Chapter Text
This was a stupid idea.
A very, very stupid idea, a lapse of judgement, a moment of insanity, really.
But it wasn’t.
Stupid, yes, but not an idea born out of impulsivity.
If it had been, Miguel wouldn’t be sitting in a room that smelled like the thick candle he had lit. Sweet and comforting and a little heady. Then there was the temperature, regulated to be warm enough to be comfortable yet not too suffocating. Two lamps, one in a different corner of the room with hued bulbs that bathed the room in warm light. None of these things were anywhere close to ‘impulsive’.
It made him feel ridiculous, to say the least. Especially since he was sitting on his vast king-sized bed, on top of the blankets, legs stretched out in front of him. His bare back resting against the headboard, the wood cool between his shoulder blades. The only thing he wore was a pair of comfortable sweats.
The phone in his hand felt heavier than usual. As if it carried more weight, it decided to increase in mass until it begged to be put down.
He was going to do this; he had to; it was now or never. Or well, not never, just not for another month or so.
The number was saved in his phone. Had been ever since he had woken up that evening on the couch after having dozed off during some action movie he didn’t remember a thing about. He had been about to turn the TV off and drag his tired body to bed like any other night when suddenly the words on the screen caught his attention.
Bold, bright, and a shade of red that usually only meant one thing.
Now here he was, with this stupid, impulsive idea.
His heart was beating in his throat, which was ridiculous, considering he was a grown man and had done plenty of things in his life that were more racy. But was he that same man anymore? Probably not.
Miguel picked up his phone, ignoring the surge of anxiety that rushed through him as he unlocked his screen and pressed the ‘call’ button before he could think about it twice. The dial tone went off once, twice, and then there was a click. Pleasant music came out of the speakers of his phone, which he was holding in the air in front of him.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Beats hitting the rhythm of the dial music perfectly.
Then, silence.
A woman’s voice came through his speaker.“Good evening, you have reached AlcheMAX pleasure line.”
He hadn’t expected the voice to be so chipper and clear. Shouldn’t it be some old, seductive voice like they used in the commercial? “Can I connect you with a cisgender female, male, non-binary or trans operator tonight?”
So many options, for a second, he was overwhelmed by it, tempted to just hang this up now and avoid embarrassing himself. But this need that had been nagging at him for the past few weeks made him answer “Female, please.”
“Do you have any other preferences, or kinks you would like to let me know of so I can connect you to a specialised operator?” She asked professionally, almost a little detached. Miguel couldn’t figure out whether that made him feel better or worse.
“Eh, no, nothing specific, it’s eh… my first time.” He managed to say, wanting to kick himself for giving this information.
Now he sounded like a virgin.
“Very well, sir. Firstly, you will hear an automatic reading of our terms and conditions, which you will have to agree to if you wish to utilise our services. If you do so, you will be asked to read the information on your credit card, so we can bill you for your session. Is that all clear?” She answered without a beat, and Miguel bet that she would’ve sounded just as unaffected by the whole thing if he’d said that he got hard by rubbing feathers together and making siren noises.
“Yes… Yes, thank you, all clear.”
“My pleasure, sir, please enjoy your evening,” She answered pleasantly before connecting him with an efficient ‘click’.
The next few minutes are spent with a bouncing leg, listening to an automatic reading of the terms of conditions. He tried paying attention (it was important to know what he’d be spending his money on) but the truth was he had read the online TOR about a thousand times over the past few weeks. At this point, he knew it like the back of his hand.
He agreed and then robotically stated his credit card information.
The automatic voice told him to please wait for them to connect him to the right operator.
Miguel breathed in, looked around the room, so carefully staged, and asked himself one more time what the hell he was doing with his life. Like all the other times, he really did not have an answer.
It was too late to go back, though.
“Hi there, I’m Aranea, who might you be?”
The first thing that registered with him was the dissipation of his nerves, just a little, like someone had poked a hole in a dam. Her voice a seductive caress that had him sitting up a little straighter.
The hairs on his arms were standing up, and he was afraid that if he held the phone too close to his chest, the lady would hear his heart trying to beat itself out of his chest.
He swallowed. This was it.
His voice was as steady as he could manage when he said “Miguel.” It came out choked, awkward. She must think that he’s a fucking virgin.
“Miguel,” She repeated after him, dragging his name out as if she was savouring it. He liked it. The fact that she seemed to be paying attention to his name. Like this wasn’t just a call between strangers, of which one paid. “And what can I do for you, Miguel?”
That was a wonderful and very, very fair question. He had anticipated it and tried to practice a thousand different answers. However, at that very moment, he could not really remember any of them. His mind, usually his greatest weapon and a crutch in the chaos of everyday life, abandoned him like it rarely had before.
The silence following her question, one that really wasn’t that long in his opinion, was apparently enough for the woman’s trained ears. He could almost hear the smile in her voice as she continued, “This is your first time ever calling, isn’t it?”
He appreciated the closed question, to be answered with a simple “Yes”.
“You must be feeling really pent up, Miguel, maybe you need to blow off some steam?” She asked with a sultry lilt to her tone.
There was no judgment in her tone, no pity either, to his relief, just an observation stated in what must be the sexiest voice that Miguel had ever heard. He understood why she had decided to do this phone sex thing as a job; a voice like that was a damn weapon.
It was clear, impossible to misunderstand, smooth and warm.
He leaned his head back, resting it against the wall and took in a deep breath, making peace with the fact that he was now one of the sad, lonely bastards he had never thought he’d be.
“Life is…busy, not a lot of time to meet someone, you know?” He said the first full sentence he had spoken out loud in hours.
The house around him was quiet and dark, so unlike any other day that it felt almost eerie. But he was glad for the peace, for the bit of privacy that was usually not granted in his day-to-day life. He could say anything now, do anything and the only person there to judge him was he himself.
The voice- Aranea, he corrected himself, using the obvious alias she had given him for the sake of ease, hummed in what he thought was understanding.
“How would you meet someone, if you had the time?” She asked him, to his surprise.
For some reason, he had expected a phone sex operator to throw out lines like ‘You could meet me in the alley and bend me over’ or some cheesy shit that could have been written by an unimaginative porn screenwriter. Not an innocent question. This was closer to having an actual conversation.
He shifted, the sheets rustling beneath him as he tried to relax his muscles.
“In a bar, I think. I’m too old for clubs, there’s too much noise and you have to yell or you won’t hear each other over the music…” He trailed off, wondering why out of everything he could have come up with, he had to go for the one option that made him sound like a 60-year-old weirdo instead of the 36-year-old idiot he was.
“Fair.” The voice- Aranea, said generously, sounding more amused than put off, “But it does give you the chance to get really close to each other, maybe touch a little as well. It can be…exciting, right?”
His throat suddenly felt dry, and he swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room “Yeah, that’s true”, he acquiesced and then decided to continue, feeling inspired by her comment “It’s dark too, which can be nice. Gives some privacy, since people can’t really see you.”
“Lots of fun can be had in the dark”, She agreed, the suggestive nature of her comment touching that part of his brain he had been afraid had been dead. By the trickle of heat moving down his spine, it was still alive, but severely neglected. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge those kinds of thoughts, those kinds of needs, in such a long time. It was hard to melt into it.
His silence, a little uncomfortable as he continued to struggle with himself, seemed not to deject her too much, because she easily continued, “Do you like to be touched, Miguel?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” He retorted, without thinking. Stupid, he was supposed to engage in some kind of dirty talk, let this woman guide him to a state where he actually wanted to get off without any of that guilt that accompanied his rushed shower wanks. He wasn’t supposed to argue.
She chuckled, a low and brief sound, it didn’t sound rehearsed “No, some people only like to do the touching.”
“I like it,” Miguel confirmed, trying not to admit to her just how much. She must have heard the lilt of desperation that ran under his attempt at casualness.
“Has it been a while, Miguel?”
The way she said his name had his member twitching in interest, a quick movement Miguel could see through his sweatpants. How embarrassing that a woman was getting him close to half-mast just by saying his name. She hadn’t even really said anything dirty yet, if he didn’t watch out by the time she’d say ‘cock’, he’d be coming in his boxers untouched.
“Yeah, I work long hours most days and have other … responsibilities that keep me busy,” he admitted, trying not to reveal too much about the chaotic state of his life. The poor woman would definitely not be paid enough to deal with that.
No, let her worry about his now half-hard dick, and distinct lack of smoothness, “but I miss it. A lot.”
She hummed in understanding, and he was happy she accepted his answer for what it was instead of prying “So you wouldn’t mind finding some quiet corner in that club and having a little talk with me? I have to warn you, I’m a really touchy person, can barely keep my hands to myself.”
It sounded like she was pouting a little, teasing him with this soft-core foreplay that had him closing his eyes already. He couldn’t picture her face, or much else, but it didn’t matter. He could feel the oppressive heat in the crowded room, the low thumping bass reverberating in his chest as he’d bend over and loom over her to hear her words.
“Where would you touch me?” He asked, already breathless. He didn’t open his eyes, not wanting to let go of the seductive image. In his mind, she was saying something to him, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, no choice but to stay close and make sure he heard her loud and clear.
“Your arms, I’d hold on to your biceps to lean closer, squeezing a little so I don’t lose my balance. Maybe I’d trail my fingertips over your skin while you talk to me,” She sounded a little thoughtful, actually embedding herself in the fantasy they were piecing together. “But I would get distracted, maybe a little more comfortable, and I’d slide both of my hands to your chest.”
Miguel worked for his body, every fucking day he woke up at the crack of dawn, before his day should actually begin and worked out in the home gym he had set up in the garage. God knows he did not have the time to go all the way to an actual gym. But he needed to work out; it was his form of meditation, of therapy. He needed to feel physically strong, in control of one damn thing in his life.
So the thought of having a pretty woman eagerly cornered in a dark club, flirting with him and touching his body as if it was her only way to find out what he looked like, had him palming his bulge without a second thought.
His breath hitched, and he was sure she heard.
Let her, she should know how much he liked this.
“I’d wanna say something to you, so I’d slide one hand to the nape of your neck, fingers lacing through your hair, and the other lower.” She continued, now a little mischievous, as if she was playing a fun little game with him, “Not too low, maybe on your hip, or if I’m feeling a little bold I’d hook my fingers into the waistband of your jeans.”
He could imagine it, the sweet torture of her fingers brushing against his hipbone whilst he would try so hard not to push his aching erection into her. It would be too aggressive, too soon for that, but he’d be so desperate for any kind of friction.
How she knew that having his hair played with, whether it was getting pulled, scratched or petted, was his biggest weakness, he did not care to find out.
“I’d be wrapped around your finger”, He admitted, the path between his overactive neurons and mouth a highway.
“Me too, Miguel, if that voice of yours is anything to go by”, She flirted, and that was something he couldn’t just let go.
“You like my voice?” He asked, a little in surprise. It wasn’t like he was insecure or shy in the slightest. Plenty of women had expressed interest over the years (despite his situation) and had complimented him on all sorts of things. One woman had even flirted with him by saying that his canine teeth were impressively sharp, whatever the hell that meant.
“Yeah, a lot, bet you can say lots of lovely things that would get me excited.” She teased him, and he imagined her smiling and biting her lip as she admitted it, “You like to talk, Miguel? Or make any noises while I touch you?”
The breath was pushed out of him as he squeezed his eyes tight, his lips not touching each other, opened just a tad. He wasn’t in his right mind when his pinched voice asked, “Can I- Do you mind if I touch myself?”
Miguel sounded like a virgin, inexperienced and shy. In a way, he was. A phone sex virgin, unsure of etiquette and trying to fight the instinct to wrap his hand around his shaft and release the overwhelming need that had finally, finally possessed him again.
“Do you like to get permission to touch yourself?” She asked sweetly, and he was lucid enough to understand she was trying to see whether he liked to be ordered around, denied, maybe even.
“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable”, Miguel explained quickly, finally opening his eyes with a few blinks and looking at the ceiling, hoping that sensing a bit of reality would help him get a grip. On himself. In a non-physical, non-dirty way.
“Oh,” she said, sounding a little breathless herself now, surprised. Quickly, she got back on track, and he heard a note of something extra in her tone as she said, “Please touch yourself for me, Miguel, think of my hands.”
Oh, she wanted to get her hands on his hard, aching cock all right. Her version in his imagination made swift work of his belt, the thing coming uselessly undone under her nimble fingers as he shielded them from everyone else’s view.
When the Aranea in his mind slid her hand into the slit of his boxers and gently pulled out his truly desperate dick, he finally wrapped his hand around the base and squeezed.
The moan that came out of him made him sound like a cheap pornstar.
And whilst he wasn’t sure, because his brain was being intoxicated by a tsunami of dopamine the likes he hadn’t felt in months, he could swear he heard her breath hitch.
An involuntary, genuine sound from a woman who was supposed to fake this on the regular? Miguel was almost flattered if he had had the capacity for complex emotions in that moment.
“How do my hands feel?” She asked softly, sounding afraid to interrupt him, a ridiculous notion.
“Like finding an oasis in a desert”, He groaned, slowly pulling his hand up this length, towards his oversensitive head. He wouldn’t even need to grab the lube, considering that he was leaking precum like a hose, slicking up his length.
He heard her laugh, a pretty and melodic sound that did not seem to fit with her sultry persona too well “So poetic, Miguel.”
Shamelessly, as if that part had been put to sleep now that his libido was well and alive again, he moaned and then begged, “Say my name again.”
“You like how I say it, Miguel?” she said slowly, cruel in how hot she sounded, dragging out the words. She said it right, with the Spanish intonation, the way it should be said every single fucking time. If this ever happened again, he’d wear headphones so the sound could travel straight into his ears.
“Fuck” Was the highly intelligent thing he managed to say in response, his hand now a steady rhythm all the way down to his balls, back to his sensitive, leaking tip. The wet squelches were obnoxious as he adjusted his grip, electric waves of pleasure travelling over his skin into his lust-addled mind.
“I might have to spit on it if you like it that wet and messy.” She said, her voice dropping a register, finally getting to the filthy stuff. No more teasing, she knew what she had to do with him.
“That’s not lube”, He grunted out, not resisting the temptation of holding the phone a little closer to his throbbing shaft. Even farther away, he could hear the little, definitely involuntary ‘oh’ that escaped her.
Yeah, she wasn’t unaffected either. “What would you do next?”
“Kiss you.”
The image in his mind was so sharp he could have sworn he was actually there. She’d be standing in front of him, her back against a dark corner, features covered in shadows. Her hands were visible, but only to him, felt only by him. One would be anchored in the nape of his neck, the other one stroking up and down over and over again in small movements so no one would notice.
He still couldn’t imagine her face, her body at all. But the idea of her eyes, pupils blown wide and filled to the brim with the same lust that mirrored his, before pulling him down and crashing her lips against his.
Who was he to deny her such a sweet, desperate thing?
And lost in that moment, his control over himself slipped, the weeks of neglect catching up to him in one rush of impulsive emotion. His face contorted as his mind flashed white with a spike of pleasure, the guttural moan almost starting off as a whimper, his trembling hand stilling whilst he finally released everything he had been holding back.
Thankfully, he would later think, he did not wear a shirt. Ropes and ropes landed on his stomach, warm and more abundant than he ever remembered them being. He whimpered as his poor cock twitched, desperate to pump everything he had stored for too long out, only helped by a few clumsy strokes from Miguel’s hand.
His breath was laboured, coming out quickly as he once again rested the back of his head against the wall. The stone was cold against his scalp, a stark contrast with the heat that had consumed his body in its entirety seconds ago. He wasn’t sure what was left of him at that point.
“That sounded like you really needed it.” Came the voice, who for a second he had forgotten was not just a figment of a very vivid fantasy, out of the phone that had fallen out of his hand onto the bed.
He laughed freely, feeling the mess drip over his skin as his chest rumbled, a sense of relief and freedom almost making him euphoric “You fucking tell me.”
She chuckled, a little too softly, more guarded than she had been before. Miguel could barely remember that this was a stranger on the other side of the line, a professional he paid to get him off on the phone, and not a hot girl in a club. He grunted a little as he reached for wet wipes, roughly cleaning off the mess he had made and throwing the dirty, ball-up tissues on the floor.
“So did I make your first time a little memorable?” She teased, and he smiled sleepily, glad to feel somewhat clean and so, so relaxed.
“Thank you.” He said sincerely, breathing out without the heavy feeling that usually constricted his chest from the inside out. Another breath in and out finally quieted the distressed buzz of thoughts that usually ran through his mind at all hours of the day.
“You’re welcome, Miguel.” She answered gently, her smooth voice draping over his tired brain like a warm blanket, making his lids all the heavier “Now I suggest you hang up, or I’ll be paying my rent this month off hearing you snore.”
She was right, he had already spoken to her for too long, and the bill would be astronomical if he kept going.
Worth it too, probably.
“Can I call you again sometime?” He asked without thinking, all his inhibitions currently slumbering where he couldn’t reach for them.
“You know where to find me.” She answered back, and he hoped that in real life, she would’ve winked. He liked people who winked. It was charming.
“Bye, Aranea.” He finally answered, feeling his mind slipping away from his weak grasp on his consciousness.
“Sleep well, Miguel.” She answered, and it was the last thing he heard before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.