tagBDSMTruth or Dare

Truth or Dare


Truth. Dare. Double-dare.



Or promise.

She lost it on the promise. Perhaps the easiest option of all, the one she should have been most relieved to find scrawled on the bit of paper she pulled out of the baseball cap they'd placed on the floor in the middle of their small circle. She'd got through truth, she'd even got through dare. Torture she had thankfully never pulled out of the hat and kiss had been more fun than anything else. Certainly it was no challenge to kiss Davy and from his response she hadn't thought it too difficult for him, either. She had laughed, embarrassed and brushed his lips with her own. He had pushed the kiss deeper, but though it was his tongue which explored first, she responded in kind and they did not part until the watching, bored Brett complained there were three in this game, not two.

Brett's words had registered with her, for all she had been reluctant to acknowledge much beyond the feel of Davy's mouth deliberately rough against her own, his hands gripping hard around her upper arms so that the next day there would be bruises there, the imprints of his fingers. She'd heard Brett and she had tried to pull back, she really had tried. Only Davy's hands had tightened even harder around her and for one startled, jolting second she had thought Davy was not going to let her go. He was not going to allow her to break off that kiss until he was good and ready and he chose the moment to do so, for not a second later he broke away himself anyway, with one of his typical laughs. The moment was so brief she at first thought she might have imagined it. The grin on his face, however, knowing and conspiratorial, told her otherwise.

It had made her laugh. He had been teasing her because she'd been forced earlier, when choosing 'truth' from the hat, to reveal a few core sexual fantasies and he was subsequently quite aware about her preference for dominant men, the kind who knew how to really take control. Embarrassing truths, confessions she'd never before revealed to anyone and indeed, with some of them, had a hard enough time admitting even to herself. But she had picked out truth and he had directly asked and she had had no choice but to tell, that was the game, after all.

Still, she wasn't the only one who had been forced to reveal such personal, embarrassing truths. Brett had also found himself facing similar questions, from her this time, but Davy hadn't been able to deal with his answers so easily and subsequently they'd moved on more quickly from him. Brett's fantasies, of course, had been all about men and what he liked to do with them and Davy, for all he had long known his best friend's sexual orientation, still got uncomfortable when hearing any of the details. As it had been her turn to choose the questions and Brett's obligation to answer in having pulled 'truth' from the hat, Davy'd had no choice but to sit and listen. She'd drawn it out as long as possible before he started to complain, her attempt to get him back for making her reveal her own never before admitted sexual preferences. Turned out that whilst she liked dominant men, Brett was rather fond of the submissive ones. Which meant he was full of ideas when it had been Davy's turn next and he had drawn out the unanimously dreaded 'torture'.

That had all been some time ago. The three of them sitting in a circle on Davy's living room floor, a baseball cap between them with six small screwed up bits of paper in it, each containing one word written upon it: truth, dare, double-dare, torture, kiss or promise. Just an expansion of the old 'truth or dare' game, except you didn't get a choice in which option you answered, you just pulled one randomly from the hat. The other two had to take it in turns to come up with appropriate questions or actions or, as in Davy's case, tortures, he being the only one unlucky enough to have drawn that option as yet. She didn't even think he'd known what it was Brett had thrown him in his response to that, Brett laughing low as Davy fumbled the catch and then frowned suspiciously at the squat, rubber object he obviously had no idea what he was meant to do with. When Brett told him, to the background cacophony of her hysterical laughter, that it was an anal plug, Davy only sat and stared at it, utterly aghast.

It wasn't real torture, of course, at least not in the physical pain sense, for this was only a game, after all. Yet perhaps it was not so much the physical edge Brett was thinking about when he came up with this answer to Davy's 'torture'. Certainly, the psychological distress for Davy, the only simultaneously hetro and sexually dominant one amongst them, when forced to wear an anal plug for the rest of the night, was undoubtedly more painful for him than the actual physical experience of it. Brett revealed a subtley then she hadn't expected from him, but one she certainly appreciated and by the appalled look on Davy's face, so did he.

He'd tried to argue for anything else, first using logic, then anger, then just plain desperation, but neither she nor Brett would let him out of it. It was too good a choice of torture, too perfect for Davy and chosen by one who knew him too well. He could not refuse to wear it, that would not be within the rules of the game, but when he'd eventually given in he had at least been determined to insert it himself, in private, well away from their keen eyes. Neither Brett nor herself had been able to deny him that, but they had been able to insist at least one of them be present when he did so, to prove he did actually put the thing in. He had chosen Brett.

That had been a real surprise. Not only for her, but for Brett as well, not that he was going to argue, the grin on his face echoing his growing hunger as Davy so reluctantly chose him. Indeed, Brett looked almost predatory at this surprise development, a bonus he would never have expected to receive. They were old friends and Davy had always been the first to fight for his friend's right to have sex with whomever he wanted of whichever gender he wanted, but for all that he had still never managed to conquer his own personal aversion to the thought of sex with another man. Davy just didn't deal with the idea of it well and for all he tried hard, he never could quite hide just how deeply uncomfortable it made him feel.

Brett found his squeamishness amusing, teasing him occasionally, but respecting his discomfort for the most part. Which was why they were both so surprised when he chose Brett, and not herself, to witness and ensure he wore the anal plug. Even considering the fact Brett undoubtedly knew better than her how to use the thing, surely letting Brett do that to him was getting a bit too close for comfort for Davy? Yet he said nothing more, he merely gritted his teeth and turned from the room in silence, refusing to react to her suggestive comments. She had watched his face eagerly upon their return, but he had refused to meet her eyes, his cheeks somewhat red and snapping angrily at her when she asked some teasing question along the lines of if he were comfortable. She'd laughed, looking to Brett, who had only nodded to say it had been done, which was pretty obvious from Davy's bad mood as it was.

He ganged up with her to get his own back on Brett in the next round. Brett ended up with 'dare' and, technically, it was her choice of dare to give him, but Davy knew him better and offered a suggestion she was unable to pass up. There was a boy Brett had a crush on. Ten years younger at least, not even out of his teens and only a year or two legal, sweet faced and innocent and Brett had been mooning about him for weeks, or so Davy said. He had his phone number, too, for the boy had given it to Brett himself, but Brett had been too nervous to use it, a fact which easily made the decision for her.

She didn't merely dare him to make the call, their game had progressed far beyond that by now. Rather, she dared Brett to call and seduce him, over the phone, whilst she and Davy remained in the room and the phone was on hands free, so they could hear everything that was going on. They had to promise not to make a sound, they weren't trying to destroy Brett's chances with the boy, after all, she just wanted to listen in. And, surprising them for the second time that night, so did Davy.

She thought she knew why. Davy knew how uncomfortable it would make Brett, with his principles and his standards and his never ending talk of wanting only serious relationships, abandon all his usual moral codes and simply just seduce his crush for a bit of casual phone sex, with the two of them listening in. To be forced to use the boy for their entertainment, without the young man even knowing. It was no wonder Davy determined to conquer his own shuddering response to listening in to what would amount to gay male phone sex, it all being in the greater cause of his getting revenge on his friend for making him wear that anal plug.

That was the point she first began to see there was a sadistic side to Davy she had not truly been aware of before this night and she watched him with interested eyes as Brett argued and pleaded and tried anything he could to get out of the dare. Indeed, throughout the subsequent phone call, it was Davy's reaction as much as Brett's she was keen on understanding. Neither of them looked at her, Brett was too embarrassed by their witnessing what turned out to be a very private phone call indeed and Davy was too intent on making his friend squirm as much as possible, never once taking his eyes from him. He kept his dark, solid stare directly on the other man and he made sure Brett knew it, too, never losing that slightly triumphant half smile Davy liked to affect when he had the upper hand.

Too caught up with watching Davy, she had not expected to be so affected by the detail of Brett's phone call herself. It came as a shock when she realised that she, too, was beginning to slide into the web of words Brett spun for the boy on the other end of the phone, her eyes flickering unconsciously from Davy to Brett, her concentration moving almost unwillingly from one to the other. She knew little about gay sex, not surprising considering she, like Davy, was quite hetro and had never really known any gay guys before knowing Brett. So she hadn't expected it to make her so breathless, she hadn't expected the warmth she began undeniably to feel between her legs, making her shift uncomfortably and squeeze her thighs tightly together, as if that could make it stop.

Her kiss with Davy had been too brief for her to need to analyse her own physical reactions, even when he had fully dictated the length and breadth of their touch. She was currently trying very hard not to admit to herself how his earlier forceful questioning had made her feel, ignoring that one altogether as simply too hard to understand. And she had told herself that watching Brett demand Davy wear that anal plug had only made her laugh; amusement, that was all. Yet now she could not deny it, she could not deny her own physical response to listening to Brett's slow, detailed descriptions of the kind of sexual acts she, by simple definition, would never be a part of.

Brett knew what he was doing. He was experienced and he was dominating and he was very, very good. Perhaps he had been initially reluctant, but once he had accepted he had to do this, he seemed simply to try and block the two of them out and concentrate only on the boy, the crush he'd fantasised about for weeks. That boy on the other end of the phone, the one who revelled so willingly in the explicit sexual detail. Who moaned so softly and begged so sweetly, until she was simply staring at Brett as hard as Davy was, her mouth held slightly open, stunned and hot and breathing far too heavily to hide what she felt from either of them.

She could not deny the fast growing need between her legs, nor the real wetness there also, as her cheeks flushed red and she felt almost ashamed by her own desperate reactions to this very illicit phone call she was only meant to be silent witness too. She was aware, too, of the dark, commanding half smile on Davy's face as he watched Brett's own deep discomfort and unease and she knew how much Davy was enjoying seeing that, perhaps even as he did so feeling that anal plug he was forced to wear and taking pleasure from his revenge over it. Davy in control, of himself, of all around him, just the way he liked it and she tried to hide her own response to that from him, for she was beginning to suspect how dangerous it could be to let him know such things. Yet she could not hide her reaction to Brett's words, not when she was almost as lost in that call as the boy Brett was taking for such a ride.

He spoke plainly, but in such detail. Describing the feel of his lips on the boy's skin, of his hands as they slid firmly across the boy's chest, up over his shoulders, down his arms and then taking his hands and pinning them behind him. He described the boy's bonds, the feel of the rope tight around his wrists, his helplessness as he struggled, his vulnerability, and Brett's own enjoyment at watching him twist and writhe so. It was all words, but she couldn't break free any more than the boy could, listening to Brett describe the sheer length and width and feel of his hard, hard cock, the excrutiatingly slow manner in which he would slide it into the other man, and the way he would make the boy beg for it. The sound of the boy's voice as he did just that.

It was only a phone call, they weren't even in the same part of the city let alone the same room, and still Brett managed to reduce the boy to a desperate, pleading mess merely with his words alone, he begging for release, literally, only able to achieve it when Brett gave permission, the boy pleading so sweetly for Brett's attention, his permission, his domination. And then it was all over, as suddenly as it had begun, and she was just left gasping, and trying very hard to hide it.

Her eyes met Davy's quite unwillingly as Brett hung up that phone. She realised then, too late, that he had been watching her for some time, noting her reactions to Brett's call just as closely as he had been watching Brett. She had given something away to him then, something he could use, as he had already hinted he could use the answers she had given to his most detailed and pervasive questions earlier. When she had chosen truth and he had made her tell him exactly that. His questions had been demanding and they had been invading and they had let her leave nothing to the imagination. She had been forced to answer in the kind of detail that had both embarrassed and humiliated her, and had left her feeling so hot and flushed she hadn't quite known how to deal with it and was trying even now to deny it.

The fact was, Davy had known exactly what to ask and how to ask it and she'd been unable to refuse to answer, no matter where his questions had lead. No matter he extracted from her admissions of fantasies she didn't even want to admit to herself, let alone anybody else. Peering into the dark, dark corners of her mind and body, tracking down her most deeply buried secrets, and then tearing her open for his edification and amusement alone. Fantasies of domination, of submission. Even, distressingly, fantasies of rape. He had cornered her into that one, words as weapons she was helpless to defend against, but how could she deny such things when he pressured her so hard? And yet how could she admit to it when she did not even understand it herself?

It left her confused, more so because it had left her wanting so badly. She hadn't like to admit, even to herself, that she might have enjoyed his humiliating questioning, Brett's laughter, his demands. Now, after listening to Brett's phone call, she could no longer deny any of it. That time, after her questioning, it had been her who had been unable to meet their eyes, her cheeks bright red, just as not long later Brett would do that to Davy, and right now, Davy was doing it to Brett.

Was it because it was so illicit, that phone call, that it made her identify with the young man so readily? That it made her want to be in his place, except not just with words, but for real, bonds tight, hurting her wrists as she struggled, vulnerable, helpless against one who knew exactly how to take all he wanted? Was it the power relations between them, the control Brett took from the moment it became clear the boy was just as willing? The boy's eagerness for the teachings and advice of the older Brett, his immediate willingness to do exactly what Brett told him, so quickly submissive? The submission of the boy to Brett's own will? Or maybe it simply the sheer release the boy himself found in these things, the utter freedom of his loud, elongated climax to which they all listened in perfect silence.

Brett faked his. The boy's orgasm was obviously very real, but Brett was ever conscious of their scrutiny, his audience, and he would not give them such satisfaction. Not that he wanted to pretend, the bulge in his pants was more than obvious and the need in his own voice was something really quite desperate, but he would not let himself give up such control in front of them. Instead he pretended, then he whispered sweet cares to the boy. Before he hung up that phone he had even arranged for them to speak again and the next time, when he was truly alone, she did not think he would fake it. This time, however, he did not dare give in, not even to his own desires. Dominant types were like that, she figured.

Silence. It lasted some moments after he had hung up. That conversation, that simple dare, had taken their game to a step beyond where it had been previously and it took them all a moment to regroup, to re-evaluate just where they were now and wonder, perhaps for the first time, just where it might possibly end. Should she stop it here, she wondered then? Was this when she should end the game, call it quits and leave the rest safely unsaid, because it was becoming a game no more, now it was starting to look serious. Her underpants were damp, her breathing was shallow and she knew she was not alone in these feelings. She should stop it. It had been a game to pass the time, to relieve boredom, something Brett had suggested and they'd happily gone along with. It wasn't meant to get this serious. Yet she said nothing. And Davy merely took his turn, reached forward and picked out another screwed up bit of paper from the hat.

He unravelled it slowly, perhaps anxiously considering the last time he had unwittingly chosen 'torture' and he sat there now with an anal plug inside him due to it. Brett and herself waited, breathlessly, to find out what he had selected and they watched as he took a deep breath, all of a sudden relieved.

"Truth," he said, quietly, and then held out the scrap of paper to them, as if to prove it. After the most recent rounds, she was not surprised. If he had not offered it, either herself or Brett probably would have demanded the proof anyway.

"Your turn, Elspeth," Brett murmured, reminding her it was her turn to think up a question for Davy to answer truthfully. She swallowed, hard, trying to think up something, knowing it had to be good. This game might have started out innocently enough, they hadn't even meant it to become so sexual at first, but hints at sexual truths had begun soon enough and before she had known it she was revealing her most desperate, most private hidden secrets and he was accepting Brett's choice for his tortures. She was kissing Davy and Brett was engaging in live phone sex. She took a moment, her eyes flickering to Brett, then back to Davy, who waited silently for his question, his eyes obscure, his expression hard to read. She could not tell if he were anticipating it with dread, or eagerness.

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