A/N: This smutty little AU is a gift for Batherik, who sent the "E/C phone sex AU" prompt on Tumblr, proving that if you send a prompt, apparently I can't say no. They are the creator of one of my favorite POTO comics, and have been feeling poorly...Batherik, I hope this cheers you up! I'm so mad at you for this!
This will be a three-shot fic, I swear to God.
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"Hi baby," she purred in her most seductive kitten voice. "Do you wanna play with m-"
Christine hadn't even managed to finish her opening when a telltale hitching wheeze interrupted her. She listened for several gasping heartbeats before her eyes closed in disgusted disappointment once more. The man on the other end of the line, his orgasm complete, disconnected the call.
It had been the third call that evening, all of them ending the same way. She would answer her line to the sound of frantic masturbation on the other end, with the caller coming before she could even make it to the three minute mark.
This was not the way life was supposed to be, Christine thought miserably, pushing away her cereal bowl and dropping her head to her arm. Her father was not supposed to die, she was not supposed to have been left in a mountain of debt, music school was not supposed to cost what may as well have been a billion dollars, and she was most definitely not supposed to be doing phone sex work just to pay her meager rent.
Life, it seemed, had other ideas.
Her father's day job as an archivist had been sufficient enough to keep them fed and the rent paid, but did little to secure anything for the future. When he had lost his battle with the cancer he'd gotten from the building material in the old library, Christine found herself drowning in a tide of grief and hospital bills. The class action lawsuit against the city that she'd joined would be paying out eventually, but until then, she needed to keep the bill collectors at bay and food on her table.
It's just for a little while, she reminded herself. The lawsuit money will be coming in soon, you can go back to school next semester. This will just be a funny story to tell someday.
The phone rang again, and she straightened up. Showtime.
"Hi baby,"
"Chris, what the fuck? How have you barely hit four minutes in three calls?"
Meg's voice snapped down the line, and she dropped her head back to her arm.
"For God's sake, don't you think I know that? What am I supposed to do?! These guys are already beating it, Meg. As soon as I answer, they jizz themselves and they're done! They don't care about talking, they just want someone to hear them coming."
The other girl sighed heavily into the phone, and Christine pressed her eyes into her arm in misery.
"Christine, you said you really needed this job."
Meg was a pretty slip of a girl whom she'd sat next to during orientation for the Fine Arts school. They'd become fast friends, giggling away at speaker after speaker, until they were forced to go their separate ways-Christine to the school of music, Meg to the school of dance. Over the course of their easy friendship, Christine had learned Meg didn't need to worry about the tuition in the same way she did, as her mother ran a "lucrative business".
When she had been dropped from the Spring roster due to non-payment, Meg had hesitantly suggested that she should come work for said business.
"You can make good money, Christine. Find a day job and do this on the evenings and weekends. By the time school starts up again in the fall, you'll be flush."
Little did she know, as she eagerly nodded yes, hugging her friend in gratitude, that the job was as a phone sex worker, and the good money could only be made if the caller was kept on the phone for fifteen minute blocks. So far, one month into her inglorious new career, she could barely afford name brand toilet paper with her earnings.
"I do, Meggie, I do," she moaned. "I just...I don't know what I'm doing."
She heard the pathetic waver in her voice, and obviously so did Meg. Christine had found out after she'd started working that her friend worked in her mother's office during school breaks, running the lines, tallying the totals for each login. The fun-loving dancer she knew at school was a miniature version of her formidable mother at the office, as Christine quickly learned. It was several long moments before Meg spoke again.
"Okay, this is what we're going to do...get a pen and take down this number. This is the switchboard line. I'm going to give you the extension for our three top money makers, if you call them from the switchboard, you don't incur a charge. Maybe one of them can give you some tips, okay?"
The first woman Christine called that evening, after much waffling and procrastination, pacing back and forth across her threadbare rug before dialing, scolded her for keeping the line tied up.
"I-I'm sorry, I was told you might be able to give me some pointers," she blurted desperately as the woman ranted.
"Sweetie, you want a pointer? Sell them the fantasy they're looking for. This is a business, the product changes from customer to customer. Above all, don't clog my fucking line ever again."
The woman disconnected as she sputtered her apology, heat flaming her face.
Sell them a fantasy? What if their fantasy is to ejaculate as soon as someone answers the phone? she thought wryly, calling the next extension before she lost her nerve.
Fortunately the next woman was a bit more patient. After seeming confused as to why Christine was calling, she soon settled into the role of battle-weary agony aunt, and chatted for nearly ten minutes.
"Honey, don't believe anyone who tells you you're gonna get rich overnight, that's your first mistake. It takes time to be successful, and this business is like any other. You gotta learn the ropes and find your in. Once you do that, you'll start getting regulars, that's when you wrack up the time. Once these guys start calling you, you specifically, they like to talk. They're still just looking to jack off, but they want to jack off with you now."
Christine hung up feeling unsettled, not sure if any of that actually helped, or if it just made her feel dirty. Rising from her table, she decided to wash away the metaphorical grime of the last few hours and take a bath. Taking the cordless with her, she thought she'd give the last top earner a call from the tub.
Thirty minutes later, she wound her curls up to the top of her head, smoothing away the honey-gold wisps, and slipped into the steaming bubbles. Waiting until the tension had slipped from her shoulders, she propped one elbow on the edge of the tub and dialed, preparing herself for a slinky, sex-pot voice to answer.
Closing her eyes as the phone began to ring, she breathed deeply, prepared to be yelled at again. The phone rang once...twice...three times?! before a smooth "Hello?" came over the line.
Her mouth dropped open. She must have dialed wrong, she must have transposed something in the main switchboard line, for there was no way that this could be one of the business' top earners.
For starters, it was a man.
He wasn't prompt in picking up the phone, he answered like it was his own personal line, and his voice…
His voice!
Christine had never heard such a voice, at least not outside of radio and the movies. Rich and deep and resonant, it sent a shiver up her spine. She wanted badly to hear it again.
Shit
At least thirty seconds had elapsed since the man picked up the line. Reflecting that it was comical how she was now able to accurately break time down into minutes and seconds, she realized immediately that her first clue that she'd indeed dialed the right number should have been the fact that the man hadn't said anything further and was letting the dead air accumulate
What a sneak!
"H-hi," she stammered out, feeling her cheeks flush.
"How are you tonight, beautiful?"
Christine slipped a bit deeper into her bathwater, as if his sonorous, velvet voice were pushing her, causing a tingle to excite between her thighs. "Fine," she squeaked. When her earlobes touched the steaming water, she started. How the hell is he doing this, is he a magician?!
"Fine, I'm fine!" she blurted, sitting up hurriedly. "I'm um, I'm calling from the switchboard? They gave me your extension for, um, pointers and...I-I'm new?"
Christine closed her eyes in mortification. She sounded like a babbling idiot, she knew. Just dunk yourself until the bubbles stop. Before she could clarify her reason for calling, he'd begun to speak again.
"Oh...well, that's fine, I suppose. How are you tonight, Miss…?"
"Angel," Christine breathed. No one at the agency went by their actual name, she had learned. The only record of a Christine Daaé at the agency was on a tax ID form that had been sent to an off-site payroll company
"Angel," he repeated softly. "How long have you been doing this?"
"Just a month."
"And how have things been going so far?"
"Oh, well...they've been, um…"
"That good, hmm?" His deep chuckle was like melted chocolate in her ear, and Christine thought that maybe she understood why he did so well after all. There was a sensuousness to his tone that made her body respond to him in a way she'd never before experienced.
"Let me guess, can't keep them on the line?"
"Exactly!" she sighed, leaning forward to turn the hot tap back on. "I can barely get out an opening line and they're already, um...finishing." The last was said with another blush as the sexy-voiced stranger on the phone laughed again.
"Stop giving them a line," he suggested. "Don't answer the phone giving them what they want, you need to shake them up a bit."
A rebuttal was on the tip of her tongue, but before she could voice an argument, Christine paused. He hadn't answered the phone with anything other than Hello, and it had, in fact, shaken her up.
"You're still going to get the guys who are already...overexcited, we'll say," he continued sardonically. "I'm sorry that's been the majority of your experiences thus far. They won't all be like that."
"Someone told me I need to sell them a fantasy," she murmured. "I'm not sure I'd know how to do that even if I did manage to get someone on the line for more than a minute." She felt her cheeks heat. It was humiliating admitting she couldn't even fathom how to give horny, desperate strangers what they were looking for, but it was the truth.
"Mhm, that's not bad advice. It's the fantasy, yes, but it's also the intimacy. It's not always just about the sex, people call for different reasons, but one way or another, they're all looking to make a connection."
"You have an amazing voice," she blurted, unable to keep the thought contained to herself for another minute. She was once more tempted to hold herself under the bathwater as he chuckled again. Stupid, so freaking stupid.
"Thank you, Angel." Christine felt a swooping sensation low in her stomach as he continued. "But I could say the same to you, your voice is quite beautiful. Very polished...do you act or sing?"
"Sing." She leaned forward to turn off the hot tap, settling back in the water once more. She knew she probably shouldn't tell this stranger anything about herself, but she simply couldn't help it. His voice was hypnotic, and she suspected any man or woman would be hard pressed to not be trapped in its thrall if he so wished it. "I-I'm classically trained."
"Beautiful," he murmured again, and Christine shivered, despite the near-scalding water. "Well, once you have them on the line, you just...talk. Let them lead you to what the fantasy needs to be. So let's just talk. How are you doing tonight, Angel?"
Christine laughed, feeling her tension lessen. She began to talk to to the man on the phone, and to her surprise, it wasn't hard at all.
He asked her about her musical training, how long she'd studied, and what types of music she preferred. When she revealed that she most loved classical performance, she could hear his smile through the connection. They talked about their favorite operas, she told him about roles she had done. To her slight disappointment, he revealed little about himself, other than the unsurprising fact that he'd "had some experience in voice work."
His voice had never lost any of its smoothness, as she'd expected, any of its rich resonance as they'd talked; she realized this was not a stage voice he used, but his actual everyday speaking voice. Christine didn't know why this smooth-voiced stranger was so easy to talk to, but she could easily understand why people paid money to listen to him. Before she knew it, most of the evening had gone by.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," she murmured, leaning forward to drain some of the water again. "I've tied up your line the whole night, I'm...I'm really sorry."
"I don't know why, I've enjoyed myself."
"I did too," she laughed, surprised that she meant it. She'd emptied and drained half of the tub water several times as they'd talked, and leaned to turn the hot water on once more.
"Is that water I keep hearing?" he asked suddenly. "Are you an actual mermaid, Angel? A seductive siren, luring sailors to their doom with that beautiful voice?"
Christine felt her breath catch and her cheeks flame. How embarrassing to admit she'd been talking to him in the tub this whole time! "Not quite," she laughed awkwardly. "I'm taking a bath."
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the phone, and she hurriedly turned the water off. This is so humiliating…
"It occurs to me that we didn't practice much fantasy selling, Angel," the man purred, and Christine immediately stilled, suddenly breathless.
There was something different in his tone, a note of raw sexuality that had been absent from their previous conversation. Christine knew she'd be lying to herself if she pretended his voice wasn't incredibly arousing; if she pretended that she hadn't been pulsing her thighs together for the last hour just listening to him talk about music.
Now though...
"No, I suppose we didn't," she squeaked in a voice that far less seductive than she'd been hoping, even as desire rippled through her.
"Well, you have your caller on the line. He's already enthralled, now you need to sell the fantasy. A bath...perfect. Set the scene for me, Angel...give me the fantasy."
Christine felt her mind go completely blank. She didn't know her name, where she was, what she was doing. She wanted, but had no idea of the what or the how. I have no idea what I'm doing.
A hint of a chuckle, dark and curling came over the line, jolting her back to reality. "What's your tub like, sweetheart?" he asked gently, his voice wrapping around her like velvet and she instantly felt more secure. "I want to picture you in it."
"M-my tub…?"
"Remember," he whispered, "it's a fantasy. You-"
"It's a marble soaking tub," Christine cut him off. She had her eyes closed, her head tipped back as she formed the vision. When they reopened, she was in the bathroom of her dreams, the place she always dreamed she might own someday.
"Pink and white marble. The lights are off, but I have candles lit. I just slipped off my panties and climbed into the water."
Christine Daaé would never be able to say such a thing to a stranger, but Angel had no such inhibitions.
"Mmm, very nice. Do you have your hair pulled up?"
Christine took a steadying breath. Thinking about what the very first top earner had told her before the woman had slammed the phone down, Christine considered his words, both in what he'd said previously, and the question he'd just asked her.
The product changes from customer to customer...Let them lead you to what the fantasy needs to be.
Long hair was what he wanted then. "Yes," she answered decisively. "My hair is very long, but I have it all wound up so it doesn't get wet."
"Beautiful," he whispered again. "Is it very cold in your bathroom?"
The air in her bathroom was warm and damp from repeatedly replenishing the hot water in the tub, but he certainly didn't need to know that. Angel's bathroom was cool, the steaming water a comforting oasis.
"It is," Angel's voice simpered out. "My nipples are so tight and hard from the cold...do you want to feel how hard they are before I slip under the hot water?"
That deep chuckle came over the line again, and Christine felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck raise.
"We're learning so quickly, my dear."
Christine spent the next several minutes narrating how the bathwater felt as it sluiced against her skin, her body's reactions to the warmth and how languid it made her feel. She described the weight of her breasts, the tightness of her nipples, and the corresponding pulse she felt between her legs as she pinched them.
She was completely aroused, she realized with a start. That's not what was supposed to be happening. She was the girl on the phone, she was meant to create the fantasy for her caller...it's because of him. It was because of the man on the phone's sexy voice she told herself firmly. He's also really nice though…
"Do you want me to touch you, Angel?"
His voice purred in her ear, and Christine once again felt the ability to breathe leave her.
Yes. God, yes.
"I-I thought I was creating a fantasy for you," she murmured, brow furrowing. "You're my caller."
"You're doing a wonderful job, sweetheart, don't you worry about that. But, it seems that technically, you called me."
Christine flushed. He was right, she supposed...but she had called him for help, had kept his line tied up all evening, preventing him from making money with other callers. The least she could do was get him off, she thought.
"Let me take care of you, Angel."
It was his voice that made up her mind; that rolling, seductive press of velvet fog against her.
When he told her to lie back and close her eyes, she obeyed. When he described his hands sliding down her body, she shivered from the weight of his touch. She could feel his warm breath on her neck as his voice tickled at her ear, felt the glide of his broad palms over her hips, seeking lower. When he slipped a finger into her hot folds, her hips bucked, eager for his touch. Gentle circles around that pulsing little pearl of pleasure, growing more focused and gaining speed as she inched closer to release. When he slipped a finger inside of her she gasped; when he added a second, she ground herself into his hand, wanting more.
The force of her orgasm made her cry out on a breathy wheeze, water lapping around and over her, and suddenly she was back in her bathtub, her fingers coated in her own slippery release.
"Beautiful," he murmured once more, and Christine felt herself redden.
You just had phone sex with a stranger, you're no better than the guys who call you, ready to pop as soon as you answer. That wasn't true, she argued with herself. She'd been talking to thins man all evening, and their conversation had been nice. It was almost like a date. The fact that she'd had a better orgasm with him on the phone than she'd had with her few flesh and blood partners over the past few years was a completely separate issue, she told herself firmly. One that they could analyze later.
"What would you like me to...how can I," Christine trailed off, unsure of how to voice her desire to make him experience the same euphoric release from her voice, as she'd done with his.
"That's not necessary, my dear-"
"Yes, it is," she insisted, sitting up in the water. "You're my caller too." Swallowing hard, she thought of all she'd learned that evening. "Just...just lie back. Let me take care of you," she crooned as suggestively as she could. "I'm going to suck on your big, hard-"
"No," he interrupted her. His voice was rougher, a bit more forceful than she'd yet heard him, and her own voice cut off abruptly. "Not-not like that. "I don't-can't...just, sing for me. Will you do that, Angel? Sing something for me."
Christine was breathing hard, but somehow she managed to remember her training. He couldn't get off to the dirty talk, not the way the other callers would. They're not all just going to want a song, better enjoy this while it lasts.
C'est l'extase seemed appropriately desirous, she thought, as she let the sensuous Debussy melody drape over the man on the phone.
She'd been listening to strangers masturbate for a month, had listened to the strained, gasping sounds of their release too many times to count. This man, unlike the rest, she wanted to listen to, wanted to hear...but the only evidence that anything at all had happened on the other end of the phone line was the slight groan she was able to make out as she reached the aria's pinnacle.
When she had finished the song, the only sound was of the water gently moving against her. Pressing the receiver firmly into her ear, Christine strained to hear him, even his breathing. Clearing her throat lightly, she waited, until finally he spoke.
"This was…" he cleared his throat and then that dark chuckle returned. Christine felt liquefied by the sound. "...a very enjoyable evening, but alas, it's grown quite late, I fear. I'm sure you need to be getting up for work or school in the morning."
"Thank you," she blurted out, Christine once more, awkward and stammering. "T-thank you for the advice, and the conversation, and…" Heat burned to top of her head. Thanks for the incredible orgasm. "...for all of it. I really liked talking with you."
"Not nearly as much as I enjoyed the time with you, my dear, I assure you." His voice was softer now, almost wistful. "Perhaps our extensions will cross again soon. Until then...goodnight, Angel."
Pulling the plug on the tub, she trudged back to the living room to return the cordless phone to its cradle before shuffling to her bedroom. Christine dropped into her bed heavily, feeling drowsy and content for the first time in months. She'd enjoyed talking with the man on the phone immensely, and wondered if they would truly get a chance to talk again. He's a phone sex operator for heaven's sake!
So am I, she argued sleepily. She wouldn't win the battle with the voice in head, not that night as sleep raced to meet her as she cuddled into her comforter, thinking about when she and if she might ever talk to him again.
You do have his switchboard extension...
As her eyes fluttered shut, Christine realized with a pang she'd never even asked what she should call him.