Her voice in his ear

This... didn't come out the way I expected it to. Sometimes, stories get away from me. It made me uncomfortable (in all the right ways) as I was writing it, though. So maybe it's still a success.

It's a strange thing about inspiration. Sometimes I look at someone's list of fetishes and the answer just jumps out at me. I just take those key words and let the story flow. Other times, like this time, I look at the list and an idea jumps out at me, but it's not something I can put my finger on. It's not one of the words in front of me. It's something new.

Anyway, I hope you like it.

Voice in his ear

            David sat alone, coffee steaming on the table in front of him. When his phone rang, he pressed the button and a voice came into his ear. Her voice.

            “Do you think it’s strange sitting by yourself?” she asked. He couldn’t answer. She had been very clear about that. The call was one way. Just sit there and take it. That’s what she said.

            For all David knew, she was halfway across the country. Maybe she was on a business trip. Maybe she was sitting around her apartment, lounging in a silk negligée. Maybe she was walking down a busy street.

            “It’s probably not all that bizarre, not yet,” she said. “But sooner or later, it will start to stick out. Did you order that coffee I told you to order? Is it there on the table in front of you, steaming and hot?” She caressed the words with a mixture of tease and sex in that perfect balance that only she could manage.

            “Put your hands on the table,” she said. “Palms down, on either side of the coffee.”

            David put his palms carefully on the table top. Cold, but not uncomfortable.

            “Make sure you’re sitting up straight,” she told him.

            Then there was a stretch of silence. Maybe she was in an elevator with someone else. Maybe she was at home brushing her teeth. Maybe she was using the bathroom. Maybe she was just taunting him, making him wait. Making him feel how much power she had over him. Sitting alone, completely in her control, obeying a voice over a phone line. Doing nothing without instruction.

            “You still there? Good boy,” she said, after what seemed like an eternity. “If anyone comes to ask how you are, I want you to tell them that you’re fine and you don’t need anything. The coffee is fine. Do you understand? Nod your head if you understand.”

            David nodded his head, his face scrunching in confusion. Was she watching him?

            She giggled. “You did it, didn’t you? I’m not even there. I don’t know if you’re obeying my orders. For all I know, you’re sitting at home in your underwear, jerking off to the dulcet tones of my wonderful voice. But you’re not, are you? You’re sitting in a diner, spine straight, hands on the table, nodding to a voice that no one else can hear.

            “It’s delightful, you know. I haven’t asked you to do anything strange, not yet, but you’re completely in my power. I can make you do anything. I can make you suffer. I like it when you suffer for me. It’s a beautiful thing.

            “And that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter how bad the suffering is. It doesn’t matter what I make you do. The point is that you’ll do it. You’ll suffer because I want you to. You’ll take whatever I dish out because that’s what you want to do.

            “There’s no one forcing you, David. You could get up and leave any time. You can hang up on me, and I’ll never know. I’ll just keep talking until I’m finished.

            “But you won’t hang up on me, will you? You’ll sit there, rapt in attention, your back as erect as it can get, listening to everything I say. And you’ll probably stay there for a while after I hang up, just in case there’s more I’m going to say.

            “You won’t know when I’m done. Maybe I’m just letting a silence stretch.”

            She stopped talking again. David strained his ears, trying to make out anything on the other end of the line. Was she on a subway? Was she watching television? Was she lounging in a bath tub, her body draped in bubbles, the aroma of flowers clawing at the air as she smiled at his suffering, little beads of sweat forming perfectly on her forehead?

            Maybe she was having a cigarette. Maybe she was dragging hard off the long shaft of burning tobacco. Maybe the smoke was slithering through her mouth, sliding down into her lungs for a brief respite before being slowly released out through her nose in a smooth cloud. Maybe she was getting ready to flick some ash off the cigarette, looking for an ashtray. Was she smiling? Was she enjoying the torture he was going through?

            “How long would you wait?” she finally asked. “Would you sit in that diner for five minutes of silence? Ten? An hour? Will you be there until they close, desperate to hear my voice and terrified to hang up?

            “What if I tell you something important? What if, after an hour of absolute silence, I tell you a word? Just one word. Something simple, but so important.

            “What if I make you wait for as long as I can hold out, and then I tell you what your safe word will be? Can you risk not knowing it? I’m careful, you know I am, but what if I go too far? How will you stop me if you don’t know the right word? It’s not like I kept it from you. I could say it over and over, just to make sure you won’t forget. I could be very specific. But will you still be there, listening, when I finally decide to do that?”

            She laughed, then gave a sharp inhale of breath. Was she teasing him, or was she teasing herself? More smoking, or just a happy little gasp?

            “Some day,” she said, “I think I’m going to do this when you’re talking to other people. I think it would be fun for you to try to pay attention to what someone else says while I whisper in your ear. I could whisper sweet nothings, or I could whisper terrifying things that speak to your deepest fantasies.

            “Could I make you completely lose your train of thought? Could I make you hard somewhere incredibly inappropriate? A funeral? A retirement home? A family gathering?

            “Or maybe I’ll just make you my puppet. I could have you go somewhere and repeat whatever I tell you to say. You could say out loud the things I whisper in your ear, no matter how depraved my whispers get. Maybe I’ll send you to church. That could be fun.

            “Imagine it, my love. You sitting in a confessional as I feed you lines to say to the priest. Telling him that you’ve sinned, and giving him such a list of sins as he’s never heard. We can wait until you find a very old priest. One who’s been doing confession for decades. One who has heard it all, who can’t be shocked by anything. Then we’ll put that to the test, won’t we? We’ll see how depraved we can get before he calls it quits.

            “I could make you confess to doing things you’d never, ever do. Those things that even I think are taboo. Those things that are your hard limits. I won’t make you do any of them. But you’ll tell the priest that you have.

            “What would really shame you? Most people, most normal people, would find it hard to confess to committing murder. Or just adultery. But what about you? Would we have to make up some underage girl for you to have had sex with? My god, I’m disgusted just thinking about it. Maybe something less horrific, like molesting a mannequin at the mall.

            “Maybe we can have you tell the priest that you went to a glory hole. You could invite him to come. Tell him when you’ll be there, tell him you hope he shows up. Tell him you hope to see him there, even though you won’t know it’s him. After all, he’d just be sticking a dick in a hole, and that’s all you’d see. But you could invite him anyway.

            “Would that make you hard? Would confessing these things, even the horrible ones that you would never do in a million years… would that make you horny?”

            David took a few breaths to steady himself as the silence descended again. He was uncomfortable, not just at the suggestions, but at his body’s reactions to them. He didn’t want to think of himself that way, as someone who would like that kind of thing. But the erection said otherwise.

            It was the tone of her voice. That hint of laughter under her words. He could almost see her eyes sparkling with mischief as she talked. He could almost see the little upturned corner of her lips, that crooked smile that tore away any thoughts of resistance he might have entertained. It wasn’t what she was saying. It was the way she was saying it. It was the way he knew she’d do it, the way he knew he’d let her.

            “I love this,” she said. “I feel like I’ve completely hijacked you, like you’re my prisoner. No, more than a prisoner. A puppet. You’ll dance when I pull your strings.

            “Are you anatomically correct, little puppet? When I tell you to come home, and you knock on my door, kneeling in the hallway, will you still be hard? Will I open the door and see a little stain on the front of your pants?

            “I wouldn’t be mad, you know. Go ahead and stain your pants. I’m just going to cut them off you anyway.

            “That’s right, puppet. I said cut. Not rip. I’m not going to take off your clothes. I’m going to slice them to pieces. I’ll take a knife and cut off your tie. I’ll carve the buttons from your shirt. I’ll sever your belt, gouge apart the seams of your pants. I’ll trace the blade along your flesh, cutting away everything that isn’t a part of you. I’ll cut and cut until you’re completely naked. Until you’re just standing there as my puppet, completely exposed to the outside world.

            “Then I’ll let you in out of the hall.” She laughed with the full weight of her sadism laid as bare as naked flesh.

            “Are your palms still on the table?” she asked, her voice light. “Are they sweaty yet? Are you shaking? How hot are you?

            “Did you forget about your coffee?”