He looks about the lobby of the building. There is no-one about, so he darts over to the elevator, gets in and pushes the button for the top floor. As the doors hiss shut, he cannot resist stroking the rubber door-guards.
The trip to the top is over almost before he realises it. He reaches up and loosens the cable running into the back of the surveillance camera. If a security guard should bother to check, he will see nothing untoward. He then pushes the button for the floor immediately below. The doors hiss shut again, and once more his attention is drawn to the smooth black rubber lips. Half-way down, between floors, he pushes the stop button. The elevator jerks to a stop, the squeaking sounds gradually diminish as the dampers compensate for the rocking motion. In the quiet that follows the fading squeaks, he thinks he can hear someone snickering at him. He listens, head cocked to one side. Nothing.
One finger still on the stop button, he reaches over, inserts two fingers between the elevator door-guards, forces the doors apart. Once the doors are open slightly, he releases the stop button. With one hand keeping the doors open, he undoes the front of his jeans, drops his pants and exposes his erection. He moves up to the door, pokes his penis in between the doors, and carefully allows them to close on it. The door-guards softly enfold him, and as they close around his throbbing dick, they sense it as an obstruction, open slightly and try to close again. He smiles as the doors slowly close. He had been trying out elevators all over town, almost getting arrested for indecent exposure in Nauru House, but there were very few elevators in Melbourne that would allow him this pleasure... he had narrowed it down to two particular models installed by Johns and Waygood. The doors make a grating sound, and almost close on him; he has to thrust forward before they retreat with a delightful shuddering feeling. Again, the doors try to close on the obstruction, slowly squeezing his penis between the twin soft rubber lips. He begins to thrust rhythmically as the elevator decides that it is safe to proceed down to the next floor. As his thrusts grow more excited, the doors seperate again, stopping the elevator with a wonderful jolting feeling, almost as if the elevator was humping him in return for his attention. His hands clutch at the smooth metal of the doors in ecstasy. Once the jiggling has settled, the doors slowly press inwards again, until they are squeezing his dick into a slot about half an inch wide. He withdraws to make another stroke, the doors close over the head of his penis and the elevator decides to move on, hesitantly, as if it is not entirely sure if the door is clear or not.
He realises that his dick is caught, and he tries to tug it free with no success. He can't reach the stop button, either; he is utterly at the mercy of the lift. He frantically tries to prise the doors open, but they have locked somehow in the narrow tolerance between the point at which the doors consider themselves fully closed and the point at which the rubber sensors register an obstruction. He tugs again, until the pain becomes too much, and he tries, ineffectively, to lose his erection by sheer will-power. He can no longer tell which floor he's on; the emergency telephone is ringing, but he can't reach it. He decides to try and make the best of it, and pushes forward with all his might. His dick slips through the door-guards, and the head is now caught in the lips on the outside of the door. He is pressed firmly up against the door now, writhing as he approaches climax, when suddenly the elevator hits bottom. The doors spring open, and he ejaculates in relief as the pressure is lifted. He leans there, arms resting on the doors, erect penis poking up at a forty-five degree angle, spurting fluid into the air. He opens his eyes and sees five security guards, seven police, twenty firemen and a `Hinch at Seven' camera crew. He smiles.
The trip to the top is over almost before he realises it. He reaches up and loosens the cable running into the back of the surveillance camera. If a security guard should bother to check, he will see nothing untoward. He then pushes the button for the floor immediately below. The doors hiss shut again, and once more his attention is drawn to the smooth black rubber lips. Half-way down, between floors, he pushes the stop button. The elevator jerks to a stop, the squeaking sounds gradually diminish as the dampers compensate for the rocking motion. In the quiet that follows the fading squeaks, he thinks he can hear someone snickering at him. He listens, head cocked to one side. Nothing.
One finger still on the stop button, he reaches over, inserts two fingers between the elevator door-guards, forces the doors apart. Once the doors are open slightly, he releases the stop button. With one hand keeping the doors open, he undoes the front of his jeans, drops his pants and exposes his erection. He moves up to the door, pokes his penis in between the doors, and carefully allows them to close on it. The door-guards softly enfold him, and as they close around his throbbing dick, they sense it as an obstruction, open slightly and try to close again. He smiles as the doors slowly close. He had been trying out elevators all over town, almost getting arrested for indecent exposure in Nauru House, but there were very few elevators in Melbourne that would allow him this pleasure... he had narrowed it down to two particular models installed by Johns and Waygood. The doors make a grating sound, and almost close on him; he has to thrust forward before they retreat with a delightful shuddering feeling. Again, the doors try to close on the obstruction, slowly squeezing his penis between the twin soft rubber lips. He begins to thrust rhythmically as the elevator decides that it is safe to proceed down to the next floor. As his thrusts grow more excited, the doors seperate again, stopping the elevator with a wonderful jolting feeling, almost as if the elevator was humping him in return for his attention. His hands clutch at the smooth metal of the doors in ecstasy. Once the jiggling has settled, the doors slowly press inwards again, until they are squeezing his dick into a slot about half an inch wide. He withdraws to make another stroke, the doors close over the head of his penis and the elevator decides to move on, hesitantly, as if it is not entirely sure if the door is clear or not.
He realises that his dick is caught, and he tries to tug it free with no success. He can't reach the stop button, either; he is utterly at the mercy of the lift. He frantically tries to prise the doors open, but they have locked somehow in the narrow tolerance between the point at which the doors consider themselves fully closed and the point at which the rubber sensors register an obstruction. He tugs again, until the pain becomes too much, and he tries, ineffectively, to lose his erection by sheer will-power. He can no longer tell which floor he's on; the emergency telephone is ringing, but he can't reach it. He decides to try and make the best of it, and pushes forward with all his might. His dick slips through the door-guards, and the head is now caught in the lips on the outside of the door. He is pressed firmly up against the door now, writhing as he approaches climax, when suddenly the elevator hits bottom. The doors spring open, and he ejaculates in relief as the pressure is lifted. He leans there, arms resting on the doors, erect penis poking up at a forty-five degree angle, spurting fluid into the air. He opens his eyes and sees five security guards, seven police, twenty firemen and a `Hinch at Seven' camera crew. He smiles.
