Try to call for help

The lights flicker haphazardly and the elevator is quiet, unmoving. The doors remain frozen as the floor indicator shows you between floors. You check the buttons, but they’re not even lighting up. You press the big red button with the exclamation sign on it. It buzzes loudly but you don’t hear any response. Then, you remember there is an emergency phone above. You open up the panel and pull the old fashioned phone receiver off the hook.

“Hrla? Huah ga..?” you blurb. Something is wrong with your voice. You start to panic, then you feel a hand reach around and grab your cock. It starts to rub and you remember the reality you’re in. “Uh… thanks,” you tell your ex, then turn back to the phone. “Hello? Anyone there?” you repeat yourself.

“Hey, playboy,” you hear Tad on the other end. His tone is no longer the laid back party host, there is trepidation in there. “We have a slight problem here…” he explains.

“I’ve noticed,” you understate.

“Yeah… elevator’s on the fritz… I’m going to call in the techies to try and get it up and running, so you guys hang in there, cool?”

“Not like we have much of a choice,” you grumble. “How long do you think they’ll be?”

“Oh, ten, maybe fifteen minutes… to a couple of hours… who knows?” Tad estimates. “Listen, I gotta go get my guy over right away, you guys sit tight!”

“2 hours?! Wait! Tad! Tad!”

There is no response. You sigh and hang up.

“What did he say?” Desiree asks.

“It could be a while,” you tell her.

As panicked as you were at the start, Desi appears to be even more frantic. Her eyes grow as large as saucers and her skin goes pale. “I can’t… I can’t be stuck here… I need… I need air…” she starts to ramble, looking around for an escape.

“Des! Des! Get a hold of yourself!” you tell her, grabbing her by the arms and looking her square in the eyes. “Look at me. Look at me, you’re going to be alright!”

Gradually, the stress in Desiree’s panic stricken face begins to ease. She takes her hand off your cock and wraps her arms around you for a hug. You squeeze back, reassuringly. As you embrace, the blonde mounts herself onto your manhood so that you can keep talking.

“You know… you’ve always been able to keep me level,” she admits in a quiet voice.

“Well, you’ve always been able to push me to do things I never would have done on my own,” you admit back.

Desi presses her forehead to yours and says, “I’m sorry things didn’t work out and I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to tell you to your face…”

“You were always running away from your problems,” you tell her.

“And you were always pointing out my mistakes!” she replies defensively.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know, but aggh! It’s always like this!” she grumbles. “Everytime you’re around, it makes me feel like trash!”

You are at a loss for words. Desi climbs off of you. “You know, maybe it’d be better if we just wait on our own…”

“Des, I’m sorry if I made you feel bad,” you try to apologize. She’s already on the other side of the elevator. One of the drawbacks of sexual contact for communicating is when someone doesn’t want to listen, they don’t have to. You let out a sigh and lean back against the wall as Desiree pulls out her phone and starts to scroll through it. You check your pocket for your phone and remember you don’t have pants on.

Sydney did give you your belt with your wallet and keys and to your relief, your phone is there as well. You open it and check your messages. It’s a garbled mess. You glance over at Desiree. She’s busy browsing her phone, finger in pussy. As weird as it is, you stroke your cock in front of her and the words become legible.

There’s not much going on. Sydney sent you a message. It’s a pic of her and her gal pals drinking it up with a group of guys they met at the club. She texts you, “You’re missing out on a good time!”

You text back, “Stuck in the elevator.”

A minute later, she responds, “OMG! What happened?”

You reply, “Elevator broke down and won’t open. In here with Desi.”

You get a head exploding emoji for a response.

You send back a blank face emoji.

“At least you’ll have a chance to get your closure, she can’t run away from you now!” Sydney points out.

You glance over at Desi again. She’s on the floor, fidgeting anxiously.

“Are you alright?” you ask her.

“Is it hot in here or is it just me?” she asks, pulling off her jacket and tugging at the top of her dress.

“You’re just getting antsy,” you tell her.

She gives you a dirty look. “Ever the expert!” she quips.

You hold your hands up in peacefully. You don’t want to set her off in a closed space. Maybe there’s a better way to approach this. Desiree stands up and starts to pace around again.

“There’s not enough air in here! We’re going to suffocate before they can get us out!” She worries nervously.

You’re about to tell her that she’s worrying over nothing since this isn’t an air tight box and you have airflow through the elevator doors, but hold your tongue. The last thing you want is to be stuck in an argument with your ex while trapped in this box for who knows how long.