The Toy I Turned On in the Elevator

The day I decided to try the toy on the way home had been a dead Monday at the office, one of those days when you look at the clock every fifteen minutes and each time you’re still three hours away. At exactly seven, I closed my laptop, put my phone in my bag, and went into the bathroom on the twentieth floor to insert it before heading down.

It was small, pebble-shaped, with a little silicone antenna that sat right against my clitoris when I had it inside me. Ten different patterns and twenty intensity levels, all controlled from my phone. I kept it on random, which is how I enjoy it most: the toy decides, my body obeys. I only modulate the strength; everything else is a surprise.

With my panties pulled back on and my skirt smoothed down, I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I looked immaculate from the waist up. Even I wouldn’t have guessed I was wearing anything inside me. And yet, just walking to the elevator, I could feel the fat little thing pressing inside my pussy and making me gush all at once. I headed to the elevator with my skin taut and my mouth dry.

The building is new, made of glass, with a fast but well-mannered elevator. That night I set it to manual and invented a private game: one more intensity level for every floor I descended. There are twenty floors, coincidentally, so the math worked out by itself.

I barely felt the first five. A comfortable, almost routine tickle. From six to nine, my breathing caught and I began sighing softly, leaning against the back wall. At ten came the serious problem: a firm, constant vibration that no longer gave me time to recover between floors.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen: I clung to the metal bar as if my life depended on it. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen: my legs were no longer my own, and that damned clitoral antenna jabbed me with electric shocks that climbed up my spine. On seventeen, my mouth opened by itself in a hoarse moan. Eighteen, and I closed my eyes, praying that nobody would press the button from another floor.

Nineteen, twenty. Maximum level. And the elevator taking its sweet fucking time opening the doors. I bit my lip until I tasted iron, one hand gripping the bar and the other pressed against the wall to keep from collapsing. When the clink of the bell rang, I shakily lowered it to five, breathed through my nose as if I were about to go skydiving, and made my way out to the lobby.

I came within a hair of cumming inside that elevator. A hair.

I stepped into the cool street air with my pulse pounding in my ears and such dense wetness between my legs that I could feel it sticking my panties to me. Every five steps, the vibration gave me a capricious lash and I stumbled discreetly. Anyone seeing me from a distance would have thought I was leaving work drunk. Perfect: nobody was going to imagine I had a toy shoved halfway into my cunt, dripping inside my bag.

The subway is my sanctuary. The line I take is nearly empty at that hour, and I get the back of the car to myself. This time, luckily, the last row was free. I settled in sideways, let myself slide down a little in the seat, and stretched my legs out, propping my heels against the back of the seat in front. At that angle, my skirt rose by itself, and I had complete control.

I took out my phone as if I were answering an email and pulled my skirt up to my navel. Nobody could see me from the waist down: the few heads in the car rose above the seats, absorbed in their screens. I, however, had soaked panties and the toy’s antenna poking out over the edge of the lace. The wetness showed as a dark stain against the light fabric.

I lowered one level, raised it two, changed the pattern. Short pulse, long pulse, short. My thighs were trembling. With two fingers, I stroked myself over my panties and felt the toy moving inside me, felt my pussy devouring it with little licks. I was getting so wet that I was dripping down underneath, soaking the seat.

I decided to take them off. Very carefully, with my hand beneath my skirt, I tugged at the lace and pulled them down my legs. I stuffed them into my bag in a ball and settled back in, pussy bare, toy vibrating, my skirt covering me just enough to keep me from being completely exposed. I had never dared so much in a subway car. I felt like such a slut that a little giggle escaped me.

Fluid streamed down the crease of my thigh onto the seat. The toy’s antenna, soaked in my juices, splattered little droplets against my skirt with every vibration. I was so horny that just imagining what was happening down there, hidden beneath the fabric, gave me another lash. I closed my eyes, rested my head against the seatback, and gave myself permission.

I slid my hand down to my clitoris beneath my skirt and began stroking it with the pad of my middle finger. It was so swollen that I barely needed to touch it. With my other hand, I changed the intensity levels as if tuning an instrument: twenty, five, eighteen, two, twenty. I was playing with myself, prolonging the edge of orgasm without letting it arrive.

I felt the current in my stomach, that warning signal that rises from my lower belly to my chest. I was right there. Four stops to go. I could make it home with my legs trembling, or I could let myself go right there, at the back of the car, pussy dripping onto the synthetic seat. I chose the second option. I always choose the second option.

Level fifteen, linear pattern. And my finger pressing my clitoris very fast, my cupped palm held like a bowl to catch everything that fell from me. The orgasm tore me open inside with a sharp blow. I bit down on my blouse sleeve so I wouldn’t scream, clenched my teeth, clenched my pussy, clenched everything I had to clench.

The toy’s antenna shot out of me like a bullet. And behind it came a stream that surprised even me: hot, thick, powerful. It splashed my thighs, my skirt, the back of the seat in front of me, and a second burst fell directly onto the subway floor. I couldn’t stop. My whole body trembled, my pussy clenched and clenched and expelled more fluid with every contraction. It streamed down my chin, over my blouse, into my hair when I threw my head back.

When I finally managed to open my eyes, the seat in front of me was soaked, my skirt was stuck to my skin, and the toy was vibrating like crazy on the floor, spinning in circles like a beetle on its back. I picked it up as best I could with my trembling hand and, in a reckless horny impulse, took it to my ass beneath my skirt. I had never done it. I had never dared. But my body was in open mode and didn’t object in the slightest. It slid right in, wet from what had run down behind me. It disappeared inside me completely.

My stop was announced. I stared at the door as if I’d just been woken up. I lowered the level to ten, linear pattern, so it would torture me gradually, and got to my feet with my legs bent and my hair stuck to my temple. My soaked white blouse revealed the lace bra and the tits beneath it, outlined and hard, the nipples stiff as stones. Mascara streaked down my cheekbones.

The street air hit me like a slap. My building is directly across the street, past a small park. I could make it. I just had to get there. And not cum on the way, because the toy was still moving in my ass with that unbearable linear vibration that didn’t let up for even a second.

I crossed the park slowly, leaning on every bench, lamppost, and tree. With every step, the vibration climbed inside me and made me grit my teeth. When I reached the entrance, someone came out at that exact moment and held the door for me. I didn’t even look at them. I mumbled a thick “thank you” and somehow made it into the lobby. The expression on the person leaving must have been priceless; that night I was far beyond giving explanations.

I waited for the elevator, leaning against the mailboxes. During the minute it took to come down, I made my decision: level twenty, right there inside my ass, and let God decide what happened. I pressed the button before getting in. The electric shock hit me all at once. I almost screamed.

Once inside the elevator, I closed my eyes, gripped the bar with both hands, spread my legs, and let out a long moan that bounced off the metal walls. Ten floors. Ten floors standing with maximum power inside my ass. My juices ran down my thighs to my heels and then dripped onto the elevator floor with a dry little sound. If I touched myself, I would cum. And I didn’t want to. Not yet.

Seven, eight, nine. My knees were genuinely giving way. I was pissing myself with pleasure, literally; I couldn’t tell one thing from the other. Ten, clink. I stepped out onto my landing, took two steps, and collapsed to my knees against the door. The fucking key slipped from my fingers twice. In the end, with barely enough strength even to get up, I threw myself onto my back on the landing floor.

Luckily, I have no neighbors on my floor. I could have screamed and nobody would have heard me. I crawled until I could rest the back of my head against the door, raised my legs against the opposite wall, and spread myself open. With one hand, I undid the two buttons holding my blouse closed and yanked my tits out of my bra. My nipples stood out like two hard olives.

With my other hand, I reached the toy’s little tail and began moving it in and out of my ass, without pulling it all the way out, while my first hand moved down to my clitoris. Level twenty for the first time inside my ass, my clitoris worked with rapid circles, both hands moving at a savage rhythm: the orgasm took me by storm.

I screamed. I screamed with my head thrown back and my mouth open. And through that open mouth, part of the stream I shot against the wall of the landing fell onto me. It splattered the ceiling, the upper edge of the frame, the floor. I swallowed what landed on my lips and spat out what was left, only to swallow it again. I love it. I love tasting myself when I’m like this.

And it didn’t stop. Every contraction of my pussy was another stream, and with the toy moving inside my ass, every contraction arrived with another one on top of it. I convulsed. My soaked hair fell over my face and stuck to my eyes. I was sprawled on the landing of my own home, tits out, panties off, blouse soaked, the toy slipping from my ass from the force of the clenching, dripping in waves.

When my body finally released me, exhausted, I didn’t know how long I’d been there. With the little strength I had left, I turned off the toy. The silence of the landing struck me like a punch. I lowered my legs, slid down the door until I was sitting, and only then opened my eyes.

The mess was epic. It looked as though someone had tipped one bucket of water onto the floor, another against the wall, and another over me. I stared at the ceiling of the landing—there were stains all the way up—and laughed to myself, hoarse and happy. Then I managed to get the key into the lock, crawled inside, and shut the door with a weak kick.

I never understood where my body gets so much fluid. It’s tiny; it shouldn’t. But I’ve known for years that I have this ability, and I also know I’m never going to stop using it. Nobody has ever seen me cum the way I came that night, alone, on the landing outside my own apartment, with an internet-bought toy vibrating inside my ass.

And I still had the shower to look forward to.