A Simple Call

If he said he hadn’t spent the last hour waiting for his phone to ring, it would’ve been a lie. Ashenivir flipped it over in his hands again, like he’d been doing for the past twenty minutes, then clicked the unlock. Two minutes to eight. God, he felt sick. His stomach kept flipping between swooping excitement and swarming nerves. What if Rizeth didn’t call? What if he’d decided to scrap the whole thing, because Domming a trans guy over text chat was one thing, but hearing him would shatter whatever mental image he’d constructed and so wasn’t worth the effort? What if this was all an elaborate practical joke, if Rizeth wasn’t actually real, just some Dom he’d argued with before messing with him, getting off on stringing him along—

The phone buzzed. Ashenivir started, and it thudded to the floor.

“Shit!”

He scrambled after it, fumbling to answer without even checking the ID. “Hello?”

“Am I speaking with Ashenivir?” said a voice like dark, melted chocolate. Every perfectly enunciated syllable flowed directly into his ear and for a brief moment short-circuited his entire brain. He cleared his throat.

“Um. Yes. Rizeth, right?”

A low, brief chuckle that went straight to Ashenivir’s cock. “Not what you were expecting?”

“Better,” he blurted out, then winced. Great first impression, Shen. Really show off that vocabulary.

Another laugh. “I shall take that as a compliment. Whereabouts are you right now?”

“At home. My bedroom,” Ashenivir said, still struggling with the concept of complete sentences. “Like we agreed.”

“Good. Lock your door, if you’re able.”

Good. Hearing it was a thousand—no, a million—times better than seeing it written out. Ashenivir hurried to follow the order; he was getting wet already which was extremely pathetic, but it had been so long since anyone had verbally given him orders—he was starving for it, and it didn’t hurt that Rizeth’s voice was a five-course meal plus dessert.

“Is it locked?” Rizeth asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Ashenivir swallowed thickly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good boy.” Fuck me, it should be illegal for him to say that. “Undress and lay on the bed. Legs apart, knees bent. Tell me when you’re done.”

He’d never taken off his clothes so fast. He tossed his jeans and boxers on the floor, along with his shirt, then paused with his hands on the hem of his binder. Rizeth couldn’t see him, but he was all too aware of his own body and the ability it had to ruin his mood. He picked up the phone where he’d set it on the pillow.

“Sir?”

“I assume you aren’t done, given the questioning tone. What is it?”

“I…” The excitement had switched back to nerves. “May I keep my binder on? Please?”

“Is it going to physically harm you if you wear it whilst masturbating?” Rizeth asked, as bluntly straightforward in speech as he was in chat. It was oddly calming to hear.

“No. It’s not exactly strenuous exercise.”

“Then you may.”

Ashenivir let out a whoosh of relieved air. “Thank you, Sir.”

He hopped up onto the bed and arranged himself as instructed. It had grown dark whilst he’d been staring at his phone, and the only light came from the streetlight outside, faint through the curtains. He laid his free hand on his stomach. “Ready, Sir.”

“Very good,” Rizeth said. Anticipation prickled down Ashenivir’s spine. “I’m going to tell you how to touch yourself now, and you are going to do exactly as I say, when I say it. You are going to answer every question I ask, when I ask it. You are going to tell me when you’re near to orgasm, and you are going to ask permission before you reach it. Am I understood?”

Ashenivir could have melted right through the bed. “Yes, Sir. Completely.”

“We shall warm you up a little first, I think. Begin by stroking the inside of your thighs, alternating sides.”

Such a simple touch. The idea of performing foreplay on himself felt faintly ridiculous, not something he ever really did alone, yet with every pass of fingers the heat radiating off of him grew, his thighs and stomach tight with want. Not indulging it only made it worse, a fact Rizeth seemed somehow aware of, for he kept Ashenivir teasing himself for several long minutes before giving his next command.

“Put your hand between your legs and tell me what it feels like.”

Ashenivir obeyed. “Hot,” he said. Flexed his palm. “Wet.”

“Not just that,” Rizeth said. “I want to know how you feel. What would be under my hand if it were in the place of yours; what I would be able to enjoy if I were there with you.”

Every word was solid, confident; a roll of firm instruction Ashenivir was powerless against. He’d be thinking of it every time he got off for months. “I…I don’t shave. My hair’s kind of thick, I can—you could tangle your fingers in the curls, if you wanted. I’ve been on T for a bit over a year, and nothing much has changed for me yet, but it—”

“It? Be specific, please. I have no interest in abstraction.”

Ashenivir squeezed his eyes shut. It was a lot easier to type this stuff out than say it aloud. “My cock is a little bigger now, Sir. More sensitive. I get kind of hard. Not much, but…”

“Go on,” Rizeth said. No pressure, no urgency, just another order. He could follow an order.

“The past couple of nights, when you were telling me what to do over messages, it was…it…my cock was a lot harder. And…and I still get really wet.” Even though he was alone, his face heated. Beneath his hand was equally warm—mental discomfort aside, his body apparently enjoyed telling Rizeth every detail of his arousal.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Sir. You’d be able to feel it if you were here.”

“I want you to feel it now. Get one finger nice and wet for me.”

“Just one, Sir?”

“For now.”

His forefinger slid in so easily he let out a moan. Just one was nowhere near enough.

“That feels good, I take it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you like that about yourself? That you’re as wet as you are?”

“Yes,” Ashenivir whispered. “Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t, and sometimes it’s not so great, but right now it’s good. Really good. I’d like it if you could feel it. I’d like…I’d like…”

“Tell me what you’d like, Ashenivir.”

The way Rizeth’s voice wrapped around his name was maddening. It practically made it a title, even though they’d agreed that Sir was the only one they’d be using for now. “I’d like to know what your fingers feel like inside me.”

“How deep they could go? How many you could take?”

“Yes, Sir. Sir, please can I use more than one?”

“You may have two.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Ashenivir switched fingers, his middle and ring fitting in their familiar way, using his palm as leverage to rock as deep as he could. Another moan escaped him—he hoped Rizeth liked how it sounded. Was he getting off on this, too? Touching himself, wherever he was? Or was he the type who wouldn’t do that until afterwards?

“How hard would that make you, do you think?” Rizeth said. “Having my fingers inside you, fucking you, taking advantage of all that wetness?”

Ashenivir whimpered. “At least as hard as I am right now.”

“A shame to waste such a thing.” Rizeth’s tone darkened. “Touch your cock. I want to hear how hard you are for just the sound of my voice.”

The answer was very. Ashenivir fit his slick fingers around the base of his cock-in-progress, as he thought of it. The difference wasn’t huge, size-wise, but it was enough to throw him off. Touching himself was a continuing adventure in searching for the right angle.

“What are your hands like, Sir?” he asked, sucking in a breath as he found said angle, flexing his wrist to stroke his short, hard length.

“Larger than yours, I expect. I’ve been told they’re rather slim.”

“How long are your fingers?”

“Long enough to fit your cock between,” Rizeth said. Ashenivir bit his lip, working his hand faster. The way he’d phrased it—not trying to pretend that what Ashenivir called his cock was the same as what a cis boy had; not ignoring the reality of him, but incorporating it.

“Long enough to stroke you until it hurts,” Rizeth continued. “Long enough that once they’re inside you, you’ll beg me to keep them there.”

Ashenivir slid his own fingers into himself; three, unbidden, because he desperately needed something to fill him. His breath came in hard gasps as he thrust, hips bucking off the bed to take the full force of his hand as fast as he could. “Fuck.”

“Get your fingers out of yourself and back on your cock,” Rizeth said sharply. “I never told you to stop touching it.”

The fact that he’d known lit up Ashenivir’s body. Being told off like that lit up his brain. “Sorry, Sir,” he panted, and went back to what he’d been ordered to do, smearing a frankly embarrassing amount of wet all over himself in the process.

Long, slim fingers. He pictured them in place of his own, teasing him whilst two more fucked him at a pace he would in no way be allowed to dictate. Relentless, he decided; Rizeth would be relentless. Not necessarily rough—though he had no objection to that—but he wouldn’t stop until Ashenivir was senseless with begging.

Half moans caught in his throat as he kept stroking, his imaginings turning him more sensitive by the second. A heady flush began to fill him, and he remembered at the last moment what he was meant to do at this point. “Sir, I’m really close. May I come?”

“If I were there,” Rizeth said, “what would you do if I let you?”

“Thank you.”

“How?”

Oh yeah, the specifics thing. Was that a kink or a personality trait? “However you wanted me to thank you, Sir—oh, god, please tell me I can come or I can stop, or I’ll come without permission and I don’t want to do that, Sir, please.”

“If I were there,” Rizeth said, calmly indifferent to his suffering, “watching you touch yourself would have made me as hard as hearing it has made me tonight. After you’d come, you would thank me by taking care of that with your mouth, which, if it’s as lovely as your voice, I think would serve quite well in such an endeavour.”

“Yes, Sir,” Ashenivir rushed out. The point of no return was rapidly approaching. “You could fuck my mouth however you like, I’m good at that, I like the taste, I like to swallow, oh fuck, please may I come, Sir, I’m going to, I’m going to, I—”

“Come for me, Ashenivir,” Rizeth said, right as the orgasm crashed through him. He gasped a moan into the phone, whimpering down the other side of it, tingling all the way to the soles of his feet, hand pressed hard against himself as he shuddered through the best climax he’d had all week. He lay limp atop the sheets as it dissipated, slowly recovering his breath.

“Good boy,” Rizeth said softly, and this time the words wrapped around him like a blanket. Not just praise, but a totality of who and what he was. Ashenivir hummed, head buzzing pleasantly.

“Thank you, Sir,” he sighed. “That was amazing.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Ashenivir made himself sit up, pulling threads of clarity back into place with some difficulty. “What about you, did you…I mean, were you…?”

“I was not indulging myself tonight,” Rizeth said. “I wanted to focus on you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“As I said, it’s what I wanted to do.”

Silence hummed down the phone line. Traffic rushed wetly past outside, oblivious. Ashenivir wiped his hand off on the duvet. “I wish I knew what you looked like.”

A pause, long enough for regret to seed in his stomach at saying anything, then, “I’d rather like to know what you look like, too. I quite enjoy how you sound.”

“You might be disappointed.”

“I doubt that.”

He was just being polite, Ashenivir knew that, but his Dommed-to-insensibility brain took it as truth, and his sex-loosened mouth ran away with itself. “Maybe tomorrow night we could video call?”

Another pause. Idiot, idiot, why did you ask that! He’s going to think you’re just another selfish sub who treats Doms like sex-dispensers; god, why can’t you just play it cool, or at least act five percent less desperate—

“The idea has merit,” Rizeth said, cutting through his internal doom spiral. “However, I have other commitments tomorrow night, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay, I—”

“Are you free this weekend?”

“Yes,” Ashenivir said immediately, almost before Rizeth finished speaking. A brief laugh, lighter than the ones that had started their call. It sent a flutter through his chest.

“Saturday then, if you’re amenable. Eight o’clock, as usual?”

“I’m very amenable to eight o’clock on Saturday.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you, Ashenivir.”

“I…uh. Same.”

“Goodnight.”

The phone went silent. It burned against his ear—the damn thing was so old, a conversation that long had it running blazing hot. He powered it down, then tossed it at the end of the bed. He was sweaty and sticky; needed to clean up, take a shower before Keszriin got home and hogged it.

Ashenivir flopped back, sprawled out, grinning into the dark. A video call. Fuck. If Rizeth looked even half as hot as he sounded…

Saturday was four days away. If by some miracle he hadn’t masturbated himself into oblivion by then, it was going to be maybe the best Saturday night of his life.