The Dare

Someone howled their approval. Phones were out, recording. This would be all over social media in the morning. But I put on my best sarcastic smile and twirled the panties around my finger.

“Are these what you want, Manson?” I said. “Hmm?”

He held out his hand expectantly. So damn cocky, as if it was no surprise to him that I took the dare, no surprise that I was giving him exactly what he wanted without hesitation. Before I could think myself out of it, I balled up the thong and threw it over, chucking it aggressively.

He caught it, smirked, and held it spread between two fingers. “Thanks for the trophy."

“You fucking perv,” I tried to sound disgusted, but my voice came out too high and shaky to be convincing. To my horror, I saw Manson's eyes linger on the gusset and spot the dampness. As his gaze slid back up to me, there was a fire in his eyes.

I braced myself, expecting him to announce it, and add more fuel to the humiliation bonfire. But he just shoved the thong into his pocket with a victorious smile.

“Your move,” he said.

Standing there in my short skirt with no panties proved to be a significant distraction to my game. Every breath of wind kissed up under my skirt and slid over my pussy, cold and shocking against my wet lips. Yes, wet. Embarrassingly wet. I tried not to think about it, tried not to let my mind linger on the peak of white fabric poking out of Manson’s pocket.

I squeezed my legs together, worried that I was going to drip down my thighs. The moment I let my mind wander back to how embarrassing this all was, it only got worse. What was wrong with me? I was literally being degraded in front of friends and strangers, and I liked it.

Manson was certainly enjoying himself; I could see it all over his face. I wondered how long he'd thought about humiliating me, if he'd fantasized about making me squirm, making my cheeks turn red and my voice shake. I wondered if it was turning him on too.

I took another of his cups, and he took two more of mine. Daniel declared house rules to be that if a dare had already been used to keep a cup, if the ball went in again there wouldn’t be a second dare. Since I’d already used my last dare to save two cups, those two swiftly went off the table.

Manson’s aim was annoyingly good. He got a third cup from me, and I clenched my fists as I waited for his dare. What else could he possibly ask of me?

He pulled my thong out of his pocket. “Take your next shot, with this in your mouth.”

Shocked gasps and howls went up from the bystanders. Some were disgusted, some intrigued. Their phones were still out. I snatched up the cup, chugged it down, and threw it furiously aside.

“Fuck you,” I jabbed my finger at him. “Fuck. You.”

Manson shrugged, and tucked my underwear back into his pocket. “Relax, Jessica. It’s just part of the game.”

Part of me wanted to continue shouting at him. But I was losing and doing that would make me look even worse. I’d drank down the cup as quickly as I could because if I hadn’t...if I’d allowed myself to consider his dare for even a moment...I might have done it.

I imagined stuffing my own panties into my mouth at his command, then standing there drooling and gagged in front of everyone. I squeezed my legs together tighter. Maybe I was only paranoid, but I was certain that Manson could tell this was turning me on: there was a little too much humor in his crooked smile.

I was down to only one cup. I took one of his, then another. He would have only one cup remaining if he didn’t take my dare, and we’d be tied. The game was far too close for comfort. People were shouting obscene dare suggestions, but I already knew what I wanted.

“I dare you to give me back my thong,” I said tightly. He looked at me skeptically.

“You sure you don’t want to come up with something else?” he said. But I was determined.

“No. I dare you to give it back.”

It was a weak dare, but I couldn't bear standing there feeling so naked. It was too distracting to see the lace peeking out of his pocket, and there was no way was I giving him the satisfaction of getting to take it home with him.

He drank. He drank the damn cup rather than give my thong back, and my mouth dropped open.

“Your turn,” he said, smiling at my shock. Softer, but no less confident, he added “You’re gonna lose. Better get it over with.”

We were tied. I couldn't lose, not now! Not after all his smirking and smug looks; I'd never live this night down. I carefully took my aim, shot - missed. I glanced back at Ashley, and found her watching in horror, hand over her mouth. She thought I was going to lose.

After that miss, I thought I was about to lose, too.

Manson took aim. The crowd was waiting with bated breath. I needed a drink, two drinks, a shot. I needed my thong back, because I couldn’t separate my legs without feeling the dampness of my arousal.

The ball flew through the air - and plopped effortlessly into the cup. The onlookers cheered, certain victory was his even before my rebuttal. I tried to concentrate, tried to take my time with careful aim...but then Manson reached down and toyed with the edge of my thong, caressing the fabric between his fingers. My aim was off, way off.

I’d lost.

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding back a growl of frustration. Drunken Daniel picked Manson up in a bear hug, holding him aloft as if he'd just won the Super Bowl. People gathered closer, congratulating his victory, holding up their phones and replaying the videos they'd gotten of me on my knees. God dammit, I was screwed. My social standing had just been drop-kicked. I stomped off, and Ashley quickly latched herself reassuringly to my side. I was ready to lose myself in a drunken stupor and forget this annoying game.

“Jess! Jessica!”

I turned back, jaw clenched. Manson was motioning me back. “You still have a dare, Jess.”

He was right: my final cup had DARE written on the side. But what kind of dare was he going to give me that meant potentially losing his victory? It would be horrible, I just knew it. He would choose something I’d have to refuse.

“Fine,” I came back to the table slowly, arms folded. I didn’t even want to hear it. “What is it?”

He paused before he answered, and I swear it was just to watch me squirm. I tried to keep still, but my pussy was still slowly dripping, and I could feel it on my thighs. Just having him look at me like that - as if I were insignificant - made me want to curl myself back down onto my knees.

“I’m going to give you another rebuttal," he said. "If you make it, you win, instantly. But if you don’t...and you lose...you have to be my slave for the rest of the night.”

My heart was pounding, and I masked how intrigued I was with anger. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Your slave?”

“You do whatever I order you to, for the rest of the night or until you go home. Any and every order, you do it. No avoiding me. If you agree, you stick by my side.”

Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid dare. Fuck this crowd and how invested they were in seeing me brought down. And fuck my vagina for betraying me every step of the way and making me horny over all this. I had to refuse.

Something in me was telling me I'd lose, that I'd lose and I'd like it. I couldn't even let myself consider it.

“What happened to all that competitive spirit, Jess?” Manson pouted mockingly as I wrestled with myself. Potential social destruction...or a chance to redeem myself. “Are you intimidated? A little scared of losing now?”