Truth Or Dare 117

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.'

Carly widened her eyes and whispered, conspiratorially, 'Well he definitely knew what he was doing to me,' before she sat bolt upright again, pursing her lips with a smile.

'And,' she continued, 'surely you wouldn't want to have sex with anyone old enough to be your dad.'

When I stopped laughing, and had taken another drink, I suggested we should play truth or dare.

After a big drink from her glass, she looked at me, and paused before she replied.

'Okay, Abi,' she answered with mock seriousness, 'we both know that truth or dare is going to end up with us naked, soaking wet and in the pool!'

I looked at the pool, glimmering under the warm, star filled sky.

'You don't have to finish up in the pool to end up wet,' I told her, as I held her gaze. She didn't flinch.

'Wanna know what I've heard about you, Abi?' she eventually asked me. As she spoke, her voice now a little more husky, her gaze a little more penetrating, her drink no longer near her mouth, she swivelled her chair around to face me more directly. I glanced down, at the hem of her skirt which only just covered her crotch.

Taking a drink, I swilled a little before I swallowed.

'Are we playing now?' I asked with all the innocence I could muster.

Laughing, Carly reclined a little in her chair and stared straight at me.

'So,' she began, cocking her head slightly to the right but still looking at me, hard. 'Elise Underwood warned me not to go on holiday with you because she said, and these are her exact words, she's a nasty little sket who's nothing but fucking trouble.'

Drawing in a long breath, I sighed as I exhaled.

'How fucking dare she?' I replied. 'Who the fuck is she calling little, she's hardly five feet tall!'

We laughed, hard and long, both creasing as we fell in towards each other.

'And,' I continued, 'Elise Underwood is in no position to call anyone a sket, since she gave her cousin a hand job at her gran's fucking funeral.'

'Nooooo,' Carly shrieked, 'she didn't did she?'

I simply picked up my glass, took a long drink and raised my eyebrows as high as I could for as long as I could. Elise had done nothing of the sort; it was, in fact, me that had done that, but I wasn't going to let her escape Scot free with such vicious character assassination.

'Then if you've heard such terrible things about me,' I asked her, regaining my composure, 'why have you come on holiday with me?'

I realised that this was, potentially, a very dangerous question. If Carly said the wrong thing, we could be sharing a villa for fortnight and not speaking at all. However, I felt that the opportunity for frankness, which always made me somewhat horny, was far too good to pass up.

She didn't reply at first, just sipped and looked at me, allowing the sound of the crickets chirruping and the waves lapping gently on the shore nearby, to fill the pregnant void.

'Cos your fucking dad is paying,' she eventually blurted, with a squeal.

'Cheeky bitch,' I admonished softly, with a soft smile.

When she had stopped laughing at herself, she took a breath and looked at me hard again.

'Abi, we've known each other most of our lives. You don't have many secrets from me. I know what you're like, I know you don't worry what people think of you, I know you're a vulture, sexually, preying on whoever you like.'

'That's not right,' I complained. 'Vultures prey on the dead!'

We both laughed again, picking up our drinks.

'Okay,' I suggested, 'let's play truth or dare.'

Carly nodded, sucking on her straw, and as she finished her drink she said, 'Okay, truth.'

Nodding, I pursed my lips and considered.

'So,' I began, 'who would you call to help you bury a body?'

Spurting her drink out, Carly laughed like snooker balls rolling in a kettle.

'You have some odd thoughts, Abi,' she replied before she paused to run through her friends and their relative body burying merits. 'Er, probably Harriet Kline, because her dad has that mechanical digger and I think you have to get the body quite deep.'

We both erupted and I agreed that Hariet was, definitely, the best bet.

'Dare,' I challenged her.

She held my gaze and thought. Eventually she offered me my dare.

'Yell out the first word that comes to mind.'

'Cock,' I shouted as loudly as she could before she had even finished.

'Fucking hell, Abi,' she tutted, 'give me a chance to finish first. Truth.'

'If you could have sex with any of your dad's friends,' I whispered conspiratorially and leaning in, 'who would it be?'

This seemed to puzzle her, and she looked up to the deepening blue of the Greek night sky, the breeze blowing her blonde curls a little, while she mused over some men I did know and many I didn't.

'Well, it would either be,' she said and paused before continuing, 'Jack Smythe or Caroline Hall.'

Giggling, I asked her why, as I didn't know either of them.

'I reckon Jack would be really dominating and he's hot, and Caroline is so quiet and reserved but so pretty that she must be fucking fab in bed.'

I nodded my head and agreed that they were very good reasons to fuck anyone.

'Truth,' I requested.

'So, what's your biggest insecurity?' Carly shot straight out.

'Bloody hell, Carly, go straight for the jugular,' I protested.

'That's the game, my love. Sorry.'

I took a drink and considered as Carly watched me. Her boobs, large, pert, almost alive, certainly left me feeling underwhelmed with my own offering. However, they weren't an issue for me usually. I never worried that my arse was big - I knew it wasn't and the way most guys looked at it, and usually wanted to slide their cock inside it, made me feel perfectly happy there. Not being tall, my legs weren't long, but they were tanned and tone and taut, and wrapped easily where I wanted them to wrap.

'My ears,' I finally conceded.

'Your what?' Carly replied looking mystified.

'So, I have my mum's ears,' I explained quietly, as if afraid someone would overhear and exploit this. 'And I always think her ears are pointy at the top, and because mine are a similar shape I worry that people might think I look like an elf or a pixie.'

Carly looked at me in silence for what felt like hours before she burst out laughing.

'Your fucking ears?' she repeated.

I nodded.

'Abi,' she said slowly, 'if all you have to worry about are possibly pointy ears, you're very fucking lucky. The rest of us worry about our bellies or our thighs or having no eye lashes or tits that men can't stop talking to but make our backs ache all day.'

Shrugging my shoulders, I apologised wordlessly.

Shaking her head and smiling widely, Carly said, 'Dare.'

'Put an ice cube in your knickers,' I challenged her.

Sucking slowly through her straw, she looked at me and opened her legs a little. I glanced down.

'Oh Carly, you dirty bitch,' I cried.

Laughing more hysterically than she had all night, Carly creased and stamped her feet.

'So you went to dinner in a skirt that hardly covers your arse with no knickers on?'

'Well,' she replied, the skirt is so tight that if I wear any knickers with it you can see the pattern. It's easier not to.'

I shook my head.

'No wonder those waiters wouldn't leave us alone, you dirty bitch.'

Sucking again, she nodded and widened her eyes.

'Okay,' I continued coolly, 'in that case, put an ice cube in my knickers.'

We looked at each other intently, and I knew that Carly was weighing up the possible consequences of doing so. I was determined to maintain my gaze, to make the challenge more daring.

'Fine,' she finally chirped, as she bounced up. 'Bit disappointed to hear you're wearing knickers, but what the hell.'

As she opened the ice bucket and dug around with the tongs, I kept looking at her. Quickly, I shimmied my denim skirt from the middle of my thighs over my hips, ruched it around my waist and sat with just my tiny green satin thong on display.

When Carly had found an ice cube that she felt would be satisfactory, she turned to face me, holding the tongs. Her eyes skipped between my thong covered crotch and my eyes, taking in the view for longer than was strictly necessary.

'Are sure about this?' she eventually asked.

'Absolutely,' I asserted boldly.

She stood next to me and bent down a little. In response I reclined and opened my thighs for her. Leaning in, her face was close to mine, a little higher, and she looked straight at me. In one hand she held the tongs and the ice cube, which was melting very slightly onto my skin. My warm flesh prickled a little with each cold drop and the icy run off as it slipped down my open thighs. Her empty hand steadied herself on my leg, just above my knee, and the touch of her fingertips felt like rhythmic jolts of electricity.