Phone Sex Operator's Mistake Ch. 01

"Donna Spencer?"

She looked at the intercom and shook her head. Another interruption! Wiping her hands on the kitchen towel, she scanned her memory to see if she recognized the voice. It sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn't place it. She pressed the TALK button.

"Who is it please?"

"I have a FedEx delivery that you need to sign for," the voice answered in a bored tone.

She looked at the clock. It was ten-thirty, about the right time. He might be legit. "Can't you just leave it for me? I'm a bit busy today and can't come down."

"No, ma'am. It has to be signed for. It's certified."

She shook her head. She wasn't expecting anything.

"Who's it from?"

She froze when she heard the name of the business her phone sex provider used as their front. What would they be sending her certified? Her payments and bookkeeping were all handled electronically. There'd never been any reason to transact business with them face-to-face after the initial signup and setup.

"All right, but can you bring it up? I'm very busy," she asked.

It was a mistake.

-----

Donna felt something sticky in her hand. She opened her eyes but couldn't see anything.

The room was black. Completely black. Not even the hint of the outline of a door or a window one typically saw in darkened rooms. She dropped whatever it was and raised her hands to her face. She wasn't blindfolded. The room was actually that dark.

She was naked. That was obvious as soon as she moved her legs beneath herself to try and stand up. The floor was slightly cool, nothing like a concrete dungeon or the rough indoor-outdoor scrape of cheap hotel carpet.

Where was she? She crawled on all fours until she found a wall, used her hands to steady herself as she stood up. She felt woozy, she was sure she'd been drugged, had that heavy hungover feeling that only came with barbiturates of some sort.

Everything was sore. She took a head-to-toe inventory but it seemed nothing had escaped. Whatever had happened to her, nothing had been spared. Muscles sore, skin burning here and cool there. She expected her nipples, her cunt and ass to be sore ("surely whatever had happened to me was sexual") but even her toes, the knuckles of both hands, the roots of her hair ("my earlobs for goodness sake!") told tales of heavy use.

"Hello?!" she yelled into the darkness.

Immediately, a dozen huge 50-inch television screens sprung to life. Donna spun around and around as the images flooded her. They were videos of her! Her with men. In ones, twos and eights, standing, kneeling, laying, taking one, two, three at a time. Her with women, passionate and slow, rough and wild. Her bound in ropes and bound in chains, being spanked with open hand, caned, cropped, single-tailed, iced and wax-dripped.

And on four different screens, different recordings of her naked on her own sofa, wearing her familiar phone-sex headset, fingering herself and glancing bored at the timer beside her. The single sound track was one of those calls.

Donna recognized it instantly. One of her nastiest callers. She'd never liked him, his fantasies of robot girls and assembly of parts different each time alternately bored and disgusted her. Women as a collection of parts being assembled and reassembled for his pleasure.

She felt woozy again, her legs couldn't support her weight and she slid to the floor. She looked from screen to screen. When had these been made? Hell, when had these HAPPENED? She didn't recognize any of the men and she'd never filmed herself doing phone work. Her mind couldn't focus long enough to think about it though and her eyelids weighed too much for her to do more than stare through ever-narrowing slits.

One by one, the screens shut down until finally, there was only the single screen that went with the sound track. She watched herself roll her eyes as "George" continued jerking himself off while she attempted to play the good robot slut. When his weak "Ah, I'm cumming..." spilled out of the speakers, she heard herself say the required "shall I shut myself down now, George?" He answered "yes", she hung up and shook her head. "I guess it takes all kinds." The screen and sound stopped and the room went black again.

Donna wasn't sure how much later it was, but she heard sounds coming from the wall across from her. The hum of some machinery then the turning of some bolts. A door slid quietly into a slot in the wall and she covered her eyes to shield them from the bright light in the hallway.

There was a figure outlined in the door. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out that he was somewhere in his middle thirties, balding with a scraggly beard, and weighed nearly 300 pounds. He wore a well-tailored dark navy business suit and expensive leather shoes. His tie screamed "money" and she saw an assortment of gold rings and bracelets.

"D-2100?" he asked into the darkness.

Donna shook her head, raised her hands to cover her face and whispered, "what?"

"D-2100. I have need of you." He stepped into the room and started unbuttoning his jacket.

Donna started to stand up but there was a sound in the hallway. Three men rushed into the room. Two of them grabbed the fat man and escorted him back into the hallway while the third one blocked the door to keep Donna from trying to run out. When the fat man was gone, he bent over and picked up the expensive navy jacket from the floor, then stepped back and pressed a button on the outside wall. The door slid quickly back into place and the room went black again.