4: Dares & Daddies (4)

“Two penalty shots,” William reminded her, his voice a bored monotone.

Erin looked at the glasses. Her defiance warred with a primal fear of that unknown liquor, of losing control in this den of predators. With a sound of pure disgust, she shoved herself up and stalked to the corner where Nancy still knelt, dazed.

Nancy looked up as Erin approached, her lips swollen, a stray, pearly trace of George’s release at the corner of her mouth. Their eyes locked, a shared moment of utter humiliation.

“Do it,” George called, his voice singsong.

Erin knelt. She gripped Nancy’s chin roughly, forcing her head up. Then, with a grimace of revulsion that slowly, horrifyingly, morphed into something else, a dark, curious hunger, she leaned in and swiped her tongue over Nancy’s lips.

The room watched, utterly silent, as Erin cleaned her friend’s mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. When she was done, she pulled back, her own lips now slick. She didn’t look at anyone as she returned to her cushion, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her body trembling with a torrent of conflicting emotions.

The game was a runaway train, hurtling into darker and darker terrain. The initial pretense of nostalgia was gone, stripped away to reveal the raw, predatory hunt beneath.

It was Nora’s turn to spin. Her hands were shaking so badly that the bottle almost fell over. It spun weakly, landing on Amelia.

Amelia, who had issued the first devastating dare, now found herself in the crosshairs. She lifted her chin. “Truth.”

Nora, emboldened by the atmosphere, by her own confessed fantasy hanging in the air, asked a question inspired by it. “Have you ever been with two men at once?”

Amelia didn’t blush. “Yes,” she said simply. “My ex-boyfriend and his best friend. It was… enlightening.”

“Did you like it?” Nora pressed, forgetting she only got one question.

But Frederick intervened. “That’s a second question. A new dare is required or a penalty.” He looked at Amelia. “Since Nora overstepped, I’ll give you a choice. Answer her second question with complete, graphic detail… or take a dare from me.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed. She sensed a trap. “Dare,” she said.

Frederick stood up. He walked to the fireplace, selected a long, iron poker from its stand. It was cold, its tip blunt. He returned and held it out to her.

“I dare you,” he said, his military bearing making the command absolute, “to fuck yourself with this. Here. Now. And tell us what you’re thinking about while you do it.”

A weapon. An object of cold, hard metal. Amelia stared at it, then at Frederick’s impassive face. This was a test of a different kind, a test of her willingness to objectify herself completely, to use something cold and impersonal for pleasure in front of them all.

She took the poker. The iron was shockingly heavy and cold. She lay back on a vacant cushion, hiking up her emerald green dress. She wasn’t wearing underwear. The firelight played over the smooth skin of her inner thighs, the neat thatch of dark curls.

With a look of fierce determination, she pressed the blunt, cool tip against her entrance. A sharp gasp escaped her as she breached herself, the unforgiving metal a stark contrast to the heat within. She worked it in slowly, her face a mask of concentration and forced arousal.

“I’m thinking,” she began, her voice strained but clear, as she pushed the poker deeper, “about William’s mouth on Lola. I’m thinking about how badly I wanted it to be me. I’m thinking about George’s cock down Nancy’s throat. I’m thinking…” she gasped, twisting the iron inside her, “…I’m thinking about all of you. Watching me, using me. I’m thinking this poker is your cocks, and I’m just a hole for you to fill.”

Her graphic, dirty monologue, combined with the sight of her fucking herself with the fireplace tool, was the final trigger. The last camouflage of civility evaporated. The room became a pressure cooker of lust and power.

As Amelia moaned, working herself toward a climax with the cold iron, Henry spun the bottle one more time.

It landed on Willow, who had been quiet throughout, a silent observer drowning in her own terrified arousal.

Before Henry could even speak, Willow pointed a trembling finger at the penalty shots. “I can’t,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “I can’t play anymore. I’ll take the drink. I forfeit.”

A moment of stunned silence. Forfeiture wasn’t in the rules. But the hunger in the room had its own logic.

Henry nodded slowly. “A forfeit requires a forfeit,” he said, a new, terrifying gentleness in his tone. He picked up one of the shot glasses and handed it to her. “Drink.”

Willow took the glass, her hand shaking so violently that the liquid sloshed. She threw it back. It was like drinking fire and ice, potent, clean, and instantly burning a path to her core. A cough wracked her body.

“And the second, for refusing to play,” Henry said, handing her another. Tears streaming down her face, Willow drank it.

The effect was immediate. Her eyes glazed over. A dreamy, slack smile spread across her face. The fear vanished, replaced by a pliant, warm lethargy. She slumped back against her cushion, giggling softly.

“The special vodka,” George explained to the horrified yet fascinated women. “It doesn’t just intoxicate. It… suggests. It opens doors.”

Henry looked at Willow’s prone, compliant form, then around the circle at the other women: Lola exposed, Nancy used, Erin shamed, Amelia fucking herself with iron, Nora trembling, Ruby dripping with silent arousal.

“The game of Truth and Dare is concluded,” Henry announced, his voice filling the room. “The forfeit has been claimed. Now… we move to the main event.”

He rose to his full height, a king in his domain. “The dares were just the warm-up. The truths just the appetizer. Now, my darlings… It’s time for the seven of you to remind four old men what it means to be truly… dared.”

The fire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to reach for the women.

The game was over.

The hunt had begun.