Free Truth or Dare by Matt Nicholson Page A

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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