Just stroking in this elevator, lowkey hope I get caught [Elevator]
In the grimy, fluorescent glow of the elevator, I’m pressed against the cool metal wall, pants around my ankles, cock in hand. The riser hums and rattles, a dull roar echoing in the shaft as I stroke myself, eyes glued to the closing doors. My heart pounds, a fucking jackhammer in my chest, each beat urging my fist to pump faster. I’m taking a risk, hoping some stranger walks in on my filthy display. The elevator jerks, climbing higher, and I groan, squeezing the head of my dick, imagining a pair of judging eyes on me. My balls tighten, swinging with each brutal tug. I want to get caught, want to see the shock and lust on some unsuspecting face. The elevator dings, doors sliding open briefly to reveal an empty hallway before closing again. I spit on my hand, coating my shaft, fucking into my fist harder, grunting like a savage. The risk of being busted heightens every sensation, every nerve ending screaming for release.
The elevator lurches to a stop, doors creaking open. I freeze, cock throbbing in my hand, as a shadow darkens the threshold. A gasp escapes my lips, a mix of fear and excitement, as a stranger steps in, eyes widening at the sight of my dirty little scene. I don’t stop, can’t stop, as I stare into their shocked face, fist flying over my shaft. “Like what you see?” I growl, voice raspy with need. The stranger swallows hard, taking a tentative step forward. Their eyes are glued to my cock, hungry and desperate. I can see their struggle, the battle between morality and lust. I grin, a twisted, filthy smile, as I stroke myself faster, challenging them to join in or walk away. The elevator dings again, doors sliding shut, trapping us in this sordid dance of voyeurism and exhibitionism.
