Call Me

CALL ME

© Clare London / 2011

 

 

 

“Section 3b.” Vic’s voice is low and steady on the other end of the line. “The cross reference is to Appendix II not I.”

“Right. Got it.” I strike it out on my copy, on the desk in front of me. A bold, red stroke of the pen. We’re only a third of the way through the document, he’s found plenty of errors.

“I probably should have done this face to face with Jon during the meeting, right?” He’s apologetic.

“It’s okay.” My ear is buzzing slightly from holding the phone so close for the last half hour. “He’s pretty busy with Board business, this is what I’m employed for, anyway.” That came out rather churlish and I bite my lip. I don’t begrudge the time at all. It’s given me the opportunity to be with Vic – well, talk to him – without my boss around. Or anyone at all. I glance up but no one passes my cubicle unless they need the maintenance room. Being at the end of the corridor has both disadvantages and advantages.

He laughs gently, obviously didn’t think I was being rude. “You get all the good jobs, right? Looked like you had plenty to do, from what I could see.”

“Me?” I’d spent the whole meeting shuffling papers and trying not to catch his eye.

“You think I didn’t notice you?” There’s a warning edge to his tone.

I feel suddenly hot. “If you’d like to move on to Section 4, there’s a lot of issues around the monthly audit procedures…”

“I’d like to move on, but not to Section 4.” His voice has dropped to a murmur. “I saw you looking at me.”

Fuck. I squirm in my seat.

“I saw you, your hot dark eyes, licking your lips every time you drank your water, running your fingers along the edge of the table. Glancing at me when you thought no one was looking. You were squirming. I bet you’re doing that right now.” I roll my eyes. I’m either damned predictable or he has a webcam in here. “I bet you’re hot, too. You looked hot in the meeting.”

“Air-con’s out.” My voice is only a squeak.

You’re out,” he says. I can hear the laughter under his words. “And you know I am too, don’t you?”

“If you have some kind of complaint, you should let Jon know…”

“No way. No complaint.” He laughed aloud, but it was still a murmur. Goose bumps sprang up down my spine. “Far from it. I like you hot. I like it a lot. You had me squirming, too. Did you realise that?”

“No.” The squeak is just a whisper now.

“I didn’t hear that.”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“Good. I like to surprise.” There’s the rustle of paper from his end of the line. “Don’t be afraid to speak frankly to me. I insist on it, actually. I want to hear what you think about things. What you feel.”

“Me?” I’m repeating myself but my tongue feels thick in my mouth and my thoughts even thicker. “Jon doesn’t like…”

“I don’t want to fuck Jon,” Vic says, shockingly matter-of-fact. “He wasn’t the one making me squirm. Making my mouth dry, my belly tighten. Making my cock swell in my pants; making my hands itch to touch it.”

Fuck. I look around again, but the corridor is still quiet. “Maybe…we can meet. Outside of work.” I’m stuttering.

“Of course,” he laughs. “That’ll happen. But I can’t wait for that now. I’ve been listening to your voice all this time, talking about sub-sections and tabs and strike-throughs. You have a cute voice, you know? All the times you say, got it. I’m ready. Go ahead. I’m hard already.”

“I…I didn’t…”

“You are too, aren’t you?” I nearly drop the phone. Where the fuck’s the secret webcam? “You’re hard. Your dick is aching. Wet, thinking of me. Wishing I was there and not here, on the other end of a line. Sitting opposite you again but not with the rest of the project team. Just me. Looking at you. And you looking back with those bedroom eyes you have. Maybe not bedroom. Maybe just fuck-me eyes, right over the Board table. Now eyes. Hard, fast, deep eyes. Quick eyes.”

The noise that comes from me is a whimper. I think Vic likes the sound of it.

“Take it out. Take out your cock.”

“Look, I can’t…”

“Do it.” His tone is sharp. “Mine is out already. My pants are open, I’ve pushed them down my thighs. My dick is so thick it’s painful, it’s curving out from my balls. I’m holding it in my fist. It’s hot; heavy. Fills my palm. I’ve got to relieve it, moving my hand up and down. Pumping. Slick skin against skin. I keep lube in my desk, did you know?”

Of course I fucking didn’t. Under my own desk, I slide down the zipper of my pants, cautious even though I’m sure no one can hear me.

“Say something.”

I swallow, hard. “I didn’t know. I don’t have any myself.” I grip my own erection with a terrible mixture of relief and agony and fear of discovery.

“Not good enough,” Vic murmurs. His voice is a caress.

“Not keeping lube in my office drawer? It’s not on the stationery re-order sheet.” I spit quickly into my palm and slick it around my cock. “I can manage.”

“No,” he chides me. “I mean your conversation. You must tell me more. How do I make you feel?”

“Good,” I gasp. The smooth heat of my dick against the cool sweat in my palm. It’s a hit, straight to my groin.

He makes a tutting noise of complaint. “Tell me. Every word you say makes me harder. Every gasp makes my cock jump in my hand. I’m sliding down in my chair, spreading my legs. My balls are tight, so hard. I want you to make me come. Fuck me.”

“Oh God.” I can’t hold back the moan. “I won’t last…”

He whispers something I don’t catch. He laughs raggedly. I imagine I can hear the slick sucking noises as his hand moves, sliding the sheath back, exposing his slit, the purple-red head. Jerking off.

“You.” I can’t make coherent sentences. “At that meeting.” Purple-red head. A bead of pre-come. “So fucking hot. Smart, clean suit. Dirty fucking eyes. Playing with me. Can’t. Need.” My legs hurt, the muscles tensing. I push my pants down further, tug my shirt tails to one side. I’m pumping myself too hard, not enough lube. Too desperate. I start panting. I’m gripping the phone between my ear and my shoulder, the edge of it hurting my neck. Vic’s voice slips in and out of volume. He’s groaning.

“Hot.” There are tears in my eyes. The edge of my seat is digging into the back of my legs. My pants are twisted around my knees. Sweat trickles down between my thighs. “You hear me?”

“I hear you. You’re clear. Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop. I’m…” His voice trails off in a sob.

I laugh, my own sob not far away. It’s clenching in my groin, the pain, the ecstasy, the raw desire. My balls lift and tighten, my hand nudges them to the side to get a better grip. The hairs at the base of my dick are wet with sweat, catching in my wrist strap. My fingers flick over the tip of my cock, spreading the dampness. Skin is hot, slippery. My asshole flexes in anticipation of climax. “I’ll do what I fucking well please.” I can barely grunt the words. “You hear that?”

He gasps loudly. “Yes. I. Please.”

“Wait.” I slow my strokes, just for a moment, biting back the need to speed over the cliff. “When I say. Come when I say.”

Vic gives a strangled moan. “Want.”

“Yeah.” So do we all. I can imagine him now, the pants creased with sweat, the necktie loose, his other palm flat on the desk, holding himself in check. Handsome man. Throat tight, eyes rolling.

Waiting for me.

I grin. It’s a grimace. Fuck any secret webcam, I don’t care what I look like. I’m in Vic’s mind, he’s in my head. I see his eyes, hear his frustration keening, feel his dick throbbing as it thrusts in and out of his hand. I can’t stop myself.

“Now.” I groan and squeeze. The come spits out, starts to flow. Ache soothed. Tension released. Mind swimming. I grab the edge of the desk and my papers slide everywhere.

His voice is too loud, I’m assuming his secretary is at lunch. That’s his problem. He’s shouting, cursing. It’s a stream of nonsense, it’s hoarse. It’s hot. It’s for me.

“Tonight,” he’s gasping. “You and me. Yes?”

I smile as the lassitude creeps over me, heart beat slowing, blood easing, muscles relaxing. Sticky; warm; satisfied for now.

I let the phone drop back on to the desk.