

First-name basis. So probably not daughter, right?

You hold your ground, even though she isn’t merely in your bubble, she’s popped it, sucked it up, spit it out and is now casually chewing on it. “No, it’s no problem. I’m glad it happened, honestly.”

“Glad? Why glad?”

“Well because otherwise, you and I might not have met. I’d be in some boring business meeting and not, um, here. With you. In this elevator.”

“You say such sweet things, Mr. Saxon. You know, to toss some honesty back at ya – if that’s OK?”

“Please.”

Her face comes closer. You’re breathing one another’s air now. You can feel the warmth emanating from her on your face. “I’d kind of like to kiss you,” Jenna says. Your mouth opens by reflex. This woman – she – Jenna – wants to kiss you. No way you’re not going to– “Only…” You stop yourself. Or she stops you, maybe. The woman blushes, finally breaking eye contact. Freed from those entrancing eyes, you have the presence of mind to formally decide this would be well worth losing this job over.

“Only…?”

She grins down at your feet bashfully. “Most guys don’t like to kiss a girl who’s got cum on her breath.”

You have no response to that. You’d forgotten that whiff you’d gotten what seems like ages ago. Or at least forgiven it. Still, that she brought it up so candidly! Alone, in an elevator! Three inches from your face!

Then, like she hadn’t just voiced her reservation to kissing you, she’s… kissing you. Except, not your lips. It’s your cheek, only it’s not sweet like a kiss on the cheek. There’s tongue. Her tongue is on your cheek. Licking, pressing like it wants to get to your tongue so badly it can’t wait for her lips to travel all the way back to your mouth.

Then her hands are on you, gently grasping the back of your head to hold your face to hers. It has the effect of pulling your whole body against her, and only then do you realize how hard you are. Jenna has to feel it, but she clearly doesn’t mind. Is this actually happening? Fuck it. This babe is hot, and obviously horny, and clearly into you, so you sink your fingers into her ass. Oh fuck yes. She definitely works out. This is really hap–

The elevator door slides open, and she’s stepped out before you know what happened. Your head is swimming, a cool spot on your cheek from where her lips were pressed an eye’s blink ago.

“Uh, Jenna, that was… can I…”

You go to step into the hallway with her, but a firm hand immediately lands on your chest. “You’re not allowed in here.”

The elevator has opened up into what looks to be the end of a perpendicular hallway. From here, you can see almost nothing but white walls and white tile floors. Not a sign, not a poster, nothing. It’s the dead end of the least colorful space you’ve yet seen at Monarch. “No, it’s OK, I’m not a visitor, I’m a consultant. I–”

“You can’t. Understand?”

“Oh. Sure. Yeah, I’m actually a security consultant, so professionally, I have to commend you for–”

She’s not interested in your professional opinion. There doesn’t seem to be a professional bone in that whole sublime body. “I liked that, just now. I hope we can do it again sometime.”

“Yeah. I would definitely like that. Can I call you?” You crane your neck, but she only pushes you back further.

“I hope so.” She smiles sweetly. “You really like me? You’re not just saying that because, you know, I’m the only one you… you know, forget it. You’re sure you like me?”

“Yeah. Definitely. I mean, I blew off the CEO to get in an elevator with you, didn’t I?” Maybe he blew you off first, but the math was pretty simple on which of them was more worth ingratiating yourself to.

Her smile blooms, those brilliant white teeth revealing themselves again. It’s infectious. “You did. How’s come?”

You’re still formulating the right compliment – can’t say it’s because she’s walking boner fuel, but don’t wanna be too cheesy either – when she answers it herself. “Is it because of these, Mr. Saxon?”

Before you understand what’s happening, her free hand, the one not restraining you from throwing yourself at her, tugs at the front of her vest. It looked like buttons, but evidently they were decorative because she’s undoing a zipper, and the next thing you know, her tits are out. The two sides of the vest burst apart like they’re relieved to be given a rest. Jenna’s tits, out in the open air, in a fucking hallway – a secret hallway – and she’s showing them to you.

They’re exactly like you’d imagined. Big, maybe just a little bit bigger than she has a right to on her petite frame. The nipples are a floral red, and huge, like two strawberries. The tits themselves form natural cleavage, and it’s too obvious they’re fake. Only anime chicks have tits that big that cling together that well.

“Um… yes? Maybe it wasn’t, but… yes. Definitely yes,” you stammer.

“They’re not real, but… I don’t know, maybe real is over-rated? I really like how they look,” she adds, lifting them with her free arm, the one not restraining you from throwing yourself into them face first, and jiggles them at you.

“They’re… they’re amazing, Jenna.”

“Thanks! They weren’t cheap.”

“Can I…” No. What? You can’t feel them! You’re in an office building! Why are you even standing here? Why is she?! What is even happening?! “I’m going to be in touch.”

“I hope so. Guess we’ll see, right? You never know how things’ll go around here.”

“Oh trust me, I’ll–”

The elevator door shuts, narrowly missing her arm as she pulls it away from your chest. You stumble back, catching your breath. That couldn’t have been real. She was so hot! So… slutty. Things like that didn’t happen to normal guys. They happened to actors, or hotshot businessmen, or rock stars. You must have imagined it. Only you didn’t. You wouldn’t imagine something that insane. You got on the elevator to chat her up, maybe get her number. Heck, maybe only to spend another thirty seconds with her and scope out her ass if she got off first. Not… that!

It dawns on you that you never did enter your floor. Partially curious and partially mindful of your job to check out security, you try to open the elevator doors. Maybe you can get a peek at whatever it was Jenna was so keen to keep you from seeing. (Or better yet, get a second look at what she was so keen on showing you.) The doors remain closed, however, and a recorded warning plays in a generically soothing feminine voice.

“You are not authorized to access this floor. Your attempt has been recorded.”

You make a note to record this attempt in your log, doctor it so it looks like that was a planned security probe in case anybody actually gets nosy about your attempted access. Better safe than sorry.

Then it’s off to your car. The whole encounter, going up to Mr. King’s office and back, wasn’t even half an hour, but it feels like it was a week. Brooklyn is on the other side of the street now, though she sees you snatch the ticket off your hood and watches you as if to take in your impotent despair. You leave the bitch wanting. $80 isn’t nothing, but still, not the worst fee for that wild encounter with Jenna… Jenna somebody. You never got a last name, you realize. Huh. Nevertheless, the comely toy cop flashes you a smirk before hopping into her little cart, spending a moment fixing her hair, then puttering off to torment someone else on the next block.

There are no spots left in the employee lot. Your lunch is still an egg salad sandwich. There are four more long hours in the day. You make it most of the way through a quarter of one of them before you’re pulling up the corporate directory, scanning for anyone named Jenna.

Only there isn’t a Jenna to be seen.

There was a Jennifer in accounting, and you even swing by her floor and make sure. Not your girl, as you expected. Still pretty – conspicuously pretty, actually – but not the pornographic fantasy in the flesh you were seeking. As you poke around, you can’t find anything in the materials they provided you that gives you any inkling what’s on that seventh floor, either. Is Jenna her middle name? Does she even work on 7 or was she running an errand for Mr. King? Or… what? The other possibilities get pretty weird pretty fast, but with how surreal the whole encounter with her was, something weird might be the only thing that makes sense.

Decision time! Voting takes place for patrons $10+ at https://www.patreon.com/icebear. Results will continue to be posted here for free, though, so no pressure. "Brooklyn" rendered by Prospass.

• Ask around. Surely even in a babe-rich environment like Monarch Industries, somebody noticed a woman like Jenna.
• Don’t risk her finding out you’re trying so hard. See instead if you can learn anything about what’s on 7.
• Work out your day, try not to think about it. Maybe you’ve been working too hard? Relax, come back tomorrow refreshed, and start anew.