DARE

by James Crow

  He slid into me so firmly, a nice stretch, and I moaned the whole time he fucked me, watching the ducks on the lake.

  Drew’s mobile vibrated on the table. He swiped it up and looked at the screen. ‘We have a reply.’

  ‘What does it say?’ My heart was going nineteen to the dozen.

  ‘Blocked. In capitals. And three fucking exclamation marks.’ Drew laughed.

  I giggled. Drew was fun.

  ‘Where should we stay the night?’ he asked.

  ‘Not at mine, not with my mother there.’

  ‘I know where. Drink up.’

  As we left, I noticed one of the guys behind the bar slip Drew a small package, and Drew pushed some notes into the guy’s hand. I guessed we were getting high sometime soon.

  The room at the Holiday Inn was nice enough. We’d stopped at the supermarket for beer and rum, and Drew brought his bag of tools from the pickup.

  Once we were locked inside and a beer cracked, Drew took the small package from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. ‘Shrooms, ever done them?’

  I unfolded the package. They looked like dried worms. ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘It’s a funky fuck,’ he said, ‘a crazy fuck.’

  We sat at the dresser and the game was a simple one. We’d swallow a piece of mushroom, chase it down with beer, then we’d kiss.

  The shrooms tasted like shit, Drew did warn me. But the beer washed it away, and the kiss after every bite was worth it. We ate, we drank, we kissed, and we giggled as the walls grew fat and juicy with colour.

  ‘A rum, then I’m going to tie you up,’ he said.

  We slugged from the bottle, then tore each other’s clothes off.

  I got on the bed and positioned myself spread-eagled while Drew fetched rope from his work bag. But Drew said no, not that way. He wanted to be able to move me about. He pushed my feet back up the bed until I could wrap my fingers around my ankles, then he tied my wrists to them, tested I could move my knees up and down, pushed them all the way back until they touched to my tits. He let go and my legs fell open.

  ‘Hey gorgeous,’ I said to the god between my legs.

  ‘Same,’ he said, eyes twinkling, the flush of his skin so fresh. I breathed him in. Breathed the room in.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’

  The vibration of his phone stopped him answering.

  ‘Another reply?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s it say?’

  He told me it asked for my name, and for more pics, then he took a few snaps of me tied like a slut.

  ‘This one,’ he said and showed me. You could see everything but my head. My cunt looked like a cut orange.

  ‘Dare you,’ I said and we laughed.

  ‘Sent,’ Drew said.

  ‘What name did you tell him?’

  ‘Dani,’ he shrugged, ‘won’t matter.’

  He asked how I was feeling. I told him soft, squishy, and alive. And this room, it was like being inside a colourful womb.

  ‘I feel like playing,’ he said and picked up the rum bottle.

  The same words Uncle Kev had used when he came back from the shops with carrier bags full of who knew what. I feel like playing. Mother had announced she was going away for the weekend, which meant she was getting fucked somewhere, and Uncle Kev had agreed to keep me safe. The wine went in the fridge while we downed a few beers. I wasn’t used to alcohol, got tipsy quick, and so fucking horny with it. I straddled Kev’s lap and snogged his face off. Bit his neck. Sucked him some hickies and got some on my tits in return.

  He told me to fetch the wine from the fridge, cracked it open and we swigged from the bottle before he placed the thing between his legs. I sank myself onto it, my ass coming to a stop on his thighs, the cold bottle inside my hot cunt made me hiss and shudder and bite him some more. I rode the bottle, stopping every few strokes for a swig before shoving it back inside me.

  Downing wine and watching me fuck a bottle with my newly-opened cunt was enough for Kev to forget where we were. He fucked me over the kitchen table with his thumb up my ass. I’d come a whole lot, all over the floor. I remember being terrified that I might have hurt myself, burst my bladder or something silly like that. We ended up in the shower where he asked me to repeat my performance, but all I could manage was a trickle of piss down my leg. Kev pulled me to him and we kissed. I felt his piss running down my thigh. He held me tight and we didn’t stop kissing until his piss had drained away.

  We got so drunk that night. Kev had bought strawberries and squirty cream and a trio of courgettes that he enjoyed fucking me with. I ate squirty cream off his cock and we fed each other strawberries. We fucked in every room. Fucked in Mother’s bed. Fucked in the garden with bats swooping around us. I’m sure that’s the night I conceived.

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said as Drew pushed the rum bottle inside me.

  He took another picture.

  ‘Sent,’ he said.

  ‘Good, ask him his name.’

  Drew hit the keys. ‘Might not be a he.’

  ‘Ask him for a picture.’

  Drew hit the keys again. ‘Done.’

  He pulled the bottle from me, splashed rum on my stomach and tits, dribbled some into my mouth.

  ‘I like you tied up and helpless,’ he said. ‘Maybe I could leave you here while I go to the pub.’

  ‘Sure, babe,’ I said, ‘have one for me.’

  He came to the side of the bed and wrapped his fingers around my throat. ‘Or maybe I could leave you here for days. No one would know. Not if I hung the no-service sign on the door. Unless the maid got curious.’

  You wouldn’t dare, came the words in my head. I didn’t voice them. That would be a deal done. ‘I don’t want you to leave me,’ I said instead.

  I hated being left alone. Hated my mother for doing that a million times. Although I didn’t mind so much when I had Uncle Kev for company.

  ‘Scars?’ Drew said, and he was on the bed, bending his head to my ass.

  ‘Old cuts,’ I laughed. ‘I don’t do it anymore.’

  The first cut came when I discovered I was pregnant with Uncle Kev’s baby. Making little cuts around my thighs made the pain hurt less. Making little cuts made me feel braver, like one day I might just be brave enough to go the whole way and slice my belly open and get rid of the thing growing inside me.

  Not telling Mother was easy enough. She never really looked at me or listened to a thing I said anyway. Arranging the abortion and going through with it without telling a soul made me ill for weeks before and after. Mother said I was depressed, that I needed to snap out of it. In my dreams, I slit her throat.

  Drew’s phone vibrated. He looked at the screen and laughed like a hyena.

  ‘Colin,’ he said and showed me a pic of a stiff little dick poking from a nest of ginger pubes. I laughed so loud.

  Drew hit the keys. ‘Asking him where he is,’ he said when I asked what he was doing.

  The reply was instant. ‘Harrogate. That’s good,’ Drew said. ‘He’s not far away.’

  ‘Are you really doing this?’ I asked.

  ‘If you dare.’

  Chapter Six

  My dares really took off after the abortion. I went on the pill, got a job at the biscuit factory, took driving lessons, passed my test at the second attempt and bought an old Fiesta. It was grey and dull but it was good to sit inside behind the tinted windows and lock the doors, keep the world out.

  I liked to play with myself as I drove around the countryside locked inside my little grey bubble. Sometimes, I’d plan a whole day, knowing where best to stop for a naked stroll in the sunshine, or even a quick skinny-dip in a pond. I knew where all the hidden ponds were.

  One of my favourite thrills was driving around naked with my tits tied. I’d pull over on an empty country road, strip out of my dress, bind my tits with laces, and drive. Drive through villages and high streets. Sometimes I’d wind down the front windows, the thrill of the breeze on my s
kin. The thrill of people doing a double take and watching me drive away in the rearview. I liked to come when I was going fast, a straight road, windows down, my bullet clenched against my clit.

  But other times, those times when the horn wasn’t there, when the mood was gone, I’d park up somewhere quiet and think about the child I killed. I knew it was a girl. They didn’t tell me that. I just knew. I wondered if she’d have been like me. She would have been ten now. In my mind, she had blonde hair like mine and a cheeky grin. I wish every day I hadn’t murdered her.

  I named her Cherry and took her everywhere with me. Always with me.

  Drew put the phone on the table, switched the TV on.

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Told him your sweet pussy was hogtied and waiting for his cute dick.’

  ‘You told him where to come?’

  ‘Yeah. Course I fucking did.’

  He found a music channel, turned the volume low, and climbed up on the bed, kneeling between my legs, his cock proud.

  He asked how the shrooms were, if I was all right. I told him I felt tipsy, from the beer and the rum, but above that I felt, I dunno, full – or bloated, like I was filled with juicy goodness and the colours in the room made me warm, made me smile.

  ‘Good,’ he said, and pushed his cock into me. ‘How does that feel?’

  How did it feel? ‘Fucking hell,’ I said as he slid his cock in and out nice and slow. I told him it felt fucking amazing.

  He told me, that if Colin did show up, he was going to fuck my throat while Colin stuck his little dick in me.

  ‘How long until he gets here?’

  ‘Not long.’

  I relaxed into Drew’s slow rhythm.

  ‘What?’ he asked when I giggled.

  ‘My cunt feels huge,’ I told him, ‘and your cock feels fat as a fist. I like it. Don’t stop.’

  He didn’t stop. Told me to enjoy the ride, and I did, it was a weird fucking high, even though I felt a bit queasy.

  Drew came inside me, then spent some time licking me out. I told him he was a dirty bastard and he kissed me with a mouthful of me and him. I lay there after, still tied like a pig, still feeling bloated, my cunt all open and puffy and pulsing with pleasure as he walked about the room in nothing but his boots.

  Drew went for a long piss. Even the sound of him pissing was musical. But when he returned from the bathroom, the mushroom high took a strange turn, because it wasn’t Drew, it was Doctor Mort. At least I knew it was the mushrooms, I thought. Otherwise I would have screamed the place down.

  ‘Danielle,’ Doctor Mort said, peering over his glasses at me. ‘Your vagina is looking well.’

  I laughed so hard I pissed a little right there on the bed.

  I didn’t have to see Doctor Mort before the abortion. I could have chosen another doctor, a female doctor. I told myself that declaring my murderous intentions to Doctor Mort was my punishment. Punishment for lying to Kev about being on the pill. Punishment for teasing Doctor Mort with my knickers all those years ago. Punishment for murdering my child. I even told him I had a pain right inside my vagina.

  Doctor Mort had aged a bit. More grey hairs at the temples. Bushy eyebrows. And a little bulge of a belly. I wanted him to touch me. And I wanted him to enjoy it. I think he did enjoy it, to an extent, although afterwards at home I’d cringed at my antics. I hoped he’d put it down to anxiety. Anxiety at the prospect of murdering my child.

  I’d asked for the final appointment of the day, intending to let him have his hands on me for as long as possible. I was an adult now, no longer a little girl. And when I walked into his stuffy office, I had a whole load of confidence. Facing up to your punishment does that for you.

  I’d dressed for it, too. A thin black skirt above the knee. Black pumps. Red lace knickers and matching bra, and a sheer blouse that was almost see-through.

  He looked happy to see me, offered his big hand and I took it in both of mine, squeezed hard, asked him how he was. He patted his stomach, told me he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

  I went to touch my stomach, then realised I wouldn’t be seeing a baby bump anytime soon and burst into tears.

  Doctor Mort passed me a box of tissues and I told him all about it. That I was pregnant. That my mother must never find out. I had to get rid of it. His response floored me.

  I’m strongly against abortion, he told me. I can refer you to another doctor.

  That’s when I lied about the pain up my vagina.

  At first, he gave me a disbelieving look, as if to say I know what a lying little cunt you are. But his attitude changed quickly.

  Would you like a nurse present?

  No.

  He got up and locked the door. Took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves.

  Fingers stroking my cunt brought me back to the room. My Doctor Mort hallucination was sat on the bed at my side, one hand on my stomach, the other stroking my cunt.

  ‘Sorry for fucking you about,’ I said.

  ‘That’s okay, Dani,’ he said, pushing his fingers into me, ‘I do like your vagina.’

  The real Doctor Mort liked my vagina a lot. I could tell. He didn’t hide his hard on. He handed me one of those gowns that fasten at the back and leave your ass on show, told me to go behind the screen and put it on and get on the examination table. When I was little he always called it a bed. But today it was an examination table.

  I thought twice about what I’d planned to do, then I dared myself. I was doing nothing wrong, except maybe lying about the pain. The pain I thought was a lie, but of course there was pain up my vagina. There was a life in there. And I was going to snuff it out.

  I peeped through the tiniest gap in the screen as I took my blouse off. He was pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves. I slung the blouse over the top, the skirt too. I folded the gown onto the examination table’s pillow and then I climbed up there in my red lace underwear, lay flat on my back with my arms by my sides and told him I was ready.

  His bushy eyebrows went up when he came around the screen. His eyes went to my bra and then to my knickers. I need you to take those off.

  I sat up, unclipped the bra and dropped it to the floor.

  I meant your pants, he said.

  I tugged those down and kicked them to the floor. His eyes were on my bush now.

  Legs together, he told me, then he’d taken hold of my ankles in one hand, the other hand under my knees, and slid my feet up the table until my heels touched to my ass. And he did it all nice and slow.

  Let your legs fall open, he told me, this position opens you wide, you see.

  I went nice and slow, too, let my legs part, and I felt my cunt opening before his eyes. He parted my pubes with care, then said he was going to feel around inside me, and that I should tell him if anywhere hurt.

  The lie came tripping off my salivating tongue, I’m allergic to latex.

  He didn’t even look at me, just peeled the gloves off and flexed his fingers.

  A jabbing jolt of hotness shot up my ass and made me fucking yell.

  ‘Sorry,’ the Doctor Mort on my bed said. He had two hands working me now. Fingers up my cunt. Fingers up my ass. I relaxed into it, the sloppy sounds.

  Back on that examination table Doctor Mort had pulled my lips apart and asked me to hold them there. I did as he asked, the heat growing inside as my cunt got wetter.

  He showed me two fingers before sliding them into me. And the man stared at my tits as he felt around.

  Any pain?

  Not yet, doctor.

  He felt around some more, prodding and pressing, and I couldn’t stop the smallest moan as my cunt flooded for him.

  Don’t move, he said, I want to try something else.

  I didn’t move. Stayed still with my cunt lips held open and my juices tickling my asshole.

  He returned with a big metal speculum, explained it would open me further, enable him to see inside.

  My eyes never left his as he worked the meta
l legs into me. Never left his eyes as he turned the key. Slowly. Nice and slow. Stretched me wide until the key would no longer turn. Good girl, he said, staring into my hole. He shone a light in there, felt around with a wooden scraper.

  No pain? he asked, and I’d forgotten about that.

  Yes, further back, I told him, so he came real close and shone the light again.

  Well, I’m stumped, he told me and went to turn the key.

  I’d grabbed his hand.

  He’d gasped.

  Imagine, I said, imagine sticking your dick in there right now, Doctor Mort. Do it! Fuck me, Doctor Mort.

  I hunched my ass down the bed, held my knees up to him, the metal speculum like a torture device in my cunt.

  Never, he said, I would never.

  That’s okay, I said, I know you can’t touch me. I reached for his belt and he didn’t object. Stayed stock still as I freed his cock. Didn’t move a muscle as I turned on my side and took him into my mouth.

  He came straight away and I sucked him dry, swallowed him down, and kissed his cock before he put it away.

  Then I’d lain back and waited for him to remove the speculum, his hands shaking as he did so. A bead of sweat on the end of his nose.

  He returned to his desk and I didn’t give up. I grabbed my clothes and followed him. Stood by his side as I dressed. Didn’t bother with the knickers though. I wiped my cunt with them and shoved them in his shirt pocket.

  Thank you, he said as I left.

  I’d gone home and cut myself. A little nick at the top of each thigh. Then I’d masturbated on my bed with bloody fingers.

  The walls in the room wavered and so did the nausea. My cunt felt weirder than ever, as if that speculum was back up there. Doctor Mort on the bed looked pleased with himself.

  ‘You’re good,’ he said, ‘you make me so hard, Danielle.’

  I realised then that his fist was inside me. He turned it side to side. Eased it out a little then back in. In and out. In and out.

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ I said.

  The sound of the toilet flushing made me start. Drew stepped out of the bathroom and Doctor Mort went up in a puff of smoke. Drew frowned, stared between my legs. ‘You’ve shit yourself,’ he said.