The Wicked Wednesday prompt, Champion, can mean a person who has surpassed all rivals in an encounter.
That has rarely happened to me but it did in round eight of the Smut Marathon. There were tight restrictions in play:
- A man and a woman (strangers to each other) are stuck in a lift for hours.
- At least 30% of dialogue in your story.
- No scenes that can be classified as BDSM.
- Maximum 1000 words.
Perhaps I am good with constraints 😉 because, overall, my story – Time Off – came top of that round. I celebrated being champion for the moment with a G & T, as I doubt it will happen again. In fact, yesterday I wrote my first draft for the next round and this morning deleted it.
Here’s my tale.
Preoccupied, I jumped into the lift, one thumb pressing send on a work text at 17:45. The other hit the button marked ‘gym’, reeling from meeting Taylor, my boss. He’d explained that top-drawer broker accounts usually went to the Oxbridge crew, but all the hard work I’d put in had earned me this big chance.
What he meant was, working-class heroes don’t normally get a look-in. I’d grown up with Mum on a Catford council estate. Local grammar school, then Durham University, one of the best.
After two bottles of Moet, we snorted a line. Putting an arm around me, “I’m depending on you son.”
I was still processing this when with a shuddering jolt the lights flickered and the lift ground to a halt. I fell forward onto the steel doors.
Next thing I knew sweat crept down my temples. Light-headed, I inhaled as the dull thud of my heart echoed in my ears. In the grim dark I found my phone and clicked torch. 17:55. The small space lit up.
Turning I saw her. “Hello.”
“What? Fuck.” I clasped my forehead, dizzy and disorientated.
“The lift jammed between floors. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m OK.” I lied.
“I think you hit your head.”
“Could’ve. It’s a bit tender.”
“I’m Cas – Cassandra Hatman.”
“Eh – lemme see if I can call someone. I’m Fraser. ”
“Wow. Very technical phone. I’ve never seen one so colourful and streamlined.” She had a plummy accent.
“The latest model. Work gave it to me. Would you Adam and Eve it? No bloody signal.” 18:02.
“Don’t worry. The lift will start up soon.”
Slightly alarmed I stabbed at the emergency switch.
“I shouldn’t even be here, Fraser.” Attempting to distract me. “I was heading home and thought I’d take a look at the new gym. Perhaps even sign up.”
She was twenty-something, no make-up, didn’t need any. Skin almost translucent and her lips had a sexy pink tinge.
“The gym ain’t new. Great equipment though.” It opened ages ago. “Do you work near ‘ere? ”
“As of yesterday. I’m from Gloucester. It’s so different – these London girls look like supermodels and I… I need to lose a few pounds.” Her nose crinkled as she spoke.
Having a quick gander at her breasts in that midi-dress, I thought she looked great, stylish, kind of retro. She was built, alright. The tight belt emphasised her toned abs. This was one hot bitch.
“We could all do wiv a bit of exercise.” Wanting out, I let my mind wander. I would relish putting Cas through her paces.
I’ll undo some buttons on that dress.
My cock stirred.
Her tits will spill over a black lacy bra. Slipping the dress from her shoulders I’ll make short work of the clasp. Her skin will be smooth, dancing with freckles.
“I read this story once in a magazine,” her voice broke my trance. “Readers Digest. Anyway, it was about a faulty lift. The people inside sat down. You know, to conserve energy. We could try that?”
I sat. 18:55.
Then, I’ll weigh the heaviness of her boob in my hand. Look for a reaction in her wide blue eyes.
I was getting hotter, anxious. My pulse was speeding, the walls seemed to be closing in. Adrenalin burned in my veins – senses in overdrive. When she finally sat opposite, cross-legged, I smelled the warm perfume of her cunt and slumped back into the daydream.
Undoing the belt, her dress will fall – inviting curves exposed.
Blinking, I shook my head.
“Fraser, are you OK? You’ve gone rather pale.”
My breathing was shallow and my left arm ached.
“To be honest Cas, I feel like shit. Can’t see clearly.”
“It might help if we chat some more. Instead of me droning on why don’t you tell me some stuff about yourself?”
“Well, I work so bloody ‘ard I got no time for a social life.”
Stretching my sore arm. ” I’m trying to get ripped but I like the drink too much – and the rest,” I confessed.
“Fraser, listen. It’s important. You really have got to take care of yourself. The clock’s always ticking – we only get one shot, then it’s gone.”
Engaging yet melodic, her voice lulled me back to the fantasy.
Just in skimpy panties now, dark hair falling over luscious tits. Nipples rubbing on my crisp white shirt.
“Here, have a drink of water.” Handing me a bottle.
“Ta.” 19:30. I took a large gulp.
She’ll sigh as my hand explores inside her knickers. A girl like her won’t wax. I ‘ll tug her pubic hair before fingering her cunt. She’ll be wet already.
My cock pushed against my Calvin Klines.
She”ll grind onto my fingers as our tongues meet, hungry.
The lift lurched. Falling against my chest her lips momentarily brushed mine. We clung together as the lift clanked and shook.
“Fuck, it’s going down!” I yelled mouth parched.
She’ll grab my cock and it’ll swell – I’ll have no choice but to unzip my fly and –
“Hold onto me, you’ll be fine,” she whispered. I pulled her close as if my life depended on it.
The floor disappeared beneath us, snatching the phone from my hand.
Time stood still.
00:00. A violent jerk, then a deathly hush. The doors opened and I zoned out.
The hospital said my head was fine but my lifestyle was not. Nearing a coronary at thirty-one. And apparently, I’d been alone in the lift. Dumbfounded, I googled her name.
“07/07/1999 – 26-year-old Cassandra Hatman died following a lift failure in the Zenox Building, due to an electrical fault. The shaft was scheduled for maintenance after the opening of a gym.”
Nineteen years ago, same lift. A glitch in time? Her voice reverberated in my head, the clocks’s ticking, you really have got to take more care of yourself.
Confused but convinced, I rang work.
“Hi Mr Taylor. I am gonna need some time off.”
I have to mention all the stories were amazing – another reason why I was very chuffed at my achievement for this round. Sadly, a couple of my favourite writers left the competition.
Header photo from Pixabay.