What Was I Thinking . . .

I generally don't mention it, but I suffer from OCD. Normally, I would say I have a good handle on it. Decades of experience have left me able to cope with most situations. Yes, I do space out and count. Yes, I do obsessively arrange things given the chance. Usually, though, I am able to push through and do what needs to be done. This time, however, I may have bitten off more than I can chew. It sounded like a good idea. The hubs and I have had a waterbed for the last thirty years. Lately, however, it has become less comfortable for me, and hard to get in and out of. So I splurged and bought an adjustable gel-foam mattress bed. My son and his girlfriend are ecstatic - they get to abandon my college futon and take over the waterbed (and I am going to miss those storage drawers in the base, believe me). All seemed good . . .until the day the changeover started. Suddenly my living room is piled high with bins and boxes of the kids' stuff, not to mention the new mattresses and foundation. In other words, you can't move five inches! My room is torn asunder, stuff piled willy nilly without a home (and that is really driving me crazy), cats into everything!! I should be working on my next short story for the hot-off, I should be getting ready for my trip to Vegas on Saturday . . .but, instead, I am counting and tapping and worrying that I may never again have a place to rest my weary head!

So, to offset my extended whining and further distract myself - here is my first round winning short from the Hot-Off.  Enjoy!

Bad enough his destination was on the 26^th floor, forcing him to take the elevator. That it was one of the glass walled models only increased the churning pool of dread in his stomach. Don't look, don't look, it's perfectly safe. The refrain drummed through his brain, dissolving into meaningless babble. Eyes squeezed shut, he studiously ignored the bodies pushing past him as they came and went on the slow crawl upwards. Nearly there. An arm brushed his and the death box ground to a halt.

“You don't like elevators.” The soft voice in his ear startled him out of his rising panic. “I think I can help you with that.” A firm hand grasped the back of his neck, pinning him in place against the cool metal of the door.

He was torn between submission and outrage when his pants were unfastened and tugged down, leaving his ass bared to the world below. “Are you worried they can see you?” He drank in the comforting scent of smoke and pine, echoes of bonfires and wide open spaces. “But you like it. You're already hard for me.”

The only sounds were the rasp of a zipper and his gasps for air. He was unwilling to examine whether his breathlessness was due to fear or excitement. The stretch and burn of penetration only made him harder, his cock painting sticky trails of precum across the shiny metal. “Hands behind your head, no touching.” The pressure on his neck eased as he followed instructions. And then the cock inside him began to move. Hard and insistent, it drove all thought from his mind. “Sorry to rush, but if we stay still for too long someone will come and investigate. I'm sure you don't want that.” That thought, coupled with the unerring brushes of his prostate had him teetering on the edge.

Sharp teeth latched onto the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder and he was undone, cum painting abstract patterns on brushed aluminum. The answering rush of warmth deep inside brought the first smile to his face. The softening cock withdrew, only to be replaced with the unyielding hardness of a plug. “It wouldn't do to have you leaking all afternoon. Besides, I like the idea of my cum inside you.”

“No peeking.” The elevator once more began to move. “Don't forget to clean up your mess” The door slid open and a large body brushed past. “Same time next week in the sky tower north elevator. And don't worry, we'll soon have you past this little problem of yours.”

The door slid shut, leaving only a parting echo. “See you at home. I'll pick up Chinese.”