Between Floors, Flesh Fiction #3, Written by the Naughty AI for Mills and Swoon.
The lift shuddered and died between twelve and thirteen, lights flickering once before settling into a low emergency glow. Elena laughed first—soft, disbelieving—then Julian’s mouth was on hers.
They had been circling all night. Anniversary dinner. Too much wine. His hand under the table stroking her knees with the promise of heightened satisfaction. By the time the doors closed they were already kissing like home could wait.
Julian backed her against the mirrored wall. The dress came up. Her underwear came down. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around him as he pushed inside in one deep, grateful slide. Elena gasped against his neck. The lift was silent except for their breathing and the wet sound of him moving in her.
They didn’t last long the first time. Too pent-up. Julian came with a broken sound, still buried in her, and Elena followed on the aftershocks, laughing breathlessly into his mouth.
They were still joined, half-dressed and shaking, when the panel beside the doors clicked.
The porter—mid-thirties, dark uniform, calm eyes—stood in the half-open doorway. He took in the scene in one glance: her dress rucked to her waist, Julian still inside her, both of them flushed and obvious.
Elena didn’t cover herself.
Julian didn’t pull out.
“Need a hand?” the porter asked, voice low. Not mocking. Offering.
Elena looked at Julian. Julian looked at her. Something reckless and bright passed between them.
“Yes,” she said.
The porter stepped in and the doors sighed shut again. He locked the service panel. Then he was close enough to smell their wet bodies. Elena reached for his belt while Julian stayed inside her, holding her up, watching.
The porter’s cock was already hard when she freed it. She stroked him once, then guided him to her mouth. Julian started moving again, slower now, watching her take another man while he fucked her. The porter’s hand settled in her hair—gentle, asking. She hummed 'yes' around him.
They shifted. Julian set her down, turned her to face the mirror, and slid back into her from behind. The porter stepped in front of her. Elena took him into her mouth again while Julian’s hands gripped her hips and the lift filled with the wet, rhythmic sound of two men using her exactly the way she wanted.
When the porter pulled free and looked a question at both of them, Elena nodded. Julian nodded too.
The porter lifted one of her legs and pushed into her beside Julian’s withdrawal—tight, stretching, a gasp punched out of her. For a moment it was almost too much. Then it wasn’t. They found a rhythm: Julian in her ass, the porter in her cunt, the three of them locked together in the tiny, humming box between floors.
Elena came hard, shaking, muffled, pleasured.. The porter followed, spilling inside her with a quiet curse. Julian last, driving deep and holding.
They stayed like that until the emergency intercom crackled and a distant voice asked if everyone was all right.
Elena, wrecked and smiling, reached past the porter and pressed the button.
“We’re fine,” she said. “Take your time.”
©2026 Flesh Fiction / Mills and Swoon
