“Big words from someone who just refused his dare,” I shot back. But he was unfazed.
“Yes or no, Jessica,” he said. Now the crowd was invested. Of course they wanted to see me do it, the perverted fucks. Of all things for him to choose, he'd gone straight for something humiliating - not that I had chosen any differently. I tossed back my hair, determined not to let him see me sweat.
“Fine. Sixty seconds.”
The crowd burst into cheers. Ashley was muttering protests behind me, stunned that I was actually going to do it. I walked around the table, heart pounding as Manson stood before me, arms folded. As I got closer, I remembered how tall he was. He could look down at me even in my heels, and as I sunk to my knees in the grass, he loomed over me like a creepy dead-eyed specter.
I glanced up, and Manson smirked down at me. “You look a lot better on your knees, Jessica,” he said softly, soft enough that I don’t think anyone else could have heard him over the music.
“Enjoying your revenge?” I hissed.
He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s just a dare, Jess. It’s a game."
It wasn’t just a game. It was more than that. This was payback for every time I’d laughed at him, every time I’d whispered about him behind his back. Payback for the kiss that had gotten him attacked and expelled.
I wasn’t going to let him see me blush...but the heat in my face had become a wildfire, overtaking every inch of skin. I was certain that even my toes were blushing. I lowered my head...bent low...ass up. My skirt hitched up, and the cold night air brushed against my cheeks. Cheers burst out, whistles and catcalls - if I was going to get attention, I figured I’d be hot while I did it.
I’d make Manson wish he could have more of me.
His boots were shiny, as if they’d just been polished. The leather was worn, with cracks and wrinkles around the ankle and where his laces were pulled tight. As I got closer I could smell the leather itself, rich and slightly sweet. The smell rushed in my nose and awakened something in me, a strange feeling I couldn’t quite name. I inhaled again, deeply, filling my head with the scent.
I kissed the toe of his boot, eliciting more cheers from the crowd. The leather felt smooth under my lips. I kissed it again, then switched and kissed the other. Sixty seconds...only sixty seconds...that would go by quickly, right? I touched my lips to them lightly, but even so, my pale lipgloss left the imprint of my kisses behind. The marks would remain there, likely for the rest of the night, a constant reminder of what I’d done. The heat that had been rising in my cheeks became a blaze, and I was thankful my hair hid my face. The position I’d chosen to put myself in was causing my tight thong to press even tighter against my intimate parts, and I was suddenly, horrifyingly aware that I was having a reaction to this that I hadn’t expected.
I was getting wet. My pussy felt so warm it was as if she was blushing too. Shit, shit, shit! Surely it wouldn’t show through my thong, but the thought that someone might see a damp spot when I was in this humiliating position made my blush go cold with horror.
Why was this turning me on?
I kissed up the toe, until I reached the curve of his ankle. I kissed there, too, where the leather was worn. I wondered what it would be like to run my tongue over it, to feel the texture of the leather, to savor it, just once.
It was the longest minute of my life.
I had never done something so blatantly degrading. I had expected to feel my embarrassment turn thick and settle in my stomach, twist it like rotten food and leave me feeling ill. Instead, that feeling of embarrassment was turning into lust, and suddenly I was thinking about Manson pressing the sole of his boot down on my face. I was thinking of him crushing me into the grass, laughing at me, calling me a dirty whore for daring to like it -
“Sixty seconds!” Daniel yelled out the count, to the sound of more cheers and whistles. I got up, feeling dizzy, and turned away as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to see Manson's smug, victorious face.
I went back to my side of the table, chin up, and tucked back my hair, trying to act as if nothing unusual had happened. Ashley was watching me, wide-eyed.
“Was it that bad?” I said softly, taking her drink as she offered it and guzzling the alcohol down.
“Well...I mean...it was uh…” she shrugged, brushing it off. “It was just a dare. And you looked hot as fuck doing it. But girl… you're really red."
I nodded quickly. If I could have willed my blush away, I would have. Instead it remained, my very own scarlet letter branded over every inch of me.
Steadying my breath, I turned back to my opponent. “What the fuck are you smirking for?” I demanded. Manson looked pleased. Far too pleased.
“Was it worth not losing the cup?” he said. I readied my aim.
“Of course it was. I don’t plan to lose, Manson.” I sunk his cup and he drank again, but he'd claimed a victory and we both knew it.
We traded cups, back and forth. He did his next dare, taking a raw egg shot effortlessly when I'd hoped to see him gag on it. He took more of mine, cups without dares, so I drank them down. It was just cheap beer, so my buzz was subtle even as I got down to only 4 cups remaining.
“Looks like you might be losing, Jess,” Manson chuckled, shaking his head. “Unless you really like doing dares.”
“I don’t lose,” I said, my voice dripping with fake sweetness. While I was distracted with his taunts, he bounced the ball and made it in, and the crowd gasped at my bad luck. Two cups for one, both of them dares. I sighed, closing my eyes to mask my frustration.
“Just give me the dare,” I groaned, certain that Manson was going to come up with something evil. Someone handed him a mixed drink that he took a long sip of, and seeing the comradery grated on my nerves. Why did people like him? Why had everyone decided to suddenly be nice to the freak?
“It’s for two cups,” he said warningly. “You know it’s going to be a hard one.”
“You don’t scare me, Manson.”
A lie - he did scare me. With one white eye, that confident grin, and my kiss marks on his boots, he seemed like he held all the power. Even worse: every time I looked at him and found him staring back, I felt a warm rush in my belly and tingles up my back.
He was turning me on. Just standing there, he was turning me on, and that scared me.
“I like that thong you’re wearing,” he said musingly, pacing a little as if in thought. My stomach twisted up into a knot. “I saw it while you were down on your knees. Real cute choice to wear under a short skirt.” I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t ashamed of the crowd having seen my underwear; I’d always gotten enjoyment out of showing off, knowing they desired me but couldn't have me. But I had a feeling I knew what Manson was going to dare me to do, and I already didn't like it.
“Take your thong off,” he said. “And give it to me.”
Cheers and whistles immediately sounded. We’d attracted a sizeable crowd. Girls from my old cheerleading squad were there, people I’d known for years. All watching, waiting, sipping their drinks.
If I hesitated too long, I’d overthink it. I was not going to lose, not to Manson. I reached up under my skirt and yanked down my thong. As I did, I could feel my arousal clinging to the fabric. Even glancing at them briefly, I noticed that there was a spot of wetness on the cloth that would betray all my prideful posturing the second he looked at it.