Icing On The Cake (MXM)

Mishka's Pov

I sit in my penthouse, forty floors above Manhattan, vodka in one hand. With the other, I click on a website I am not supposed to open.

This is the last time, is what I told myself the last time, and the time before that. But I mean it this time.

My phone buzzes.

Mack: Where are you? Everyone is here.

Then a photo of the team crowded around a table is sent to me, glasses raised, one empty chair in the corner.

I ignore the text. The others are at the party, or going home to wives and children who wait up for them. I have neither.

But if you look at it from another angle, I am the better man here. I am sacrificing booze and dancing to put an end to my addiction.

The website loads: a black screen, a logo of a woman with a finger to her lips, and one word.

Whisper.

The secret phone sex line I discovered when I was eighteen. It was fun then, dangerous, back when I did not have the future of hockey for my country on my broad shoulders.

If anyone discovered what I do alone at night, it could cost me everything.

So tonight has to be the last time. I set the vodka down, dial the number on the screen with one hand, and let the other find my exposed dick.

What? You did not really think I was not going to get one last wank in? I would not be a gentleman if I did not. I must have spent millions on this site by now. It is the least I could do.

“Welcome to Whisper,” a female voice purrs from the other end of the phone, “where we make all your dreams and fantasies come true.” I have heard this voice over a million times now. The receptionist.

She continues, “If you wish to speak to a male operator, press one. If you wish to speak to a female operator, press two. If you wish to speak to a gender fluid or non binary operator, press three.”

Oh, I think. The last option was not there the last time. I roll my eyes. Crazy Americans. When will they understand that there are only two genders?

The receptionist continues, “If you already have an operator you wish to speak to, press four.” Ah. There it is.

I press four.

“Okay! Can you confirm the operator's name, please?”

I clip on my voice changer machine and switch it on. “Hello. Can you connect me to Vivian?”

There is shuffling on the other end for a good minute before the receptionist returns. “We deeply apologize, sir, but Vivian is unavailable at the moment. We can connect you to someone else right away.”

Eh.

A frown breaks out on my face.

I have never spoken to anyone else but Vivian. For anonymity purposes. Fewer people to worry about discovering this.

Cold air hits my cock which is already growing soft. I try to stroke it back to half-mast, and contemplate ending the call and just jerking off to some porn.

“Okay. Whatever,” I say instead. It is my last time anyway.

“Alright, sir. One minute.”

I look out my window while I wait. Across the avenue, a billboard the height of a building carries my own face, jaw set, stick in hand, the Rangers logo over my heart. Beneath it, in letters blue and red: THE TSAR.

I wonder if there are any posters of me back home.

“Hello. Thank you for calling Whisper. What do you need tonight?” a new voice says. It is raspy and deep. Not like Vivian's.

“Man?” I ask, watching my cock shrink again rapidly.

The voice on the other end chuckles. “Yes, I am man.” He is mimicking me. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“This is mistake.” My English always goes bad when I am stressed.

The voice chuckles again. “Why is that? Are you not a man as well?”

“That is exactly why it is mistake,” I say, throwing my hands in the air exasperatedly.

“Oh,” the voice says. He sounds disappointed.

“Yeah. Sorry, I am not fag.”

He hums at that. “Well, you can end the call. I get paid either way.”

“I am not doing this with man.” I huff out, grinding my teeth together. My thumb hovers over the red button, ready to end this.

“Then why are you still on the line?” the man asks smoothly. Like he already knows something I do not.

I hate him already. “You not tell me what to do.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he says. “You seem like the type who hates being told what to do.”

“I am.”

“Good,” he says. “Then don't do what I say.”

My breath catches. “What?”

If I do not do what he says then that is the same as obeying him. This man has me in a mental war.

“I'm not telling you anything. You're in control. You're the one who called. You're the one with your hand on yourself.”

How did he know that my hand was on my dick?

“You're not going to do what I say,” he continues. “You're too stubborn for that. So I'm just going to sit here. And when I tell you to, you're going to touch yourself. But you're not going to finish until I say so.”

My English fails me. “I—”

“Shh,” the hotline operator says. “No words. Just listen.”

My throat is dry. I gulp. I hate this. I hate this so much, I think to myself. But my dick is rock hard now. Like it does not care that we are doing this with a man.

Maybe it is because it has been so long. Yes, that is what it is. I cannot be gay. I cannot. It is wrong.

“Are you there? What should I call you?” the operator asks.

I want to touch myself again. I should. I do not know why I do not. “Mk. What about you?” I say instead.

“Alec. You're doing good, Mk.” My dick jumps at that. What the fuck is happening to me?

“Shut up,” I grit out, a bead of sweat rolling onto my nape. “I pay you to make me come, not talk to me like girl.”

Alec chuckles for the third time tonight. “Okay, big boy. Why don't you touch yourself now?”

My hand flies to my dick immediately and I groan in relief. Finally.

“Slowly,” Alec commands, and I do not know why the fuck I decrease my pace.

I do not like slow. I hate slow. And I especially hate people telling me what to do most of all.

“Good boy,” Alec coos. My dick jumps again. More precum leaks from the slit.

“I said shut up,” I bark. I wipe the sweat off with the back of my hand.

“Do you want to cum or not?” Alec demands. His tone is different now. Angry. Disappointed. I do not know why that upsets me.

I nod and remember that the other man cannot see me. “I want to cum.” I do not even realize that I am arching into my own hand.

“Not yet. You're not ready. You haven't been good enough,” Alec says. I can hear the smile in his words. That bastard. I wish I could see his face. So that I could punch a hole into it.

“Faster,” Alec commands. I obey without question this time. I am far too gone. The need to cum is a primal desire in me now. It is all I can think of, no matter how shameful this is.

My cock drips. My balls draw tighter. Fuck. I can feel it. So close. Almost there—

“Stop.”

A pathetic whimper breaks free. Me? I think. The Tsar. Whimper? What next? Cows will begin to fly? But that is not what bothers me that much. What bothers me more is that I actually stopped.

“You've been so good,” Alec says. “So patient. Such a good boy.”

My breath hitches. Something in me melts.

The words are simple English. I understand them but, at the same time I do not. How does this make me good?

“Say it,” Alec demands. “Tell me you're my good boy.”

I am aching. I should end the call and finish off with my hand. I am already so close. I do not need a stupid man telling me stupid words.

“Mk,” Alec growls. “Say it or you won't get to cum.”

I huff a breath. Who does this fucker think he is? “Fuck you,” I snarl, but I do not end the call.

Alec sighs. He is disappointed. When he speaks, his tone is chiding. “I thought you were better than this, Mk.” I groan. “I thought you wanted to be my good boy.”

I keen. Loud and pathetic. My hand squeezes around myself. But I do not move it.

“I am—” I choke. The voice changer cracks and my accent thickens. I cannot help it.

“I am your good boy.”

“Good! You're doing so well. So perfect for me.”

My eyes flutter closed. Never have I felt this way before. Never.

“You want to come now, don't you?” Alec asks.

“Yes,” I breathe. Confess.

“Yes what?”

“Yes please.”

“Please what?”

“Боже мой.” My God. My Russian slips out before I can stop it. “Please let me come. Please. I've been so good.”

“Yes, you have,” Alec says. “You've been so, so good. Come for me, baby. Let go.”

I do. My whole body shakes. It feels as if I am shattering. I have never come this hard in my life.

I force myself to take deep breaths. My body is trembling. The operator has gone silent.

“Who are you?” I ask, forgetting the changer. The changer catches the slip. I am safe.

“Just Alec,” the voice says. “Call again if you want.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at my phone. I was supposed to be the one to hang up. I do not let it bother me. It is the last time anyway.

Just then a text flies through, still from Mack.

Mack: Don't forget. Bruins tomorrow. Their captain has been running his mouth about you all week.