Forced in a Phone Booth
by Ted E. Bear
Copyright© 2025 by Ted E. Bear
Fantasy Sex Story: An icy business powerhouse finds herself trapped in a NYC phonebooth by the threats of a hidden watcher.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Blackmail NonConsensual Heterosexual MaleDom Rough Sadistic Gang Bang Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism Masturbation Voyeurism .
“H-hello?” Janet picks up the phone, a look of vague curiosity on her coldly pretty face. At an icily preserved 38 years old, she’s fought her way to the top of the heap at the Majors- Wankston Firm. She didn’t get there by being sweet, and she didn’t get there by being warm. She sure as shit didn’t get there by answering payphones. But with her car gone belly up, her cell battery gone south, she’d had no choice but to step into the booth on 32 nd and Park Avenue—not to call a cab or otherwise get a ride, but to make a teleconference on time. Business doesn’t wait—not if you want to stay on top. One look at her closed, wary face would tell anyone that ‘on top’ is the only position Janet Rollins knows.
“Hello?” Her voice irritated now, as much with herself as with the still silent caller. Why did she pick up at all? Why does anyone pick up a ringing payphone? She rolls her eyes, moves to return the phone to cradle. “Snooze you lose, asshole.”
“Don’t hang up, Janet.” Voice low, smooth.
“Who is this?” Janet tugs at her lapel, eyebrows drawn down. “Jack?”
“I don’t know Jack, Janet.” A soft laugh. “I don’t think you know Jack, either.”
“Funny—who the fuck is this?”
“You don’t know me, Janet. But that’s okay—I know you.”
“Great, ever consider a career in comedy? No? Good thing. Now, Find someone else to get your jollies with, asshole.”
“Why would I want to find someone else, Janet? I have you. Janet Rollins, 56192 East Central, number 14a Front. Janet? Janet, why so quiet?”
“This isn’t fucking funny.”
“No. No, it isn’t, is it, Janet? But I believe it will be fun. For me, anyway.”
“Don’t know how much fun you’ll get talking to a dead line, asshole.”
“The Birmingham deal, Janet? Oh, I see I have your attention now. Are you sure you want to hang up?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Janet runs a hand through her perfectly coiffed hair—$250 every two weeks to keep it so sleek, so absolutely perfect. The hand--$200 a week to keep her nails shaped, painted in the muted power red she prefers.
“Of course you do, Janet. You only run your hand through that oh, so professional ‘do’ when you’re nervous.” A chuckle, the sound of a lighter flipping open. “That blue blouse really plays up your eyes—it must have been very expensive.”
“I don’t have to listen to this shit, I can hang up, walk away.” Janet’s flat blue eyes dart, scanning the hundreds—thousands of windows, wondering which this person is peeping from.
“Did you know I have the Federal Trade Commission on speed dial, Janet? Isn’t that funny? I think it’s a riot.”
Janet turns from the booth door, instinctively brings a hand up, hides her face as her voice drops to an angry whisper. “What the fuck do you want? Money? Is that it, you want money? Fine! Tell me how much.”
“Oh, Janet, Janet, you really don’t know me at all, do you? I don’t want money, what would I do with money?”
“Then what? Damn you, what do you want?”
“Mmm, I want justice, Janet.”
“Jus—what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“The Birmingham deal, Janet. Your little deal brought you how many millions? And it gave ownership of 492 child-laborers to a known pornographer, a known flesh peddler.”
“No! I don’t know anything about that, I—we couldn’t have children working for one of our holdings, we—”
“Not we, Janet, you. You made the deal, you took home the cash, you paid off the inspectors.”
“I got them out of a sweatshop!” Janet’s voice cracks, sweat beading on her upper lip.
“And into a whorehouse.”
“That’s not my concern, I’m a businesswoman, I—”
“Don’t care?”
“No, you fuck, I don’t care, why should I?” Janet slams a clenched fist against the plexiglass, oblivious to the stares of sidewalk denizens in the fading evening light. “It was business!”
“And so is this, Janet.”
“What do you want from me?”
“What color is your bra, Janet?” Wry amusement, voice soft, taunting.
“Wha —fuck you, fuck you!”
“It’s number two, in case you were wondering.”
“What the fuck are you on about?” Janet’s voice is shaky, her blush standing out starkly on her now pale cheeks.
“The Federal Trade Commission, Janet. Number two on speed dial. Janet? Janet, are you still with me? Don’t sulk, dear, it’s not becoming.”
“Blue.” Janet’s voice is husky, enraged.
“I’m sorry, Janet, I didn’t hear that—say it again?”
“It’s blue, you fuck, my bra is blue!”
“Good girl. I’d like to see it, Janet.”
“I’d fucking die first.”
“And you just may—bad things in happen to uppity bitches in prison. Oh, my—yes, Janet, prison. That’s where people like you go when they get caught, isn’t it?”
Janet moans, a low, frustrated sound, her eyes squeezing shut, hand rising, swiping the sweat from her brow. “I hope you rot in hell.”
“I’m sure you do, Janet—but all things considered, you might want to spend a little more time considering the state of your soul rather than mine.”
“Fine, you piece of shit excuse for a human, here you go.” Janet hisses, lips pulled back in an impotent snarl as her fingers begin fumbling with the buttons of her silk blouse.
“Don’t unbutton, Janet—grab that soft fabric, give it a good tug, rip it open.”
Janet gives a sharp whine, grabs the silk, yanks, sending buttons flying.
“Oh, my, yes. You are angry, aren’t you? Pull it open, Janet, untuck your blouse, let it fall open.”
“You motherfucker, you god damned motherfucker!” Janet’s voice is trembling as she yanks the blouse wide, reveals her C-cup breasts encased in thin, hand tatted lace. She looks up, sees that she has an audience—two men, eyes wide, mouths frozen in disbelieving smiles. Men come to this corner to drop their cash on the adult theaters, the strip joints. It’s not often they get a free show.
“Very nice, Janet. Oh, yes, very nice. You take very good care of yourself, don’t you, Janet?” A low, amused laugh. “It would appear your audience agrees. Give them a smile, Janet, touch your breasts for them.”
“Please don’t do this.” Janet’s voice breaks, tears brimming.
“Please? Please? I think that’s a first, isn’t it, Janet? Are you begging?”
“Yes, damn you, yes, I’m begging!”
“I think I like you like this, Janet.” A pause, the sound of smoke being inhaled, exhaled slowly. “But sadly, I really do need you to do this, Janet. Now.”
“I won’t.” Janet’s voice small, quavering.
“Yes you will, Janet. Surely your lifestyle, you job, your homes, your cars, your jewelry, surely those are worth a few moments of embarrassment, aren’t they?”
Janet whines, her head thrown back, eyes squeezing back tears as her hand rises slowly, haltingly cupping a breast, a strained, thin lipped smile on her lips.
“Squeeze it, pinch the nipple through that pretty lace.”
Nodding, blushing furiously, Janet complies. “There, you sick fuck, happy? Are you happy?”
“Getting happier by the moment, Janet. Hook your fingers under that lace, tear the cup open.”
“Oh, Christ, oh, please stop this, I will do anything—”
“I know you will. You’re doing it now. Now obey me. Tear it open.”
Janet looks up, tears spilling from her wide eyes, trailing down her trembling face. Four men now. Four men watching her, their expressions open, frankly aroused. With a low moan, she grasps the expensive lace, jerks hard. Once, twice, the delicate material surprising strong. With a frustrated yell, she yanks violently, the sound of the lace giving so loud. Her breast spills out, upturned, nipple stiff. Another man joins the crowd. She whimpers, turns away.
“Turn back around, Janet.”
“N-no, please.”
“Do it now. And tell me, Janet, what color are your underwear? I’ll bet they match, don’t they? Pull up that power skirt and show me.”
“If you wanted to humiliate me, you have, if you wanted to shame me, you have, please, please stop now.” She turns slowly, eyes the growing crowd fearfully. Two women have joined, their eyes sharp, hateful, their dress proclaiming them prostitutes.
“We’re not done yet, Janet. Not even close. Now show me your little panties. Right now.”
“Oh, God, please, they think I’m a whore, please...”
“What do you call a woman who sells her soul for a few bucks? I’d say you are a whore, Janet. They do come in all shapes and sizes.” A sharp laugh, the faint sound of fingers tapping. “Lift your skirt—or I hang up. And if I hang up, you might have one day to get out of the country before your whole life comes crashing down around you.”
Janet whimpers, a trembling hand catching the hem of her light linen skirt, lifting haltingly until her garter, panties are revealed, both the same jewel blue of the bra.
“Oh, very, very pretty, Janet. Tell me, are they bikini or thong?”
“Th -thong.” Janet’s voice is weak, stammering, her eyes down, not daring look up at the increasingly raucous crowd gathering around the booth.
“You hardly sound the ultra-professional bitch now, Janet, what’s wrong? Squeamish? I can’t believe that, after all, you’re the woman who sold children into prostitution and porn. Did you know that Thailand is the largest producer of child porn? And snuff?” Voice hard now, venomous. “A child prostitute in Bangkok can expect to live approximately 3 years from the time they enter the trade. How does that make you feel, Janet?”
“I-I’m sorry.” Janet begins to sob softly, her hand still clutching her skirt, holding it above her hips.
“No, you’re sorry you got caught. But that’s okay, Janet—I’m going to help you make amends. Turn around.”
“Wh -why?”
“Because I told you to. Because you lie so much that I want to see for myself if that pretty scrap of material covering your icy cunt is really a thong.”
Janet turns, sobbing harder, pulling the skirt up in back, showing that she is, indeed, wearing a thong.
“Wiggle your ass.”
“Oh, God.”
“For a woman who hasn’t seen the inside of a church in over 10 years, you certainly do invoke the name of Our Lord with appalling frequency. “ A cough, a low laugh. “Of course, it is said that the Lord doth love the sinner better than the saint, as the sinner is in greater need of God’s love. Now shake those hips. Wiggle that ass.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.