Fuck, thought Joy, as she settled into her cubicle at the Royal National Institute for the Deaf Message Relay Centre. Eight more hours relaying inane bullshit down a telephone line, she continued to self-commiserate, as she logged onto her TTY – huge and modern, like a typewriter on steroids, with handset and microphone to match, the latest in 1990s technology. How are the mighty fallen! she moaned silently as she donned her headphones. Last month – a triumphant Romeo and Juliet at the Old Vic (“Joy-Beth Stuckey is a revelation as the Capulet princess, combining teenage playfulness with a mature and alluring sexuality.” – The Stage). This month – out of work and back to the call centre grind. At least the deaf relay work is less mind-numbing than the John Lewis catalogue line (“No Madam, your toilet paper dispenser does not come with toilet paper installed. You have to buy your own toilet paper, Madam. My pleasure, Madam.” Go fuck a dog, Madam... )

An incoming number appeared on the textphone display. Oh shit, first call already...

“Hello, TypeTalk; what number you would like to call?”

“Oh hello,” came a charming male voice down the line, “London 946-0408, please: Josephine Wilson.”

Joy checked her directory. “Ah yes, we have her registered. Have you used this service before?”

“Yes, several times.”

“And your name, please?”

“Jonathan Stearman.”

“Just a moment, Jonathan, I’ll see if Josephine can take your call.”

Joy put Jonathan on mute, before dialling the number and, when it answered, typing rapidly into her minicom:

CALL FROM JONATHAN STEARMAN FOR JOSEPHINE. WILL YOU ACCEPT?

finishing off with the customary “GA” (“go ahead”).

Josephine’s voice came through the headphones, quite low-pitched and flat, her vowels a touch too broad, and her lisp rather prominent, but otherwise relatively easy to understand: “Thith ith Jothephine. I’ll do VCO. Go ahead.”

“Josephine can take your call, Jonathan, by ‘Voice Carry Over’,” said Joy. “That means she can speak to you directly, but I’ll type your words for her to read – so there may be a slight delay before she responds.”

“That’s great, thank you, operator.”

“Go ahead, Jonathan.”

Jonathan took a breath, before commencing: “Hello, Josie, my darling. How are you?” Instinctively he struck a soft affectionate tone, despite the fact that his intended would never actually hear it.

Funny how they always do that, thought Joy, as she typed, ended with “GA”, and switched input channel.

Josephine’s voice replied: “Jonny darling, how lovely to hear from you. I have been mithing you tho!”

“Oh, so have I, darling. I’ve been away so long, I’m getting really horny,” came Jonathan’s unnecessarily seductive voice – deep, velvety, suave. Oh fuck, thought Joy, a dirty-talk session. Don’t get those very often. Joy imagined the speaker as tall, dark, clean-shaven, and his deaf partner petite and blonde – a bit like herself, but with bigger tits. Joy typed the exact words, plus “GA”, into her teletypewriter, whilst thinking, Go on, ‘Jothephine’, give your boyfriend a good time: get him wanking for you!

But Josephine’s response demonstrated that she was, sadly, not that type: “Jonny, not here, not now. We can be overheard!”

Damn right you can, ‘Jothephine’! thought Joy, as Jonny’s response came back: “Josie, the operator is bound by a strict code of confidentiality – as you never tire of telling me. Besides, what harm can come of it? My cock’s all hard for you, darling. Go on, play with your pretty pussy for me.”

Fuck, he doesn’t waste time, does he? thought Joy, as she typed Johnny’s words into the TTY. And Jesus, I could do with some cock, even if Josephine’s not in the mood... In her mind, Joy imagined Jonny’s penis: huge, thick, with a bulging purple head oozing pre-cum, twitching gently as he stroked it in his strong wide palm. And I bet Josephine has a hot cunt, she thought, tight and hairless like mine, with lovely dangly flaps glistening with fuck-slime. Go on, Josie, talk dirty to your man-friend, rub your gash for him, get his cum spurting...

But Josephine remained unmoved by Jonny’s attempt at telephone seduction and, what’s more, was taking offense: “Jonny, treat me with thome rethpect! I am your fianthée, not your thlut. Now thtop it, or I will hang up on you!”

Oh, not good, Jonny. If you want her cunt, you’ve got to go slower, mate. A bit of deference, some gentle flattery, some poetry maybe...? Joy, however, was beginning to notice a wetness in her own crotch (“Jesus, look at me: am I a whore or what, getting turned on by some random stranger’s dirty talk...?) and, almost without thinking, let her left hand stray under her skirt and slip her panties gently to one side, so she could begin to circle her clitoris with two fingers. Fuck, Jonny, I’d play phone cunties with you – if only...

If only! It took a mere split second for her plan to form. Oh shit, this is wrong, so wrong, she thought, as she switched both Jonathan and Josephine onto mute, so neither could hear each other. She heard the man’s response through her headphones, of course: still irredeemably priapic, completely ignoring his fiancée’s remonstrations: “Oh come on, Josie, stick a couple of fingers up that cunt for me, babe: I’m so desperate. My cock’s all stiff and throbbing, talk dirty to me with that pretty voice of yours!” But Joy knew that would not go down well with the imagined petite, blonde, shaven-cunted fiancée, so instead what she typed, one-handed, was:

IF I PROFANE WITH MY UNWORTHIEST HAND
THIS HOLY SHRINE THE GENTLE SIN IS THIS
MY LIPS TWO BLUSHING PILGRIMS READY STAND
TO SMOOTH THAT ROUGH TOUCH WITH A TENDER KISS GA

A bit of a stretch, Joy thought. What are the chances of her being a Shakespeare nerd? She slipped off her panties, hoisted up her skirt, and resumed rubbing her clit, imagining Jonny’s huge cock pressing up against Josephine’s soft moist fuck-lips – no, her own, which in real life were beginning to throb and drip – as the fiancée responded, “Oh Jonny darling, how lovely! Now that’th how to theduce me, all romantic and Shakethpearean.” and then, to Joy’s amazement, continued with: