Tags:
Sex,
BDSM,
bondage,
Erotic,
Sadomasochism,
punishment,
piercing,
suspension,
breasts,
tits,
erotic torture,
disipline
Truth or Dare
by Matt Nicholson
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,