Emily felt a contact. She sucked in a breath of electrified dread as her arm was brushed by Her Master's. The man had moved to fold his hands behind him, placing them out of sight. It was an innocuous stance, outwardly innocent, but for Emily it was dangerously threatening given the proximity they shared. The menace was heightened by some subtle pressure, the man pressing his arm into Emily's.

With this trigger, awareness flowed as senses enlivened. Emily could smell Her Master's familiar scent - a rich musky aroma of pure masculinity and did the oddest things to her sex. But there was something else that was new to her - subtle and expensive - a good choice of aftershave in Emily's opinion, splashed onto his trademark black stubble. She could feel Her Master's heat through the material of their clothes. She could hear his steady breathing above the pounding of her own heart. The man radiated confidence and an aura of virility - just his presence was enough to thrill Emily to the core - Her Master's strength winning over the young woman's fears of the moment.

There was another 'ping' which broke Emily's sensory trance. More people got out at the seventh floor, leaving only a couple of men standing a few yards in front of them, both facing away. More silence ensued as the ascent continued. Like before, there was no attempt to engage in conversation, although Emily and Her Master remained pressed together - the man refusing to use the extra space that had just been created. It was awkward. But Emily was gaining some confidence in the bizarre situation as it would appear Her Master didn't intend to humiliate her by some public display of authority.

Then that blossoming confidence was shattered when Emily felt more movement. Out of sight, behind their backs, the man reached over to fondle Emily's ass - stroking the buttocks, giving the buns a good grope, and forcing his fingers into the crack to prod at the hole he'd claimed as his.

Emily was shocked. She was utterly stunned by the audacity of the act. She wanted to flee but she knew she was trapped. All she could do was stand and accept what was happening - keep still as a statue and pray that nothing was detected by the other people in the elevator.

The groping continued, and despite her terror of being exposed as a shameless slut who had allowed this display of public indecency, Emily could feel herself getting embarrassingly aroused - her pussy oozed and her nipples hardened - a sexual flush coloured her face.

Then more horror struck. She could feel the material of her skirt being grabbed. The man pulled it up so the hem rose at the back - it rose at the front as well! From a few inches above the knees, it crept higher and higher in a shameless display. With her fears growing, Emily looked to the panel where only two lighted numbers glowed - 'twelve', which they were approaching, and the other being 'twenty'.

Panic struck. It hit Emily like a fist hard in the solar plexus. Soon they would stop and the doors would open. Would Her Master get out? That seemed unlikely - this was obviously the visit to the top floor he had threatened. The other men would leave though, which would be a relief. But one of them might turn round to make a parting nod, and if he did he would surely spot Emily's dishevelled state and put two and two together. Or even worse - perhaps there would be someone waiting outside, directly facing - someone she knew, going to the top floor. It would be mortifying beyond belief.

Emily turned to Her Master and mouthed the word 'please'. Tears of shame welled in her eyes. She got a grin in reply along with a slow shake of refusal. The hand wasn't removed. The skirt remained disgracefully raised and Emily silently cried.

Ping!

They were there! The twelfth floor had arrived. Emily held her breath as the elevator doors parted, dreading a familiar face with a pair of shocked eyes. But there was no one outside. The corridor was empty. Her luck continued as the final two men left, exiting the elevator without turning round. After an eternity of anguish the door finally closed. Emily breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"That was exciting, wasn't it Blondie?" laughed Her Master once they were safely alone.

Emily let out a nervous croak in response, before managing to utter an affirming, "Yes, Master."

"I thought you would enjoy it, you filthy slut! Now get down on your knees and show me some cock worship. I expect proper thanks for giving you such a thrill."

"But..."

"No buts!" snarled the man, spinning round on Emily and raising his fist in blatant threat. "Now hurry up. We're already passing the fourteenth floor. You don't have much time, and I don't have much patience for slaves who don't obey me!"

Emily knew it was no joke. And she knew she had no will to defy this man even if it led to total disgrace. She sank to her knees before Her Master, and in a blur of motion that looked whorishly hasty she pulled down his zip and battled through the flies, under the briefs to the heat of his cock that had bloated into a fine semi-erection - wonderfully large, but thankfully still pliable. Emily managed to pull it out.

"Sixteen and rising, Blondie," laughed the man, seemingly impervious to his own perilous state that would see him sacked on the spot for such degenerate behaviour, no matter how impressive the dick he was exposing.

Numb with fear, burning with lust - Emily pulled the foreskin back to fully expose the knob. Whilst the generous sized shaft hardened in her hand, Emily slurped the swelling head into her mouth and lashed it with her tongue, tasting the flavour that oozed from the eye.

"Eighteen, Blondie - we're almost there."

Emily made to pull away, assuming this was her cue and the permission to stop. But Her Master grabbed her head and thrust with his hips, stuffing his cock that was now solid as a rock, all the way into Emily's gagging throat.

"Nineteen, Blondie!" the man brazenly chortled as he made a few pumps then quickly withdrew, leaving Emily gasping for air. "Now lick my boots like you did yesterday evening. Carry on licking until I tell you to get up. Show me that I own you, even here on the top floor."

Tears streamed from her horror struck eyes, but Emily obeyed - how could she not. Despair smothered her in a doom laden cloak as she envisaged the scene that was about to be exposed. It wouldn't take an encounter with Donald Harper for this man to end Emily's career. It would be over in a moment, as soon as the elevator stopped and those bloody doors opened with their bitchy little hiss. For in the area directly outside sat a receptionist at her desk - a right little floosie who loved to chat, and was particularly friendly with Tessa Clifford - the evil witch who headed Human Resources and who would then use this information to gleefully crush Emily Johnson with.

Through the blur of tears Emily heard Her Master fumbling. The man rushed to put his cock away as Emily licked the leather of his boots - a pair of highly polished brogues that looked new and expensive just like his suit. Then Emily heard a ping followed by the hiss of doors. Her world had surely come to an end.

"No! You were wrong, Mrs. Johnson!" exclaimed Emily's Master loudly. "It's not on my shoe, I see it over there. Please, get up - what must that poor girl behind the reception desk think!"

Emily was helped to her feet.

"Wipe your eyes," the man whispered before he moved away. He then bent over and pretended to pick something up from the elevator floor.

"Contact lens!" he brightly claimed, addressing the gawping receptionist. "Darn things are forever popping out - I've lost two already this year. Mrs. Johnson thought she saw it on my shoe and was kind enough to try and retrieve it. But her eyesight must be as bad as mine."

Emily was given a courteous nod for her supposed kindness then the man walked away.

"I'm here to see Mr. Ross," he told the receptionist. "He's expecting me of course."

Having taken the advice and quickly dried her eyes before turning around to step out of the elevator, Emily watched all this in a state of bewilderment. The receptionist fluttered her eyelashes, happy to swallow the story, probably happy to swallow a darn site more the way the brazen hussy was flirting, sticking out her surgically enhanced tits, hoping to impress Emily's Master.

"It's the office at the end, to the left then round the corner," she purred, following it up with a sensuous lick of her glossy lips and a flick of her shoulder length hair.

She was given a filthy grin and a devilish wink for her efforts. "Thanks gorgeous," the man said, making the receptionist's day. Then he strutted off manfully like a boxer approaching the ring - two pairs of eyes watching him intently. After a few steps he turned around, raising his right hand in salute to Emily.

"Oh, and thanks again, Mrs. Johnson - it really was most kind of you to get down on your knees like that. So unusual for a woman in your position! But then life is full of little surprises. You just never know what's going to happen next."

A moment later he was gone, having disappeared round the corner. Blushing, Emily set off in the opposite direction, stunned that her legs were up to the task.