TRUTH OR DARE
This story, and the characters created therein, remain the creative property of Mitzi Norton. The characters are all aged over 18 and no likeness to any person is to be inferred.
'That's what happens when you're a daddy's girl,' I said, giggling and hiding my grin behind my the hair between my fingers.
'It's so kind of your dad,' Carly replied, picking up her cocktail and taking a long, deliberate sip and smiling at me.
I smiled back at her, holding the exchange a pulse before she glanced down.
'He wants to give his Princess what she likes,' I explained from behind the lock of chestnut hair.
Carly again sucked with faux innocence on her straw, and we looked out over the sea from our table. The clear blue of the night sky meant the moon glinted on the tranquil water, the ripples gently curling and uncurling the lunar reflection, while the warm breeze played over the soft skin we had spent the afternoon tanning. Waiters scurried between the tightly packed tables. I watched them leering at Carly and me, hoping they would be taking us to our hotel room or the beach or the alley behind the restaurant to reinforce their experience of easy British girls.
Watching Carly suck on her straw, I could see why she would be more popular with the locals.
I have dark hair, brown eyes, an air of aloofness and superiority. The experience of draining my father's cock into my hungry young pussy meant that I preferred men to be grown and mature and at least twice my age. My sexuality is, and always has been, borne of confidence, possibly arrogance, that no man would reject me. My ability seduce my own father had proven it, if I had ever doubted it. Not only that, but my dress sense was more conservative tonight and less fuck me right now because British girls are sluts.
By contrast, Carly was two or three inches taller than me and much more striking. It was easy to understand what drew men to her. Her blonde, highlighted hair bounced with lively enthusiasm and delicate curls, her blue eyes danced with energy, she laughed loudly and raucously, at almost anything. In addition, her indecently short white skirt showcased her long, toned, muscular legs and her baby blue vest top was struggling valiantly, and only just successfully, to restrain her enormous, firm boobs. Her nipples poked through, betraying their size and firmness, and her lack of need for the support of a bra..
Despite this, Carly seemed to lack the hyper sensitivity to the attention of men which I had always felt. She laughed and danced and drank with little concept of men being attracted to her.
The waiters buzzed, checking if we were okay, smiling at Carly, glancing at me. They asked if we wanted any more drinks, what our plans were after we'd eaten, how we were enjoying Crete, what hotel we were staying at, why we hadn't brought our boyfriends with us. Their trousers were tight, their English serviceable enough to be able to tell us were beautiful and they could show us the best clubs in Malia.
More flirtatious and open to a back alley fuck than I was despite her lack of awareness, Carly responded with more enthusiasm than I was willing to muster for men of a roughly similar age to me. I laughed at her as she told them that she didn't have a boyfriend, she'd love a guide around the clubs and yes, another drink would be amazing, even though she had literally just taken two sips of the Pornstar Martini they had only just brought her.
Carly was a really good friend and I had known her since I was young, though she went to a different secondary school. Her dad was a golfing friend of my dad. I had wondered about the etiquette of fucking the father of one of my friends, remaining undecided about it. He was hot, no doubt about it, in remarkably good shape for a man who had just turned fifty. For now though, he wasn't here, and I returned my attention to Carly. He was a project I could distract myself with when I returned to England.
'How was prom?' I asked her, taking a long drink from my own cocktail and hoping to move her attention and mine away from the horny young waiters circling around us.
Sucking slowly, she looked up, and nodded.
'It was fun,' she eventually told me. 'We were at Craythorne Hall. I'm sure it was just like every other Prom in the country.'
I laughed gently. She was right. Proms are proms, no matter whether you're in Durham or Dorset. All that changes are the accents.
'So,' I probed, 'who did you go home with?'
Suddenly looking coy, Carly sucked again on her straw, slower. She looked out from under her eyelashes.
'With the girls,' she asserted with a hint of trying to be too confident, a tinge rising to her cheeks with the swell of a tidal bore.
I laughed out loud, impressed at the brazen dishonesty.
'You lying bitch,' I shouted.
Carly erupted in laughter, throwing her head back to hide her embarrassment.
She blushed a little more, not because of her behaviour, but because she knew she had been caught out.
'How did you know?' she laughed.
Looking at her, I enjoyed the warm breeze blowing through our window table, and dancing on my soft skin. It felt as if the wind was wrapping itself around us, inviting us to dance with it.
'I know you left with Jake,' I replied, faking a shocked expression. Carly paused, considering where she thought the information could have slipped out.
'It was that bitch Lauren, wasn't it?' she howled at me.
'Might have been,' I laughed back.
We creased as we laughed, and as I looked at Carly I thought how unassumingly beautiful she was.
'You dirty little tramp,' I scolded her, mock indignation sweeping across my face.
Instead of replying, Carly just took another long, slow suck and opened her eyes wider, staring at me through lips pursed around her straw.
'Well,' I laughed, 'I hope you sucked his dick better than that!'
Carly held her mouth in a wide circle of affected horror, the straw between her thumb and finger, and stroking it slowly while she gawped, wide eyed, straight at me.
'NOW who's the dirty little tramp?' she finally replied. The mouth on you.'
My eyes dropped to the straw she was slowly stroking. My smile engulfed all of her as I stared.
'Still you,' I told her. 'And I hope his dick was bigger than that!'
Dropping her eyes to the straw too, she considered it briefly, before looking back up at me. She licked her bottom lip a little then moved her hand from the straw to the empty bottle of San Miguel on the table between us, and wrapped her fingers around the body of it. She slowly mimed wanking it, and mouthed 'Much,' before we both broke out into raucous cackles again.
Hovering a little more, the waiters enquired what we were laughing at and whether such beautiful ladies would like to see the beach in the dark. I politely declined but suspected that they would be unwilling to take no for a definitive answer.
'So then,' Carly enquired, 'Where did you disappear to after Prom?'
'Oh, I was ready for bed,' I told her.
'That's because you're a filthy little tramp, Abigail Richardson,' she fired straight back. 'And you're always ready for bed. Or the sofa. Or the back of a taxi!'
The coy smile with which I replied curled itself around my lips like a cat seeking attention.
'It's true. My dad just picked me up and I went straight home and crashed on the sofa,' I replied honestly.
'Oh,' Carly said, with almost apparent sincerity, 'I thought you meant it was true that you're a filthy little tramp.'
'You know I'm just a filthy hoe. Why deny it?' I replied, trying my best to look innocent.
Once again, Carly cackled while I smiled at her.
She was so different to me, physically. Boobs aside, she had more definite curves than I did, with more pronounced hips, and her legs were a good four inches longer. I envied them. Whilst they were more muscular than mine, they were still toned and seemed to stretch endlessly to her equally toned, but also more pronounced, buttocks. Her shoulders were a little broader than mine, though her voice was a little higher and added to the effect of her cacophonous laughter.
As I watched her, and we sat briefly in contemplative silence, the blueness of her eyes glistening like the lapping waters of a lagoon beneath a cloudless sky. I wanted to bathe in them, stare into them as I stroked her face. Those cheeks, taut and bronzed, appeared to long for a hand to caress them. Her neck was elegant, graceful, perfect for kissing. Full, plump lips, which wrapped themselves with such ease around the straw, were glossed with a delicious deep pink.
'So,' I enquired, 'which waiter are you going to fuck on the beach?'
Carly splurted the mouthful of Martini she had been about to swallow.
'What the fuck? she shrieked. 'Abi fucking Richardson. What a fucking question to ask. And I've spilt my drink on my top!'
'I'm sorry,' I said.
There was a brief pause as she dabbed at the slight damp patch on her vest.
'But the one who sat us down with the mane of hair,' she replied, with another shriek of laughter.
'So it turns out it's you who's the filthy little hoe,' I squealed, stamping my feet as we laughed.
As our meal was finished, and as we had downed enough beer and cocktails for the waiters to feel we were now vulnerable, I felt we should leave. It was late at night, but early enough to start hitting the clubs. However, I had a different idea for what remained of our first night in Crete.
'Why don't we walk back to the villa,' I suggested, 'and then we can sit by the pool with the bottle of tequila?'
Looking genuinely surprised, Carly took a little while to answer.
'Head back?' she checked? 'Not go to the clubs?'
I nodded.
'We still have thirteen nights here,' I reminded her.
'As long as you promise to save me if I fall in the pool and I can choose the music,' she finally agreed.
To the immense disappointment of several waiters, the two slightly tipsy British women (one not wearing very much and very blonde) made their way out of the restaurant, arm in arm, and started to make their way back to the villa without so much as a Greek cock sucked!
The villa was close to the beach where we had eaten, and we made our way back talking about our family, the waiters, Proms, boys and men, laughing and making sure we didn't fall off the ill repaired path.
Soon, we arrived back and while I went to retrieve the tequila (and the vodka and coke), Carly dug out the Bluetooth speaker and made sure the lights around the pool were on.
When I returned, she was already relaxing in the chair and enjoying the feel of the warming effect of the night time breeze playing over the legs she had now stretched out in front of her.
Lights from inside the pool and the awnings of the villa meant the patio on which we sat was very well illuminated. I gave Carly a shot glass and poured the pair of us a drink.
We clinked glasses, downed it and I reached for the taller glasses and the ice bucket as I sat next to her, stretching my legs out too.
'So was Jake good?' I asked after a brief silence.
Laughing loudly, Carly shook her head.
'Abi Richardson, you're terrible,' she said.
Nodding, I poured the vodka as she found some music to play. I added a healthy amount of coke and then added ice as she turned on the speaker to allow music to fill the warm air.
'I think Jake is too young,' I said after a slow drink from my glass. 'I like experienced men, guys who know what they're doing.'
