Receiver - NC17 Dom/?, Dom/Elijah
TITLE: Receiver
Pairing: Dom/?, Dom/Elijah implied
Rating: NC17
Archive: Mirromere
Disclaimer: Lies, all of them. From which I make no money
Summary: Dom recieves obscene phone calls.
Notes: Much thanks goes to my betas Farothear (thanks for the excellent suggestions) and MysteriousAliWz (my own pet spelling pixie) Also a shout out to playingthetart and Honeymuffins for all those wonderful ideas.
BIG WARNING: This fic contains obscene phone calls and elements of non consent. This series will contain themes of dominance and submission. Please, please, please don't read if it squicks you
I almost didn't post this fic. So a big thanks goes to all those people on fellowshippers who convinced me otherwise.
He's almost out the door when the phone rings. Almost leaves it ringing. He's a little late already but the hobbits never expect him on time so he stops to answer it. He rests the receiver between his shoulder and his ear as he quickly checks that he's got enough notes in his wallet to avoid going to the cash machine.
"Hey" he says into the silence and the voice that replies is unfamiliar.
"Good evening Dominic" says the caller. Dom notices the well-educated English accent but is distracted by an unchecked lottery ticket at the back of his wallet.
"Evening to you too mate, what can I do for yer?" His accent tends to get broader when keeping company with those who can enunciate - a little rebellion that he can't shake off.
"Everything Dominic, everything." And that's when Dom places his wallet on the phone table and really concentrates on the call.
"Who is this?" He rubs a hand up the back of his neck, but against all the evidence to the contrary his hair isn't standing on end.
"Ah now, that would be telling. Where's the fun in that?" The voice sounds amused. Dominic is not.
Crank caller, he thinks. Then because it's that kind of shoot he thinks: hobbits, Orli, Billy.
"Billy, if this is some kind of joke I'm not laughing." His voice is clipped now, not panicking yet but ready to.
"I believe Billy is waiting for you at Magill's, such a lovely man. So very patient too."
Dom is freaking now. If this is a crank caller he knows not only about Dom but about Billy too. Stalker, thinks Dom. The villains of every single second rate thriller he's ever seen merge into an obscene caricature. He feels cold and scared and angry. He wants to demand the caller's name, to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing. Fortunately he remembers the advice given to an ex-girlfriend who was receiving obscene calls. Just put down the phone and don't respond. If they don't get a response they won't try again. Dom moves the phone towards the receiver but the voice gets louder.
"Don't even think of putting the phone down Dom." The voice has lost its formality and instead has become brusque and commanding.
Dom doesn't like threats and the phone hits the receiver with a dull thud.
He's not a worrier but he worries all the way to the pub. He worries until he can unload on his friends who are all suitably horrified and sympathetic in that typical male way that means he gets extra beer and more ribbing.
"It's the feet" says Elijah "attracts all the weirdos." But who apart from cast and crew know about the feet yet? Sean gives him the benefit of his considerable experience with obsessive fans and Dom resolves to contact the police if the caller phones again.
He drinks more than he should to warm the chills that have spread like the worst winter flu into his very bones. Billy fortunately senses his mood and offers something that Dom does not often accept - a bed for the night. He feels safe with Billy around and relaxes enough to enjoy the rest of the evening. They dance, they kick back, Elijah gets lucky, Sean gets called home to a sick daughter and Billy and Dom make their way happily home - caller nearly forgotten.
It is only later the next day after a hectic twelve hour stint on set that Dom finds the package.
It is suitably nondescript. Plain, brown, A4. Its contents are not.
The envelope contains several photos: they're black and white, matte - tasteful almost, considering their subject matter. The first is almost chaste. A flirtatious kiss between co-stars. In the second the kiss has deepened a bit but is still playful, two friends drunk maybe? But the rest of the photographs are no holds barred, man on man, man in man blackmail fodder.
Elijah had rung and then rang back off again five seconds later after Dom had pissily informed him he was expecting a call. Billy was not so easy to dissuade, used as he was to Dom's swearing and abuse, he wittered on for twenty minutes about nothing and everything while Dom made the kind of gutteral replies only usually reserved for apes. It was nine pm when the caller finally got through, the same cultured voice flickering amusement in his ear.
"I presume I have your attention now Dominic?"
"What the hell d'you want?"
There was a chuckle at the end of the line, deep and throaty and so unlike the voice that Dom wondered briefly whether there were two people there.
"Look I may be an actor but I'm hardly rolling in money. I haven't got access to blackmail cash."
"But I'm not interested in money ... Dominic."
There it was again, the emphasis on his name. Nobody called him Dominic. He was just Dom, only his mother called him Dominic when she was pissed off at him.
"What's the point then? What possible use am I?"
"Entertainment value" said the voice, dark and cheerful.
"Stop fucking with me" growled Dom his anger rising faster than a wave on a steep shore.
"But that's the point, darling boy" said the voice sounding for all the world like Sir Ian. Only not. Dom, the master of disguise, recognised the subtle inflections that made the voice younger, far younger than Sir Ian's.
"I am, however, going to make it easy on you. Wouldn't want you worn out with worry, not with such an important role to carry. I'm only going to phone you once a week. Same time every week."
This did not sound good.
This sounded very, very bad.
"You've gone quiet Dominic, most unlike you, thoughtful almost." The insult and the familiarity were so blatant that Dom didn't rise to them. Was this all some weird psychological game?
"Take the phone with you, go to the window and open the curtains." It was an order. Dom had never been good with authority. As if the voice could read his thoughts he said "Do it Dominic, unless of course you want your picture all over the front page of the paper and whilst I'm sure you've got the balls to cope, lover boy's going to be most upset."
Opening the curtains seemed harmless enough, that is if you didn't think about snipers and obsessive fans, but Dom shuffled to the window sill anyway. He had a gut feeling that the caller wanted more from him than firing practice. It brought back that tremor in his knees. The one he thought he'd lost. That first day, starting yet another school, facing yet another group of strangers over a too insubstantial desk, tremor. It made his jaw set with the same obstinate angle and his fist, reaching for the gather of the curtains, knuckle white.
The curtains swooshed back with more noise than finesse and Dom looked out at Wellington, spread beneath, around and across from him.
"And then there was light. And the light was good" said the voice.
Oh Jesus, thought Dom, a religious nut as well.
"I'm watching you Dom. Does that scare you?"
And it did scare him but he wasn't about to admit it. Instead he did what the caller was clearly expecting him to do and tested out the theory.
Two fingers in a universal gesture of appreciation.
There was a laugh, clear and surprised, and Dom was immediately reminded of Billy. But no, Billy couldn't hold an accent like that, not for longer than a sentence anyway.
"Nice Dom, but not as nice as the shirt you're wearing - silk isn't it? Suits you. Although I have to confess to liking you better without. Lose the shirt."
The command came as a bit of a shock. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the conversational tone. Dom's sense of disbelief heightened, gained length and breadth, became a hole into which he plunged headlong. So that's what the caller wanted.
"So it's that type of phone call?"
"Dirty? If that's how you want to label it. The raincoat's at the cleaner's but I'm sure I could cover the heavy breathing if that's what you'd like."
Dom noted the sense of humour. He needed to remember these things now, but he wasn't amused.
"This isn't about what I'd like, is it?"
"Oh I think you'll find that it is. Maybe not now, when you're so scared you can't think straight, but given time … but that's for later, for now I'd like you to take off the shirt."
It would be so easy to stop this now, to tell the caller to go fuck himself, to ring the police. So they'd be in the newspapers, it might even affect the film but surely it wouldn't be all that bad. But he could see Lij's face - paler than usual, eyes anguished, face scared - the last time Dom had ventured the subject of coming out.
He would do this once and only once. Enough time to warn Lij, to prepare him for the resulting fallout. He was strong. He could do this.
His fingers fumbled on the buttons of the shirt but he was still quick, methodical.
"Now where's the fun in that Dominic? I wanted you to strip slowly, as if you were stripping for a lover." If a voice was capable of pouting, that's what his was doing.
"You should have said then, shouldn't you?" snarled Dom.
"I thought an actor of your calibre was capable of improvising. Obviously I was wrong. You want instruction. Instructions you shall have - explicit instructions."
There was a pause in which Dom felt his heart hammering in his chest.
"Touch yourself like a lover would touch you. I want your hands to linger, to stroke and tease and I want you to make this good because I'm rapidly losing patience and if it's not fucking perfect, I'm going to take a little walk over to my friendly newspaper office and deliver some pretty pictures."
Swallowing hard Dom did as instructed, bile and ashes constricting his throat. Only his yoga training stopping the panic from overwhelming him, he took long steadying in breaths and out breaths bringing his awareness to his chest and the motions it made. Awareness narrowing to his body and then within.
He would do as instructed, would get this over as soon as possible, then he would find some way of hunting the bastard down and making him pay.
"Much, much better" purred the voice and an unwilling prickle of arousal trickled down his spine.
Dom searched for clues in the voice, strained to hear every nuance, so that he was hyper aware of the sudden shift of breath when his hand strayed across a nipple. It hitched again when his fingers strayed to the other, Dom didn't want to think about how that made him feel.
Dom wished the embarrassment would go away. Why couldn't the anger burn it up? But it was sticky and clung to his skin like the blush that streaked hot across his chest, his neck, his face and his ears. Christ, he hadn't blushed like this since he was about fifteen. It made him feel just as gauche for all that he was moving like a porn star.
He's watched enough porn to be able to replicate the movements. The voice isn't best pleased though.
"You must have had some really awful lovers" commented the voice. "Is that how Elwood touches you?"
Dom couldn't believe that he'd been stung by professional pride.
Not sexy enough? Awful lovers?
The thought actually crossed his mind - He'd show the bastard. Before the next thought - Fucking mind games again - cut it short. So involved was he with the slur not only on his sexuality but his acting skills that he only just registered that the caller knew 'Lij's nickname.
"No. He doesn't. Touch me I mean. We're finished."
"What a shame" said the voice dripping with sarcasm. "You look so pretty together too. Although if it was me you'd be permanently on your back … or your knees. Topping doesn't suit you."
Christ, the bastard's been watching them.
"Did I tell you to stop?"
"Take the jeans off Dom, slowly this time."
Dom told himself that this was just the same as a screen test. That it wasn't any different than stripping for the shower scene in that episode of Hetty. He was more than capable of doing this and remaining unscathed. Over the years he has learnt many techniques for immersing himself in character. But what is his character?
A victim.
No - he wouldn't play that character. He needed to draw on strength not weakness.
A porno star. Not quite as bad but there are too many shades of violation there.
A man stripping for his lover.
That just played right into the hands of the caller.
But without a character he was just Dom feeling angry and dirty, already half hard from the adrenaline and the scrape of denim as it descended to the floor.
The caller made an appreciative noise and Dom knew. Knew that this wasn't going to be easy, that he wouldn't escape unscathed because he was now fully hard, cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.
"Well now ain't that a sight for sore eyes and no mistake." It was a phrase Andy used and the precision of the voice had slipped too - were there cockney vowels in there?
But no, Andy is happily married and hadn't he been working late tonight on Gollum anyway?
"Tell me what's made you hard Dom? I'm thinking it's that rampant exhibitionist streak of yours. So many windows out there. Anyone could be watching. Even now some middle aged housewife's stopped doing her hoovering and is adjusting her glasses and wondering whether she's had too much wine with her dinner. Bet she can't believe her luck. Does that turn you on Dom? You like to see women all of a flutter - I've noticed."
This had to be someone he knew. There were too many casual references to his behaviour for it to be a stranger . He couldn't think about that though, not until this was over. Betrayal and humiliation were too overwhelming to deal with now.
"Or is it me? Have I made you hard? I want to make you hard Dominic, harder then you've ever felt before. You see I'm just returning the favour as it were, because that's how you make me feel - hard and wanting."
Shit, shit, shit. The voice was fucking hypnotic. It wasn't commanding anymore, it was sweet, compelling and seductive. It reeked of those dark hours, just before dawn when he'd wake horny as hell. Already hard, denial wouldn't last long compared to the overwhelming need for release. There wasn't a voice then, more like images. The stranger in the alleyway taking and not asking. The anonymous hands copping a covert feel as the lift ascended thirty floors in slow, oh so slow increments. Fantasy, that's all. That's what he told himself. The kind any healthy male indulged in, collars and cuffs included. But then he wasn't expecting anyone to confront him with a twisted sordid version of his fantasies.
"Touch yourself. No games this time." The voice jolted him out of his reverie. Back to commanding again. "I want you to feel your skin. You see, I don't think you appreciate how gorgeous you really are. The skin on belly so taut, so anxious and yet so soft. That sweet dip of your navel begging to have a tongue tease it."
The words compelled him to touch even though other louder words competed for his attention.
Dirty, humiliating, wrong.
"Such sexy hips. Made to tease they were. They need a firmer touch, fingers strong enough to still you when you're being taken from behind."
And Dom's fingers complied, becoming rougher as if of their own volition.
"Lovely" said the voice warm and rewarding. "I wish I was there so that my fingers could follow that interesting little trail of fur from your navel. But sadly you'll have to do it for me."
Dom's fingers were visibly shaking now and he prayed that the trembling was undetectable with whatever device the caller was using to watch him. They travelled down over skin now damp with sweat pausing at the waistband of the boxers.
"I think you know what comes next Dominic or would you like me to spell it out for you?"
"Spell this you cunt: F…U…C…K……O…F….F" snarled Dom finally unable to contain the toxic mix of anger, humiliation and arousal that was brewing in his veins.
If it hadn't been for the arousal he would have been able to see it through. But the arousal was like giving the bastard tacit permission to fuck with him - literally. He couldn't, wouldn't do it.
"Big mistake Dominic, very big mistake." The ice in the voice seemed to splinter beneath Dom's skin, chilling him to the marrow. "Pick up your clothes, put down the phone, go to bed and sleep if you can. But don't you even dream of touching your cock Dominic because believe me I'll know if you do and it'll be tabloid hell for you and yours. I'm giving you one more chance Dominic, you have an entire week in which to repent. Use it wisely."
And then the phone clicked down.
TBC
Pairing: Dom/?, Dom/Elijah implied
Rating: NC17
Archive: Mirromere
Disclaimer: Lies, all of them. From which I make no money
Summary: Dom recieves obscene phone calls.
Notes: Much thanks goes to my betas Farothear (thanks for the excellent suggestions) and MysteriousAliWz (my own pet spelling pixie) Also a shout out to playingthetart and Honeymuffins for all those wonderful ideas.
BIG WARNING: This fic contains obscene phone calls and elements of non consent. This series will contain themes of dominance and submission. Please, please, please don't read if it squicks you
I almost didn't post this fic. So a big thanks goes to all those people on fellowshippers who convinced me otherwise.
He's almost out the door when the phone rings. Almost leaves it ringing. He's a little late already but the hobbits never expect him on time so he stops to answer it. He rests the receiver between his shoulder and his ear as he quickly checks that he's got enough notes in his wallet to avoid going to the cash machine.
"Hey" he says into the silence and the voice that replies is unfamiliar.
"Good evening Dominic" says the caller. Dom notices the well-educated English accent but is distracted by an unchecked lottery ticket at the back of his wallet.
"Evening to you too mate, what can I do for yer?" His accent tends to get broader when keeping company with those who can enunciate - a little rebellion that he can't shake off.
"Everything Dominic, everything." And that's when Dom places his wallet on the phone table and really concentrates on the call.
"Who is this?" He rubs a hand up the back of his neck, but against all the evidence to the contrary his hair isn't standing on end.
"Ah now, that would be telling. Where's the fun in that?" The voice sounds amused. Dominic is not.
Crank caller, he thinks. Then because it's that kind of shoot he thinks: hobbits, Orli, Billy.
"Billy, if this is some kind of joke I'm not laughing." His voice is clipped now, not panicking yet but ready to.
"I believe Billy is waiting for you at Magill's, such a lovely man. So very patient too."
Dom is freaking now. If this is a crank caller he knows not only about Dom but about Billy too. Stalker, thinks Dom. The villains of every single second rate thriller he's ever seen merge into an obscene caricature. He feels cold and scared and angry. He wants to demand the caller's name, to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing. Fortunately he remembers the advice given to an ex-girlfriend who was receiving obscene calls. Just put down the phone and don't respond. If they don't get a response they won't try again. Dom moves the phone towards the receiver but the voice gets louder.
"Don't even think of putting the phone down Dom." The voice has lost its formality and instead has become brusque and commanding.
Dom doesn't like threats and the phone hits the receiver with a dull thud.
He's not a worrier but he worries all the way to the pub. He worries until he can unload on his friends who are all suitably horrified and sympathetic in that typical male way that means he gets extra beer and more ribbing.
"It's the feet" says Elijah "attracts all the weirdos." But who apart from cast and crew know about the feet yet? Sean gives him the benefit of his considerable experience with obsessive fans and Dom resolves to contact the police if the caller phones again.
He drinks more than he should to warm the chills that have spread like the worst winter flu into his very bones. Billy fortunately senses his mood and offers something that Dom does not often accept - a bed for the night. He feels safe with Billy around and relaxes enough to enjoy the rest of the evening. They dance, they kick back, Elijah gets lucky, Sean gets called home to a sick daughter and Billy and Dom make their way happily home - caller nearly forgotten.
It is only later the next day after a hectic twelve hour stint on set that Dom finds the package.
It is suitably nondescript. Plain, brown, A4. Its contents are not.
The envelope contains several photos: they're black and white, matte - tasteful almost, considering their subject matter. The first is almost chaste. A flirtatious kiss between co-stars. In the second the kiss has deepened a bit but is still playful, two friends drunk maybe? But the rest of the photographs are no holds barred, man on man, man in man blackmail fodder.
Elijah had rung and then rang back off again five seconds later after Dom had pissily informed him he was expecting a call. Billy was not so easy to dissuade, used as he was to Dom's swearing and abuse, he wittered on for twenty minutes about nothing and everything while Dom made the kind of gutteral replies only usually reserved for apes. It was nine pm when the caller finally got through, the same cultured voice flickering amusement in his ear.
"I presume I have your attention now Dominic?"
"What the hell d'you want?"
There was a chuckle at the end of the line, deep and throaty and so unlike the voice that Dom wondered briefly whether there were two people there.
"Look I may be an actor but I'm hardly rolling in money. I haven't got access to blackmail cash."
"But I'm not interested in money ... Dominic."
There it was again, the emphasis on his name. Nobody called him Dominic. He was just Dom, only his mother called him Dominic when she was pissed off at him.
"What's the point then? What possible use am I?"
"Entertainment value" said the voice, dark and cheerful.
"Stop fucking with me" growled Dom his anger rising faster than a wave on a steep shore.
"But that's the point, darling boy" said the voice sounding for all the world like Sir Ian. Only not. Dom, the master of disguise, recognised the subtle inflections that made the voice younger, far younger than Sir Ian's.
"I am, however, going to make it easy on you. Wouldn't want you worn out with worry, not with such an important role to carry. I'm only going to phone you once a week. Same time every week."
This did not sound good.
This sounded very, very bad.
"You've gone quiet Dominic, most unlike you, thoughtful almost." The insult and the familiarity were so blatant that Dom didn't rise to them. Was this all some weird psychological game?
"Take the phone with you, go to the window and open the curtains." It was an order. Dom had never been good with authority. As if the voice could read his thoughts he said "Do it Dominic, unless of course you want your picture all over the front page of the paper and whilst I'm sure you've got the balls to cope, lover boy's going to be most upset."
Opening the curtains seemed harmless enough, that is if you didn't think about snipers and obsessive fans, but Dom shuffled to the window sill anyway. He had a gut feeling that the caller wanted more from him than firing practice. It brought back that tremor in his knees. The one he thought he'd lost. That first day, starting yet another school, facing yet another group of strangers over a too insubstantial desk, tremor. It made his jaw set with the same obstinate angle and his fist, reaching for the gather of the curtains, knuckle white.
The curtains swooshed back with more noise than finesse and Dom looked out at Wellington, spread beneath, around and across from him.
"And then there was light. And the light was good" said the voice.
Oh Jesus, thought Dom, a religious nut as well.
"I'm watching you Dom. Does that scare you?"
And it did scare him but he wasn't about to admit it. Instead he did what the caller was clearly expecting him to do and tested out the theory.
Two fingers in a universal gesture of appreciation.
There was a laugh, clear and surprised, and Dom was immediately reminded of Billy. But no, Billy couldn't hold an accent like that, not for longer than a sentence anyway.
"Nice Dom, but not as nice as the shirt you're wearing - silk isn't it? Suits you. Although I have to confess to liking you better without. Lose the shirt."
The command came as a bit of a shock. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the conversational tone. Dom's sense of disbelief heightened, gained length and breadth, became a hole into which he plunged headlong. So that's what the caller wanted.
"So it's that type of phone call?"
"Dirty? If that's how you want to label it. The raincoat's at the cleaner's but I'm sure I could cover the heavy breathing if that's what you'd like."
Dom noted the sense of humour. He needed to remember these things now, but he wasn't amused.
"This isn't about what I'd like, is it?"
"Oh I think you'll find that it is. Maybe not now, when you're so scared you can't think straight, but given time … but that's for later, for now I'd like you to take off the shirt."
It would be so easy to stop this now, to tell the caller to go fuck himself, to ring the police. So they'd be in the newspapers, it might even affect the film but surely it wouldn't be all that bad. But he could see Lij's face - paler than usual, eyes anguished, face scared - the last time Dom had ventured the subject of coming out.
He would do this once and only once. Enough time to warn Lij, to prepare him for the resulting fallout. He was strong. He could do this.
His fingers fumbled on the buttons of the shirt but he was still quick, methodical.
"Now where's the fun in that Dominic? I wanted you to strip slowly, as if you were stripping for a lover." If a voice was capable of pouting, that's what his was doing.
"You should have said then, shouldn't you?" snarled Dom.
"I thought an actor of your calibre was capable of improvising. Obviously I was wrong. You want instruction. Instructions you shall have - explicit instructions."
There was a pause in which Dom felt his heart hammering in his chest.
"Touch yourself like a lover would touch you. I want your hands to linger, to stroke and tease and I want you to make this good because I'm rapidly losing patience and if it's not fucking perfect, I'm going to take a little walk over to my friendly newspaper office and deliver some pretty pictures."
Swallowing hard Dom did as instructed, bile and ashes constricting his throat. Only his yoga training stopping the panic from overwhelming him, he took long steadying in breaths and out breaths bringing his awareness to his chest and the motions it made. Awareness narrowing to his body and then within.
He would do as instructed, would get this over as soon as possible, then he would find some way of hunting the bastard down and making him pay.
"Much, much better" purred the voice and an unwilling prickle of arousal trickled down his spine.
Dom searched for clues in the voice, strained to hear every nuance, so that he was hyper aware of the sudden shift of breath when his hand strayed across a nipple. It hitched again when his fingers strayed to the other, Dom didn't want to think about how that made him feel.
Dom wished the embarrassment would go away. Why couldn't the anger burn it up? But it was sticky and clung to his skin like the blush that streaked hot across his chest, his neck, his face and his ears. Christ, he hadn't blushed like this since he was about fifteen. It made him feel just as gauche for all that he was moving like a porn star.
He's watched enough porn to be able to replicate the movements. The voice isn't best pleased though.
"You must have had some really awful lovers" commented the voice. "Is that how Elwood touches you?"
Dom couldn't believe that he'd been stung by professional pride.
Not sexy enough? Awful lovers?
The thought actually crossed his mind - He'd show the bastard. Before the next thought - Fucking mind games again - cut it short. So involved was he with the slur not only on his sexuality but his acting skills that he only just registered that the caller knew 'Lij's nickname.
"No. He doesn't. Touch me I mean. We're finished."
"What a shame" said the voice dripping with sarcasm. "You look so pretty together too. Although if it was me you'd be permanently on your back … or your knees. Topping doesn't suit you."
Christ, the bastard's been watching them.
"Did I tell you to stop?"
"Take the jeans off Dom, slowly this time."
Dom told himself that this was just the same as a screen test. That it wasn't any different than stripping for the shower scene in that episode of Hetty. He was more than capable of doing this and remaining unscathed. Over the years he has learnt many techniques for immersing himself in character. But what is his character?
A victim.
No - he wouldn't play that character. He needed to draw on strength not weakness.
A porno star. Not quite as bad but there are too many shades of violation there.
A man stripping for his lover.
That just played right into the hands of the caller.
But without a character he was just Dom feeling angry and dirty, already half hard from the adrenaline and the scrape of denim as it descended to the floor.
The caller made an appreciative noise and Dom knew. Knew that this wasn't going to be easy, that he wouldn't escape unscathed because he was now fully hard, cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.
"Well now ain't that a sight for sore eyes and no mistake." It was a phrase Andy used and the precision of the voice had slipped too - were there cockney vowels in there?
But no, Andy is happily married and hadn't he been working late tonight on Gollum anyway?
"Tell me what's made you hard Dom? I'm thinking it's that rampant exhibitionist streak of yours. So many windows out there. Anyone could be watching. Even now some middle aged housewife's stopped doing her hoovering and is adjusting her glasses and wondering whether she's had too much wine with her dinner. Bet she can't believe her luck. Does that turn you on Dom? You like to see women all of a flutter - I've noticed."
This had to be someone he knew. There were too many casual references to his behaviour for it to be a stranger . He couldn't think about that though, not until this was over. Betrayal and humiliation were too overwhelming to deal with now.
"Or is it me? Have I made you hard? I want to make you hard Dominic, harder then you've ever felt before. You see I'm just returning the favour as it were, because that's how you make me feel - hard and wanting."
Shit, shit, shit. The voice was fucking hypnotic. It wasn't commanding anymore, it was sweet, compelling and seductive. It reeked of those dark hours, just before dawn when he'd wake horny as hell. Already hard, denial wouldn't last long compared to the overwhelming need for release. There wasn't a voice then, more like images. The stranger in the alleyway taking and not asking. The anonymous hands copping a covert feel as the lift ascended thirty floors in slow, oh so slow increments. Fantasy, that's all. That's what he told himself. The kind any healthy male indulged in, collars and cuffs included. But then he wasn't expecting anyone to confront him with a twisted sordid version of his fantasies.
"Touch yourself. No games this time." The voice jolted him out of his reverie. Back to commanding again. "I want you to feel your skin. You see, I don't think you appreciate how gorgeous you really are. The skin on belly so taut, so anxious and yet so soft. That sweet dip of your navel begging to have a tongue tease it."
The words compelled him to touch even though other louder words competed for his attention.
Dirty, humiliating, wrong.
"Such sexy hips. Made to tease they were. They need a firmer touch, fingers strong enough to still you when you're being taken from behind."
And Dom's fingers complied, becoming rougher as if of their own volition.
"Lovely" said the voice warm and rewarding. "I wish I was there so that my fingers could follow that interesting little trail of fur from your navel. But sadly you'll have to do it for me."
Dom's fingers were visibly shaking now and he prayed that the trembling was undetectable with whatever device the caller was using to watch him. They travelled down over skin now damp with sweat pausing at the waistband of the boxers.
"I think you know what comes next Dominic or would you like me to spell it out for you?"
"Spell this you cunt: F…U…C…K……O…F….F" snarled Dom finally unable to contain the toxic mix of anger, humiliation and arousal that was brewing in his veins.
If it hadn't been for the arousal he would have been able to see it through. But the arousal was like giving the bastard tacit permission to fuck with him - literally. He couldn't, wouldn't do it.
"Big mistake Dominic, very big mistake." The ice in the voice seemed to splinter beneath Dom's skin, chilling him to the marrow. "Pick up your clothes, put down the phone, go to bed and sleep if you can. But don't you even dream of touching your cock Dominic because believe me I'll know if you do and it'll be tabloid hell for you and yours. I'm giving you one more chance Dominic, you have an entire week in which to repent. Use it wisely."
And then the phone clicked down.
TBC