Chapter One - Justine
Author's note: For those readers following my transvestite and crossdresser stories, I'm taking a break but will finish Biker Bitch soon. I wrote three vignettes while on holidays, they hark back to my forced/reluctance and nylon fetish genre. The pantyhose and stocking crowd will like them I'm sure.
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The elevator stopped suddenly between the twelfth and thirteenth floors. The lights went out and suddenly all was quiet except for the sounds of the two occupants breathing in the silence.
A small LED above the floor buttons provided the only illumination.
The Prudential Building had over thirty floors with a bank of six elevators to service them. Justine had never been caught in an elevator like this before, but some of her colleagues had told her stories of being trapped for up to half an hour when the elevators malfunctioned.
Justine was pleased to hear the whirr of the fan and feel the cooling effects of the air conditioning; at least she wouldn't have to sweat while she waited for the elevator to commence its journey to the ground floor.
Justine was wearing her usual mid-week work attire. A navy-blue business suit, jacket cinched tight over her small but pert breasts; her skirt, a little shorter than most of the lawyers in her office wore to work. The hem rested a good eight inches above her knees.
She wore a plain white silk blouse; her company had a dress code, which some of the younger staff found restrictive, but Justine was pragmatic. If you wanted to be taken seriously then you should dress seriously, she thought.
Justine wore her brunette hair in a bob that rested on her shoulders and bangs on her eyebrows; she also knew that some of the younger staff members thought she was dowdy that way, but she preferred a more traditional look.
Her feet, which she always thought were too large being a lady's size nine, were shod in black high heels. At home she had two pairs of Christian Louboutin's which were her one tilt to extravagance, as she was a very frugal lady.
Justine had had just five beaus in her thirty-nine years. One had taken her virginity at the age of twenty-three, late in life she knew, but she had no time for frivolity or romance; she was nearly forty and she was a Senior Associate at a law firm and going places, she hoped to make Partner this year.
Her makeup was very precise. Black eyeliner and mascara, aqua hued eyeshadow, rouged cheeks and ruby red lipstick; she wasn't stupid enough to think that looks didn't count, even in her chosen profession; that's why her skirt was so short, to show off her best asset; her legs.
Justine wore Wolford Neon 'Gobi' pantyhose or tights as the English called them. At nearly fifty dollars a pair they were an expensive luxury but she loved them. She thought the pantyhose were amazing to wear for business and even with evening attire; although she often wore stockings to go out on the town. The Wolford's had just enough shimmer to make her legs glow and had a natural tan look while slimming and holding everything in. They were almost like dancer tights and didn't stretch out or pull even after wearing for a week straight. Justine often did get a week's work out them and when asked how come they lasted so long, she said she refused to kneel or stretch while working in them. She jokingly quoted the actress Jan Stirling: 'I don't go to church; kneeling bags my nylons'.
In a world where women eschewed stockings and pantyhose as a subservient deference to female stereotypes invented by men, Justine loved the look and feel of expensive hosiery. She knew that some of the younger female staff at the firm talked about her behind her back; commenting that she was some sort of throwback to a world where men dominated the corporate world and dictated women's work attire. But when she looked at her colleague's blotched white legs sometimes ludicrously fake-tanned with commercial bronzers, she laughed inwardly.
Justine was actually a fan of the TV show 'Mad Men' and adored the retro fashions and the exotic hosiery that the actresses wore.
But back to the here and now and Justine was starting to feel a little claustrophobic in the confines of the dark elevator.
The man standing behind her did nothing; nor did her utter a word. Weren't men supposed to take charge in these sorts of situations?
Justine slammed her finger into the button for the ground floor half a dozen times, her red-painted long fingernail splitting with the force.
"Shithouse mouse!" she barked and bit off the shard of broken fingernail.
The elevator didn't budge. Justine felt the man behind her take a step forward but he remained silent.
Justine jumped when the man brushed against her but then she realised he was only reaching for the emergency phone. The man felt around in the dark and found the handle to the little compartment and took out the phone. He held it to his ear briefly and than rapped it against the wall of the elevator. He grunted as he returned it to the little compartment; it obviously wasn't working either.
"Why is it so dark in here!" Justine whined.
There was no reply; just the man's heavy breathing.
"How long do think it will take them to realise we are trapped in here?" she turned her head and looked over her shoulder into the gloom.
There was no reply. The man remained silent. She could smell his aftershave, something expensive but not too obtrusive. She hadn't taken much notice of him when she'd entered the elevator, her mind lost in thoughts of which Weight Watchers meal to microwave for dinner and how many of glasses of wine she could drink to stay below her daily calorie count.
Justine seemed to be constantly dieting but never losing weight. She wasn't fat by any means; but she was buxom and carried a few extra pounds on her derriere and her breasts, and she had a little pot belly. Her last lover had liked her buxomness but in a world where women were defined in how well they filled their skinny jeans, she insisted on trying to slim down, even though she was nearly forty.
Her thoughts abruptly returned to the present when she felt the man's breath on her neck; she sensed that he was standing right behind her; that he'd stepped closer. His breath was sweet; like he'd just used mouthwash or was chewing gum.
Justine put a hand behind her in the darkness then quickly retracted it when her finger brushed against the man; it felt like his leg but the touch was so quick she couldn't tell. She heard him grunt and there was no doubt that he'd taken another step forward.
