Pink, lathered and speckled, it moulded itself around him, shaped by the force of both parties. She trails it around his slit surprisingly accurately, gripping his furred testicles, massaging them as if to encourage climax. Sweat sweetened anticipation and a distinct trace of piss penetrate tastebuds, over and over as her mouth is entered. The spittle is thick and helpful like saline honey; minute bubbles popping as she savours the transparent ooze. It serves its purpose, well. Two rows of her tobacco stained teeth, retract as if trying to hide from the thick stick of flesh; its network of veins, pulsing like restless grubs within its earthy skin. Back and forth she sways with him, as the lift jolts to life. She opens a drunken eye, gripping still the rear pockets of faded jeans as she continues to squat beneath the towering figure and under the dim LED yellow light above. At her eye level, a crimson halo glows, circling the number fourteen of their destination. Her bottom lip clashes with the barbed, gold zipper of an open fly. It hurts slightly, but is numbed by cheap alcohol and well-placed determination. His cum is what she seeks. They climb together in the lift in a silence, broken only by his drunken grunts and the vulgar schlap of their intercourse.

Her once blonde hair, scraggly and matted is grouped into a tight bind, gripped by his beefy palm, like a headhunters gift to an elder. Back and forth he thrusts, into the void of her throat as she yelps, muffled, in a confused pleasure. The floor of the dimpled metallic lift, speckled and unkempt, daubed with names in thick indecipherable fonts, do not distract her. The unsteady wobble of the decrepit lift does not sway her, as her pussy, plugged with a nub of cotton, begins to leak in excitement down the thin fence of thin tights. Its little white tail, sticks to her hind flesh, trailing from her prickly pussy like the tail of a micro-animal.

Sensing his mental location in the ferocity of his thrusts, she reaches to pleasure herself, a stray finger dancing over her swollen clitoris, as she pinches an uncovered nipple, surrendering completely to his force. The lift grinds to an eventual halt, hovering at their destination obediently. The doors, begin grinding metal against metal in an automatic opening, which is overridden by him as he taps ‘level 20′ button frantically. Her fingers, damp and weary tug at the tampon, releasing the plug, only to be replaced by two interlocked digits that dig deeper and deeper. Their eyes lock; his focused frown and her mascara daubed facade from below him. A desire to be fucked, to piss and to something else ineffable, dispute with one another and she fucks herself quicker, her throat welcoming his release as they continue to climb upwards, whirring and scraping in the little metal box, as they go.