Truth or Dare

Truth or Dare

Published by Darker Pleasures at
Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Matt Nicholson. All rights
reserved.

Beta Read by Susan Foulkes

Cover image by
joseasreyes/123RF Stock Photos

Smashword Edition, License Notes

This work contains graphic language and
sexual depictions of sometimes extreme consensual and
semi-consensual female bondage and sadomasochism. It is intended
for mature audiences only and is not suitable for persons under
eighteen years of age. This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters places and incidents are products of the authors’
imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
or redistribute this book or portions thereof in any form
whatsoever. For information, address Darker Pleasures, webmaster at
darkerpleasures.com.

“Truth or
Dare?”

I fingered the
sleep from the inside corner of my left eye and tried to figure out
who was on the other end of the line.  Once my eyes focused
enough so I could read the caller I.D., I groaned.  The
glowing blue Wal-mart LCD numbers lighting the dark room told me it
was way too fucking early.

“Shit,
Cecilia, you’re my goddamn ex-girlfriend, not my alarm clock. 
It’s fuckin’ 6:00 in the morning.”  ‘Polite’ wasn’t in my
vocabulary that early in the morning, especially on a Saturday.

 “Just
answer the question, dickhead.”  She obviously couldn’t have
cared less. 

Of course, I didn't really feel too bad for snapping at
her, ‘polite’ was 
never
 in her vocabulary.  We had that kind of
relationship.  It was one of the reasons I’d busted up with
her.  Great looking or not, not only did she never call me by
my name, she was nuts.  I thought about hanging up, but knew
she’d just call back.  She’d never let me get back to sleep if
I didn’t humor her.  Taking a dare, though, was stupid on
every level I could think of, even half asleep.  “OK, shit…
Truth.”

“Would you
like to torture my tits?”

I pushed the
phone away from my face and stared at it for a second.  I
wasn’t dreaming, so it had to be a set-up.  “Is this a trick
question?”

“Do you think
I’d be up this early if it was?  Just answer the fucking
question.”

I thought
about her tits.  They were her best assets.  Hell, they
were what kept me with her six months too long.  I get caught
way too often looking at cleavage and tight t-shirts and almost
wreck any time a hot woman jogs past.  As far as I’m
concerned, burning bras should have become mandatory.

For me, a good
fuck becomes a great fuck if it includes a lot of tit squeezing and
nipple twisting.  It becomes an incredible fuck if I really
get to treat ‘em rough.  It becomes transcendental if I get to
leave teeth marks.

I’d wondered
about that quite a few times.  I mean, what is it about one
part of anatomy that makes men do such stupid things when other
parts just simply don’t register?  Why do half the guys on the
planet feel the same way about a nice round ass?

 I’d
finally decided that it was just hard-wiring—programming left over
from man’s first days, the candy that drove them to cover the
planet in kids.

In Cecilia’s
case, that candy came in C-cupped handfuls, my favorite.  They
were a sun-deprived white because she didn’t want the rays messing
up her skin.  While I would have preferred some tan lines at
least, white was fine, especially since it was her easily crinkled,
light brown, oval-shaped areolae and half-inch thick, rosy-red
nipples that got the lion’s share of my attention anyway.

Any way it
went, she liked it when I played with them.  In fact, she
qualified as enough of a pain slut that she laughed about the
bruises.  She said the rough stuff helped her come.  For
the longest time, she didn’t have to twist my arm.  But, like
I said, she was nuts.  Hot sex and hotter tits were too little
reward for the long-term risk, even for a tit man.

But she’d
caught me at a weak moment.  With the image of her boobs
etched in my mind, I thought about the rest of her.  She had
long, wavy brown hair that she used to hide said boobs, just to
tease me.  She had a cute ass, flat tummy… Hell, if she’d have
just kept her mouth shut, she’d have been great.

I thought
about her nutty question.  Not that my cock wasn’t already
hard, what with the images of her tits and nipples and all, but it
got a little harder anyway.  I hadn’t really gotten much since
I broke up with her, so I had to at least see what was up.

“Okay, I’ll
bite.  Sure, I’d like to torture your tits.  Now, can I
go back to bed?”

“No,
moron, meet me at 1117 Hempstead in an hour.  And bring
Gary with his camera.”

“Cecilia, are
you on drugs?  I don’t even know if he's…”

“He’s there, I
called him already.  Oh, and bring that soft white rope. 
I don’t have any rope.”

She hung up
before I could ask.

If we hadn’t
stayed friends, at least sort of, I’d have done my best to ignore
her.  But she really didn’t have any reason to screw with
me.  She may have been weird as shit, but I don’t remember her
ever lying.  And, like I said, it had been awhile.  I
figured, if she was talking about mixing her awe-inspiring tits
with rope, there was bound to be some sex in there somewhere. 
Insanity or not, it was worth checking out, even at 6:00 in the
morning.

I considered
exercising the universal safety valve, whacking off then going back
to bed, but dismissed the idea.  Instead, I rearranged my dick
and went to the garage.  I grabbed a coil of white nylon rope,
imagined it wrapped around her wrists and ankles while I Bela
Lugosied her tits, and threw it in the bed of my F150.  Then,
I called Gary.

He was still
half-asleep and didn’t even bother with a “Hello.”  “She
called you, too, huh?”

Thinking
caller I.D. had taken the mystery out of phones, I started the
truck and put it in gear.  “Yeah, what’d she tell you?”

“She just said
to get my camera stuff and wait for you to come pick me up.”

“And you said,
‘Okay?’  To Cecilia?  Without asking any questions?”

“She said
she’d pay me fifty bucks.  Besides, she must have got to you,
too, or you wouldn’t be calling me.”

“Did she tell
you why?”

“Fuck, Jeff, I
figured she wanted me to video something.  I’m getting really
sick of ramen noodles.  For fifty bucks, I’m good.”

“She asked if
I wanted to torture her tits.”

I could
imagine his jaw dropping.  I was half-way down my street
before he said anything.

“She wants me
to take video of you torturing her tits?”

“Sounds
like.”

“Is she paying
you?”

“Ah, I don’t
think so.”

“Who
cares?  Wanna trade?”

~~~

We got there
right at 7:00.  The sign outside the office building read,
“Superstars Photography and Video.”  It was an older building,
one of those where the rent would be cheap, with tan bricks that
were decades out of style.  We walked through the darkened
reception area to the end of a dark hallway lit only by the light
from a room near its end.  When we got into the room, Gary set
his tripod and stuff down, and I dropped the rope onto the clean,
but worn and outdated gold-tone carpet.  Cecilia was standing
near a window facing away from us.

Just as I
started to say “Hi,” the over-sized men’s maroon shirt she was
wearing slid down her back and off her arms.  By the time it
hit the floor, all she had on was a black bra and some sheer, black
lace panties.

While Gary and
I gaped, she turned around.  That shit-eating grin plastered
across her face when she saw the looks on ours.  Her stiff
areolae were peeking over the top edge of the bra, and you could
see the rest of her nipple behind the transparent fabric. 
That was all it took for my dick to get hard again.  I would
have laughed when I heard Gary gasp, if I hadn’t already been
biting back a gasp of my own.

She walked up
and gave me a piece of paper.

“Here’s your
script.  I found this website that’s willing to pay me good
money to do this.  You do what it says, and Gary films
it.  I figure an hour, hour and a half, tops.  All the
props are under the sofa and on the end table so you can find them
no matter what head you’re thinking with.”

I stood by the end table and looked from the paper to the
props and back again.  I bet Gary almost laughed
at 
me 
that time.  It read more like a laundry list of things
most guys dreamed of doing and less like anything resembling a
‘script,’ but since I was definitely a guy, it got my seal of
approval.  Besides stuff you’d expect—fondling and
fingering—someone was supposed to whip her pussy with a leather
flail, torture her nipples with clamps and poke them with… I know I
did a double-take when I saw the word “needles” and a triple-take
when I saw what they were eventually going to be used
for.

The
understanding that the “someone” was me was just beginning to work
its way through my caffeine-deprived brain when I looked from the
Inquisition checklist at her.  “How much is this site payin’
you?  Fuck!”

She laughed as
I walked behind her and looked at the view.  When I started to
reach for her waist, she put her hands back behind her head so her
tits stretched up.  Her hard nipples popped up over the edge
of the bra.  Gary’s eyes were big as saucers.

“They’re just
needles, doofus, a little stick and then it’s no big deal. 
Hell, shots at the doctor hurt worse.”

“Shots don’t
pin your tits to a table.  And you usually only get one at a
time.”

She shrugged
and looked at a phone on the end table.  “You’re the tit man,
so I figured you’d be good for a free day at the races.  But,
if you’re not game, I know a couple other guys that’ll be here in
time for you to catch Saturday morning cartoons.”

Cussing myself
for almost blowing it, I spanked a quick one on her ass.  I
figured she'd think it was a macho thing.  Actually, I just
wanted to feel her ass.  Hell, if she wanted me to make her
tits into pincushions for a few bucks, who was I to argue. 
“Okay…okay.  I’m already here anyway.”

She pulled her
butt out of my reach and looked at Gary.  When she saw him
gaping like a teenager, she rolled her eyes.  “You’re here to
earn fifty bucks, dickhead, not drool.  You gonna set up this
week?”

While Gary
stumbled over himself, I read the rest of the list.  I got to
the part about the rope, smiled to myself at the thought of
dripping hot wax on her pretty parts, and then…

I was still
imagining the rope thing when I got to more needles.  I was
supposed to poke them with needles after they turned to purple
balloons.  And she was doing this voluntarily.  I tried
to act cool, even though I could already feel the wet spot in the
front of my underwear, and my cock was hurting.  “They really
like needles, don’t they?”

Gary looked at
the e-mail over my head and grinned like a moron.  “Hot dog,
and you’re paying me to do this!”

She gave him a
withering stare.  “Not if you don’t get started, moron. 
You ready?”

He stepped
behind the camera while I stepped behind her.

“I’m ready
whenever you two lovebirds are.”

I ignored him
and just kind of watched while she pulled her bra back up over her
nipples.  “So, I guess we should get started?”

She turned to
the camera and backed up to me so her butt nestled against my
crotch, then spread her legs.  “Finger away…”  She
pressed harder, rubbing herself against my obviously hard
cock.  “Don’t enjoy yourself too much, Dickweed.”

Shrugging to
myself, I reached around and started fingering her pussy through
her panties like the e-mail said.   Who was I to argue
with art?  Gary adjusted the zoom.

It was easy
enough to find her clit, even through the lacy cloth.  It had
two speeds, comatose and ring toss, so she was already into
it.  Peeking down over her shoulder, I saw that her nipples
were reacting, too.  They pretty much solidified if the wind
blew, so that didn’t surprise me.

When she
started pushing against my hand and moaning, I slid my other hand
into the back of her panties and squeezed her rear.  It was as
soft and warm as I remembered, and the feel of her butt pushing
between my splayed fingers made Mr. Happy jump.

Her voice was
quiet, already husky.  “Stick to the script, Sherlock.”

It didn’t take
long to work her to a lather.  Instead of finishing her off, I
got to get even a bit.  I pushed her away and grabbed the red
leather flail-looking thing from the table.  It was her pussy
first.  Though I mostly wished I could skip straight to the
tits part, there was something about whipping her bits that seemed
therapeutic.  When I turned back to her, she was fingering
herself.  From the look in her eyes, she was obviously staying
in the mood.