Cold Caller Pt. 02

My name's Clare. I'm 24 and single, I work in the finance department of a legal firm, and a mystery couple keep phoning me at random times to hear me masturbate to orgasm while I listen to them having kinky sex.

The calls always start the same way: a woman's voice saying "he's fucking me again." And she tells me what he's doing to her, as he does it. They're into bondage, so she tells me how he's tied her up or tied her down or whatever, and what she's wearing, so that I can visualise it.

I don't know who they are, or why they picked me. After a while, I gave them names: Mia and Guy. Mia, because "he's fucking ME A-gain," and Guy because she always refers to him as "my guy". Mia sounds American to me, but I'm terrible with accidents, so I could be wrong. Guy's never said a word.

Usually, they call in the evening, which works for me because I'm almost always home, and almost always alone: aside from being single, I'm also barely making rent, and I'm not good in social situations with new people - hence the "single" part. That means it's not usually a problem for me to talk to Mia and ask her questions, or to strip naked and break out a vibrator or a wand and go to town (they really get off on hearing me come - it usually pushes one or both of them over the edge).

But they don't always call in the evening. Sometimes, their calls are....well, let's say they can be unfortunate in their timing.

I'm walking through a shopping mall: "He's fucking me again. I'm strapped down over the coffee table..."

I'm waiting for my coffee at Starbucks': "He's fucking me again. I'm on my back on the swing..."

On the bus on the way home: "He's fucking me again. I'm spreadeagled on the square frame..."

I've taken to carrying a bullet vibrator in my purse. It was an expensive one - more than I could really afford - but it was listed as "really quiet" which is something you need when you're diving into a public toilet in desperate need of a wank.

The most recent call came while I was still at work. It was approaching the end of the financial quarter, and department heads always get jumpy around that time, worrying about hitting their targets and setting budgets for the next quarter, so we're always very busy. All of us in my team - Lucy, Mitesh, Martin, Tariq and me - had been working late into the evening every day that week.

"Right, that's me," Lucy said, eventually, closing her laptop with a snap. "Andrew and I drew the evening shift tonight." She put on her coat, and grabbed her bag.

"Evening shift?" Martin asked, looking up from his screen.

"With Andrew's mum."

Martin looked blank.

"After her hip operation?" Lucy said, slightly exasperated. "The family have drawn up a rota for who visits her at home while she's convalescing. It's us tonight."

"Ah, right." Martin nodded, turning back to his screen.

Lucy glared dramatically at the back of his head. They'd had this conversation - or something like it - several times, now. If it didn't affect him, Martin didn't care, and it didn't stick. She stuck out her tongue at him, then grinned at me, before giving me a wave and escaping to an evening that, if not better, was at least different.

I should perhaps explain the team, here. If you looked at the org chart, we all reported to the Finance Director, but Tariq was team leader. Martin should have been, as Martin had been with the department since the last Ice Age (or perhaps the one before), but Martin was, well, Martin. Competent enough at what he did, but with zero understanding of how people worked, as a concept or in reality.

Martin was mid-forties. He wore glasses over his bearded, somewhat ruddy face, both badges of honour in his obsession for real ale. He covered his growing beer belly with worn-out jumpers that should have been reclassified as bio-hazards, and then burned from a distance under controlled circumstances. And he smoked; you couldn't get near him without hitting the cloud of nicotine fumes that seeped out of his clothing and every fibre of his being.

Such a catch, as they say.

"Screw it," Tariq said. "We're not going to get this wrapped up in the next two hours. I say we take a break for food."

Tariq was a considerable improvement on Martin. Early-to-mid-thirties, with a handsome face, neatly trimmed beard and smart dress sense, Tariq's main hobby was fitness. His suit jacket hung on the coat stand. He'd loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves hours ago. As he stood and stretched, his crisp white shirt and well-pressed trousers showed the outline of the muscular frame that he had honed through nightly gym sessions. He cycled to work daily, and each morning his cycling shorts showed that his physical attributes weren't all the result of working out. He and his girlfriend Divya from Marketing went running each lunchtime, and watching the pair of them bounce lithely past the windows in lycra, all taut quads, solid glutes and eye-catching chests, was like being present for the filming of a Nike commercial.

Tariq was a good team leader - he could at least treat people as human, and he had an easy, confident manner - but his fitness obsession could be deadly if you were caught alone with him for a while. No matter the topic of conversation, he'd turn the focus to working out somehow. Not in a boastful manner - it just genuinely appeared to be all that he thought about. He and Divya were made for each other, in that respect.

"I'd love to get an hour alone with him," Lucy had said once, when we were hanging out at my place, "if only I could figure out a way to stop him talking." And then she'd said, "Hmm. Actually, I can think of several ways," and cackled to herself.

Martin spun lazily in his chair to face Tariq. "I could murder a curry," he said.

Tariq grabbed a pile of takeaway menus from the top of a filing cabinet and sat down again, interrupting my contemplation of his fabulous butt. "You can always murder a curry. We had curry last night. How about something different?"

"There are different curries," Martin noted. "And you like curry."

"I do," Tariq agreed, "but it's good to have options. We could have Chinese. Pizza. Japanese. Thai. Sushi. Italian. Fish and chips. Mitesh," he added, turning to face the junior member of the team, "what would you like?"

Mitesh had only been with us a year, having joined the firm straight from college. He was still shiny and new, as if recently unwrapped. Short, thin, with a baby face, Mitesh was also boy-band pretty to look at. He didn't drink or smoke, and while he didn't do any exercise as such, he spent every Friday and Saturday night dancing madly in nightclubs with the boundless energy of a puppy on a pure espresso diet.

"Yeah, get Mitesh to choose - that'll work," Martin sneered. Actually, Martin sneered everything - his voice had a nasal quality which meant he couldn't avoid it. But in this case, he was right: Mitesh was honestly enthusiastic about anything and everything, and could be relied on to be incapable of taking a stand.

"I'm happy with anything, as long as there's a vegetarian option," Mitesh said, true to form.

"There are vegetarian curries," Martin said, with what he probably thought was wit.

Tariq turned to me. "Maybe it's Clare's turn to decide?"

I was saved from having to offer my opinion by my phone ringing.

"Hello?" I said.

"He's fucking me again," I heard Mia say. "I'm kneeling on the floor, face down on the bed, and he's fucking me from behind."

I wasn't about to have this conversation in front of my male colleagues. "Personal call," I said to the others. I grabbed my purse and started walking quickly to the toilets. "I'm at work right now," I said as I walked.

Mia laughed. "Can't talk, huh? Well, I can't talk for long, either, so listen close. I'm in stockings, suspenders and heels. My panties are down around my thighs, and my hands are tied behind my back. My hair's in a pony tail so that he can pull on that or on my collar. There's a glass bowl on the floor beside me; if you hear that ring, it'll be because he's just pulled out the butt plug for anal. Hope you've got all that, girl, 'cause here comes the ball-gag. Mmmff."

Mia said all this as I made my way down the corridor and into the ladies' facilities. The cubicles were all open, thankfully, so I stepped into the first and closed the door. I could hear Mia's slight "mmf, mmf, mmf" as Guy put more effort into fucking her. He's usually gentle at first, while she paints her picture, and then he gets more enthusiastic once she's done.

I put my phone down briefly while I hitched up my skirt, then I put the phone back to my ear, sucked briefly on the fingers of my other hand to moisten them, then pushed them into my knickers. "Ohhh," I said, without meaning to, as I started to rub.

"Uh, uh, uh, uh," Mia was saying, as Guy fucked her.

Guy was gagging her, she'd said. That was new. And....exciting, I admitted to myself. So she wouldn't be describing what Guy was doing to her as it happened, this time, or answer any questions. I was going to have to speculate, based on what I could hear. I smiled briefly at the thought of the boys in the office hearing this. What would they have thought?

Yes, what would they have thought? I imagined answering the phone in the officer and, instead of standing and making for the safety of the ladies, just switching the phone to speaker and placing it on the desk. I pictured myself in a much shorter, tighter, sluttier skirt than the one I was currently wearing. Swinging the chair round to face them, I spread my legs, pull some Victoria's Secret knickers to one side, seductively lick my fingers, and slip them inside - all the while, keeping eye contact with Tariq.

The three of them - no, wait, screw that; to hell with Martin, he doesn't get to see me like this, even in a fantasy - especially in my fantasy - the two of them look at me with shocked expressions that turn to lust.

"I'm in the office," I say to Mia. The boys are watching me fingering myself. Now they're taking out their stiff cocks and stroking them." And from the phone, I hear Mia's muffled wailing as this revelation makes Guy pound her with renewed vigour.

I tried to piece together what Mia had said, about how Guy had arranged her this time. Kneeling on the floor, face down on the bed, doing her from behind. And her hands were tied...behind her back? Yes, that's what she had said. I thought about what that was like. If I were in that position, I'd probably be flat on the duvet, unable to hold my balance as he pushed into me.

I leaned back against the wall, in the cubicle, giving myself a little more access. I imagined myself standing, now, and Tariq turning me to face away from him. Slipping his loosened tie over his head, he grasps my wrists, crosses them behind my back, and slips the tie over them before pulling it tight. He pushes me down, bending me over onto the desk. My slutty skirt is so short he doesn't even need to hitch it up; he pulls my knickers down to my thighs, like Mia, and shoves his hard penis inside. "Mmm," I said, at the thought.

Tariq thrusts into me, in time with Mia's gasps. Again, and again. My knees are bent, so I'm lying on the desk, on my face. He moves his hands to my thighs, pulling me to him with each thrust, getting deeper. My breathing gets faster and shorter.

Mia's moans changed, becoming a little more distinct, less muffled. She still sounded gagged, so her face must have been lifted away from the bedding; Guy must have been lifting her, somehow. Was he pulling on her hands or arms, perhaps? Or her shoulders? No - she'd mentioned a collar, and wearing her hair in a ponytail, for him to grab.

Okay, then - Tariq reaches forwards and grabs a handful of my hair, pulling my head up a little. Not hard, not painfully - the pressure is spread across the back of my head, and is enough to hold my face clear of the desk as he thrusts, going deep each time. The thought of being tied up and held like this, while being screwed, is far more exciting than I expect, and he makes me come strongly.

In the cubicle, I rubbed frantically, and shuddered my way through an orgasm as quietly as I could, though a long "Ohhh god" escaped. Mia and Guy must have heard, as their pace picked up too, and soon Mia was moaning through her own climax, distorted through the gag. Guy wasn't done, though - he was still pounding after she subsided.

I thought about the gag, and what that must feel like. I'd neglected Mitesh, in my fantasy, so I imagined that I had his penis in my mouth as Tariq screwed me. I'm sucking as best I can. I can't use my hands, as Tariq still has them tied. I'm over the corner of the desk, and each thrust from Tariq pushes me onto Mitesh's erection. I moan in time to the thrusts; they escape from my lips, muffled by the cock in my mouth. "Mmff! Mmff! Mmff!"

Mia's gasps stopped, and I couldn't hear Guy's grunts of exertion either. Perhaps he was changing the position in some way, or he was getting ready to come on her?

There was a sound from the phone, almost like a musical chime, and for a moment I had no idea what I'd heard, and then I remembered what Mia had said, in her hurried description of their scenario, and realised what had just happened: Guy had just dropped the butt plug into the glass bowl.

Mia let out a slow "Mmmm", and then another, and a third, starting to increase pace. I guessed that Guy was pushing into her other hole, opening her up, then starting to fuck her. Slowly at first, but getting faster. Mia's moans got louder than before. I didn't have a frame of reference for what she would be feeling. I haven't done anal, not even with any of my toys. I assumed she would be enjoying it, as she seemed to enjoy all her sessions with Guy. So I imagined Tariq still screwing my vagina from behind.

Mia's moans turned to wails, which suddenly became much quieter and more muffled - even more so than before; I guessed that, not only was Guy no longer pulling on Mia to hold her head up, but now he was pushing her down into the bedding; he must have shifted position and angle so that he was entering her more deeply from above, and holding his body up by resting his hands on her shoulders.

I thought about my face being pushed down, onto Mitesh's penis. No, scratch that - not onto a penis, but into Divya'a vagina. Tariq screws me from behind, while pushing me down onto his girlfriend's mound, where I lick and suck. Each time Tariq thrusts deep into me in time with Mia's wails, he forces a moan from my own lips, lost in the depths of her sex. Divya holds my head in her hands, running her fingers through my hair. She leans back against the wall, one leg up on the desk, one foot on the floor. She's naked. Her eyes are closed and she's smiling. She smells exciting. She tastes wonderful.

Neither of us lasted long, Mia coming again in a single, continuous wail, while my own climax had me clamping my hand between my thighs and clenching my jaw to avoid my own wailing; I only barely managed to avoid dropping my phone. As I collapsed against the cubicle wall, I heard Guy letting rip with his own orgasm.

Then: stillness, from the phone. No moans or grunts. Just exhausted heavy breathing. Then the tone to indicate that the call had ended.

I took a minute or two to get my own breath back and to compose myself. Straightening my skirt, I exited the cubicle and started washing my hands.

Then the bottom dropped out of my world as one of the other cubicles opened behind me. They were all open before, I told myself! No-one came in! How is this possible? Oh god, I thought to myself. I am in so much trouble. Was I going to get fired?

Lucy came out of the cubicle, and her eyes went wide when she saw me. "Clare!" She looked stunned - and also delighted. "Holy shit, girl! That was you?"

I resumed washing my hands and tried to look nonchalant - as if I hadn't just been looking at her, horrified and mortified. "Was what me?"

"Oh, no! No you don't! You are not going to stand there and tell me I didn't just hear you rub one out at work."

"Shh!" I said, urgently opening all the cubicle doors all the way, and checking that we were, at least, alone. Not as alone as I thought I had been, but still.

"Where the hell did you come from?" I asked her. "All the cubicles were open when I came in! I looked!"

She shrugged. "I was just coming out. I'd opened the cubicle door, and I got a text from Andrew, so I was sending a response when I heard you come in. By the time I'd sent it, I realised what I was hearing, so there was no way I was leaving until I found out who was playing with themselves in the office toilets. So I closed the door again. Very, very quietly. I mean, come on! What would you do?"

"Honestly," I said, without thinking, "I'd be as quiet as I could, and then wait until they were gone so that I could avoid a really embarrassing scene," I said meaningfully.

"So, out with it!" Lucy said. "What brought that on?"

"It's sort of a long story," I said, rather feebly.

"Hmm." Lucy glanced at her phone. "Well, I'm already pretty late. Listen, are we still on for Saturday night at your place?"

Pizza, wine and movie. I nodded. "Sure."

"Good! Then I want to hear all about it on Saturday." She wagged a finger at me sternly. "All about it, you hear?"

I nodded, relieved, and waved to her as she scuttled out of the toilets in a hurry.

A weight of tension left me. It looked like I was going to get away with it. I dried my hands, and returned to my desk.

"Ah, Clare," Tariq said, when he saw me. "We settled on fish and chips. Only they didn't have any fish, when I called, so I've got you some sausage. Hope that's all right?"

"Yes," I said. "Sure." Tariq was getting me a portion of sausage, I thought. How appropriate.

I smiled.