DARE Read online

  DARE

  James Crow

  Copyright © 2017 James Crow

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the email address below.

  All enquiries to [email protected]

  First published 2017

  for Michelle (if Carlsberg made PA’s) McGinty

  Contents

  Preface

  DARE BY JAMES CROW

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  CASE NOTES

  Thank You . . .

  About the Author

  Preface

  ADVISORY

  !!! TABOOS BY THE BUCKET-LOAD AND TRIGGERS APLENTY !!!

  DARE BY JAMES CROW

  I’ve been kept waiting a long time. In this room. Sat at the table, touching its scars. The empty chair opposite. The red light on the camera on the wall blinking at me. The overheads are so bright. I wish he would hurry.

  Footsteps. The turn of a key. A man in a suit steps inside, flicks the switch on the wall. The overheads turn off, leaving only a single spotlight over the table. He locks the door and pulls the empty chair to one side, takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back. He sits, legs spread. White shirt. Black tie. All man, but twice my age. Old enough to be my father.

  ‘Danielle,’ he says.

  I notice the camera light has gone out. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Stand.’

  I do.

  ‘In front of me.’ He waves a hand.

  I move in front of him. He looks me up and down and smiles at what he sees. I smile back. I know what’s coming. I wonder if he’ll be any good.

  ‘Lose the overalls,’ he says, ‘nice and slow.’

  I love the shake in my fingers as I undo the buttons down my front, slowly, one by one, and when they’re undone, I peel my overalls first from my right shoulder and then from my left and hesitate a little before letting go and the overalls drop to my feet.

  He inhales sharply through his nose. Hands tensing on his knees. He stares at my nakedness. Eyes on the prize.

  He holds out a hand and I take it.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ he says.

  I close my eyes and I can smell him. He’s got the horn.

  Warm fingers touch to my thigh and glide smoothly upwards.

  I gasp for him when he strokes me there. He likes that, pushes two fingers straight in. I gasp again and he pulls me to my knees.

  I unzip him, open his pants, tug down his boxers. He’s average. Easy to please.

  He strokes his wet fingers across my lips and I lick them for him.

  ‘Where shall I start?’ I ask, then sink my mouth onto his cock.

  He moans as his cock pushes against my throat. I pull out slow, stopping to suck on the end.

  He grabs my hair and pulls my head away. ‘Take it easy,’ he says. ‘And start at the beginning.’

  Chapter One

  It started in a bar, as these things often do. There was the usual group of us. It was Cory’s birthday and it was lunchtime. We were playing dare. I initiated it, like always.

  The usual soft dares to start off with. Flash your tits. Show your ass. That kinda thing. And, like always, as the cocktails went down, the dares got more daring.

  I dared Cory to dip a tit in her Mai Tai and let Melissa suck it. I got such the fucking thrill as she did it. The bar wasn’t packed but it was busy. At least half a dozen people saw her do it. And a few of them cheered.

  The loudest cheer came from a guy at the bar. He was a lot older than me. Maybe by ten years or more. Big forearms, veined and inked, sleeves rolled back. Dark eyes. Black hair slick in a ponytail. And he had a few days’ stubble. His face really could have been chiselled from rock. His grin of appreciation as he watched Mel take Cory’s tit into her mouth made me wet. He looked like a man who would tell you what to do.

  ‘Goose him,’ Cory said, her turn to dare.

  ‘Easy.’ I got to my feet. And this would be easy. The door to the toilets was at the end of the bar. I’d goose him as I walked past, get lost in the crowd, then take a much-needed piss. No big dare, really, and I might have complained about that any other time, but the guy was sizzling, if you know what I mean.

  I didn’t need any warm-up time. I’d had enough Dutch courage, or perhaps too much, because I didn’t just goose the guy, I hovered around his sweet ass and groped it. Both hands. One nice hard squeeze.

  Then I ran for it, giggling all the way to the ladies.

  I took the cubicle farthest from the door, locked myself in and giggled some more as I pissed. I imagined the guy grabbing me by the throat, pinning me down and fucking me. I lifted my dress and spread my thighs and touched myself; so hot, so wet, so easy to rub one out. But I stopped. Thought I’d heard something… a breath.

  I stayed still, listening. It gave me the creeps. I decided to get back to the bar, pulled up my knickers and flushed.

  I opened the cubicle door and saw him standing there. My heart stopped I’m sure. His denim-clad ass was propped against a sink. His arms were folded. His expression… mean. That’s what I got, right there. Mean.

  ‘You assaulted me.’ His voice was deep, loud in the small space.

  ‘Yes.’ What else was I supposed to say?

  Those dark eyes roved over me. My strappy white dress. My sneakers.

  ‘I could get you arrested.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it was just a stupid dare.’

  ‘Stupid?’

  ‘A joke. I didn’t think you’d mind.’

  ‘You want to be arrested?’

  ‘Course I don’t.’

  ‘Then it’s an eye for an eye. Turn around.’

  I turned for him, still in the cubicle doorway. My little heart was pounding.

  ‘Hands on the rail.’

  My hands went up and grabbed hold of the rail that ran along the top.

  ‘What do I do?’ he said to himself.

  ‘This is the ladies, you know,’ I said.

  ‘I could fuck you like that.’

  I thought, that’s not an eye for an eye, and almost laughed, but my heart was beating so hard, the pain in my middle fucking rocking.

  I heard him move, listened to his breathing, close now.

  Do it, I wanted to say. Wanted him to fuck me. Wanted someone to come in and catch us fucking.

  A single finger touched to the top of my spine and a shudder ran through me as that finger snaked its way down my back. The skirt of my dress lifted a little and warm hands touched to my thighs, to my ass, and he was groping me through my knickers. He squeezed real hard and I moaned for him. Moaned so bad he squeezed harder, so hard I had to grit my teeth.

  And then he was gone, only the draught from the door closing.

  I slipped back in the cubicle and closed the door, legs spread, my hot brow planted against the cool wall, my hand in my knickers.

  His voice was still in my ears, still resonating around the tiled walls. And I was back in the corner at school with the hot sun on my face. Mr Tinley had a voice just like that. I al
ways looked forward to Art. All the girls looked forward to it. He made me stand up for talking. It wasn’t me who’d been whispering, but I took the blame and stood in the corner when he told me to, the hot sun on my face and Mr Tinley’s eyes on my back. He’d put me there a dozen times, along with all the other girls in the class. It was such a thrill during my junior years.

  The prospect of leaving school at seventeen and not seeing Mr Tinley again horrified me. I know that probably sounds silly, yet when I reflect on it, I know why. I had nothing at home. In fact, I had really bad shit at home. When I was at school, Mr Tinley liked my work, encouraged me, and gave me a thrill I was too young to understand. And the next stop was to enrol at the local college to take A-levels. That or leave school and get a job. I remember reading the school’s guide to which subjects to study for those going to college or moving into the sixth form. It gave reasons for not choosing subjects. The first reason said Don’t listen to what your parents want you to do. Take responsibility for your own decisions. That had made me laugh. I’d never known my father, and my crazy-bitch mother didn’t care a shit.

  The second reason was Don’t choose a subject because your favourite teacher teaches it.

  Yeah right. Anyway, it turned out, for the first time ever, that Mr Tinley was to be teaching Advanced Art and Design in the sixth form; so there was no fucking way I was going to college. And I’d been lucky, just hitting the required grades, and then being accepted into the sixth form. His class was full.

  In the very first class, he yelled at a girl I didn’t like. She always wore makeup, had stupid eyebrows, big tits and a pear-shaped ass and acted like she was thirty, pouting all the time. Kelly something. She was a bitch. A bitch texting on her phone while Mr Tinley explained how studying lateral thinking can enhance your creative skills.

  Miss Wilson, he’d yelled. Yeah, that was her name. Witch Wilson. How could I forget? Miss Wilson, give me an example.

  When she didn’t reply, he told her to stand. When she admitted to texting, he ordered her to stand in the corner. I remember the gasps that went up. We weren’t kids anymore, most of us were seventeen going on eighteen, yet she went willingly and with blushing cheeks. She stood in the corner at the front by the window with the sun on her face and Mr Tinley whispering in her ear. He caught my eye when he stepped away from her and held eye contact long enough for me to realise my mouth was gaping. I snapped it shut and I knew from the look on Mr Tinley’s face that I would be in for the same treatment. I remember how hot it made me, how wet I was between my innocent legs.

  I came then, in the cubicle, a decent leg trembler. Jesus Christ. That man. That beautiful man.

  I opened the door carefully, expecting… hoping hot guy would be there, but he wasn’t. I washed my hands, cooled my face, and returned to the bar. Maybe I’d goose him again on the way past.

  When he wasn’t at the bar, I told the girls I needed some air, grabbed my bag and went outside where the heat was unbearable. The hottest day of the year, the forecast had said. I lit a cig and stood in the shade, his voice still in my ears.

  Two days after Witch Wilson got the special treatment, I had Mr Tinley’s class again. I’d put on a little makeup, painted my nails blue. He seemed to be more talkative than normal, almost excitable in the way he took the class. I became mesmerised by him. He kept glancing at me. Kept looking at me, so I played with my hair and pretended I was chewing gum. Turned out to be a masterstroke that.

  He ordered me to the front of class and held out a big hand in front of my mouth. I cursed myself for not having gum. I wanted to open my mouth and let it fall into his palm. My spit in his palm. He wanted that too. I could tell. His eyes were drooling and I remember so clearly how my cunt flooded for him.

  I opened my mouth as wide as it would go and showed him inside. He spent a long time looking, then told me off, said that gum shouldn’t ever be swallowed, that it would clog up my guts. That’s when he touched me. A finger pressed to my stomach. Guts, he said. I almost moaned at that.

  When I look back, I think it was that finger to my stomach that awakened my sexuality. A button pressed. I was an adult now, but I’d never done it. Never been touched by a man – or a boy.

  He sent me to the corner to snickers from the class. His booming voice silenced them and the pain in my middle was strong. I brought my hands to the front of my skirt and pressed there, and jumped out of my skin when Mr Tinley’s breath hit my neck, his mouth so close to my ear. Stay behind after class, he told me. I’d hitched my breath just loud enough for him to hear.

  I’d stood in that corner with sweat on my brow, wondering if he’d whispered the same thing to Witch Wilson. Wondered if he’d fucked her in the store cupboard. Hoped to hell he would fuck me, then hoped to hell he wouldn’t, because I wouldn’t have a clue what to do.

  I dropped my cig into the sand bucket and was about to go back inside when I heard an engine start up. A deep rumbling sound.

  A pickup truck, grey and battered and parked a few spaces down, pulled out of the space and turned towards me. I saw him at the wheel. He’d been watching me the whole time.

  He pulled up right by the sand bucket, his tattooed forearm resting on the door. He was wearing sunglasses. I couldn’t see his eyes.

  ‘Get in,’ he said.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Don’t you want to know where we’re going?’ he asked after about a mile of country road that split through rapeseed fields, the pungent smell of the yellow flower so strong.

  ‘Just take me,’ I said.

  Despite being terrified of the prospect, I’d wanted to say those words to Mr Tinley after class was dismissed. I’d never had to stay behind before. And certainly didn’t expect to be doing it in the sixth form. I imagined him whacking me with a cane. But they didn’t allow the cane or the slipper anymore, which was a shame, because I’m sure I would have come in my knickers if he’d hit my ass.

  He kept me in the corner. Do not move a muscle, he said. I listened to his footsteps as he walked to the door, heard the key turning quietly in the lock. No one was coming in. The pain in my middle was hurting so.

  He stood behind me, and was saying something about obedience and respect and how important it was to do as you’re told.

  My legs were shaking. And so was his voice. I listened between the words, and I closed my eyes and saw him in my mind’s eye. He had his cock out. And he was touching it to my skirt. Repeating those words, Obedience. Respect. Do as you’re told.

  I was so sure, from his shortened breaths, his quieter words – strained words – that he was coming, spunking up all over my skirt. I thought I could smell it in the warm air. Was certain I could smell it. Even though I’d never smelled or even seen spunk before, I could smell the man – the musk of him, just like I could in the noisy pickup. It was coming from hot guy in waves.

  ‘We’re going to find somewhere to fuck.’

  I smiled at him.

  I’d been fucked a hundred times or more, but never by a hot guy. Hot guys were rare around these parts. I fucked flakes and pretenders and assholes who came the second you spat on their dick.

  I’d heard Mr Tinley walk away again. Heard the quiet turn of the key in the lock. Let me look at you, he’d said and I’d turned to face him.

  He took me in from head to toe and back again. I knew he was saving the memory. So I saved mine. The red in his cheeks. The sweat on his brow that matched mine. The catch in his breath. But best of all, the handkerchief that always poked from his breast pocket was gone, a slight bulge now in his trouser pocket. With his breath on my neck, the dirty fucker had spunked up into his hankie. He told me he expected better from me in future, that he hoped I’d learned something. I told him I’d learned a lot. I smiled knowingly and told him it was good of him to spend time with me. With just the two of us. Go now, he said, and opened the door for me.

  I’d walked slowly to that door, prolonging the moment, because the smell of the man was driving me crazy. I stopped
right next to him, looked up into eyes I can still see now. A mix of worry and lust. And I breathed him in. Thank you, sir, I said and stepped into the corridor.

  A few paces and he called me back. I followed my nose, right back to that doorway, and breathed him in again. I noticed he was doing the same and I smiled at him. Sir?

  He’d fumbled out silly words, something about if it happened again he would keep me back for longer. I’d wanted to tell him he was a dirty old man, that he’d made my knickers wet. I’d wanted Mr Tinley to lock the door again and have a feel up my skirt. Instead, I said, You’re sweating, sir. Where’s your handkerchief?

  He’d wiped his brow with his fingers. You may go, he said, and I’d walked away with my thighs sticking together.

  The grounds were empty of pupils, only teachers leaving for their cars. I set off walking the three miles to home, a shortcut down a dusty path through fields. It was a hot day, just like this one. I hadn’t gone half a mile and couldn’t hold it any longer. I dipped behind a thick tree and shoved my hand down my knickers, checking the dusty path each way to make sure no one would see me.

  But someone was coming. A man in work overalls. Bag slung over his shoulder. Boots stomping up the dust. I ducked low until he’d passed, and then I’d came on my fingers, watching his retreating back, his stomping boots.

  Just like hot guy’s boots. I thought he would keep them on when he fucked me.

  The rape fields went on forever and a day, until the pickup took a left through an open gate. He killed the engine. The silence was as hot as the day. Smells of the rape flower, of musk. My cunt was soaking.