DARE

by James Crow

  Fuck me! I slapped the crucifix off my cunt.

  I can’t do that. I can’t.

  I swung my ass from that altar and went to him, tore open his robe at the collar then lifted it high. He didn’t resist, allowed his arms to come free. I pushed it over his head and it dropped to the floor behind him. His cock was at the perfect height to slip through the gap in my thighs. I held it there against my hot cunt and pulled myself to him.

  I asked him when was the last time he’d spunked up. He said he never had. I told him he was a filthy liar, that he was going to come for me. I can’t, he said again. I thought maybe he couldn’t fuck my cunt, but surely the Good Lord would let him fuck my throat.

  I eased myself slowly down his body. His stiff cock pressing hard against my cunt, then my tummy, my tits as I lowered myself – he moaned when his cock pressed into my tits – and then I was on my knees and I had him in my mouth, sucking him nice and slow.

  His breaths were loud. I looked up at him. He was staring straight ahead, his breaths fogging the cold air. And then he surprised me, said something I wasn’t at all expecting, I can taste it.

  I pulled his cock from my mouth. What?

  That thing… between your legs. I will check it for you. And… taste it. I can do that. A taste.

  My cunt flooded with fire at his words, I almost bit his cock. Good, I said and took his hands, guided his naked body to the floor until he was flat on his back. He was toned, just nice, and the flickering light from the nearby rack of candles made him look delicious. I straddled his shoulders, went down on my knees, took his cock in my hand, sucked the end a little, then lowered my dripping cunt to his face.

  Check me, Father.

  Shaking fingers touched to my thighs. Touched lightly to my bush, stroked there, and I moaned for him, squeezed his cock. He was stroking so gently. I told him to open me up. Told him it was okay to be rough. Told him it was nice. He parted my lips then. A good grip with both hands and he parted my lips with a squelch of wetness, held them open and I felt his stare burning me.

  Check me, Father.

  His finger went in slow. Nice and slow all the way in. I moved my hips back and forth a little. He got the message and started moving his finger in and out. I told him it was good, told him to put another finger in.

  He gave a little sob and two fingers pushed into me. I told him it was so good, told him to taste me. Suck my cunt, Father.

  His hands came to my hips and I lowered myself to his face. He cried as he lapped at me. Lapped like a dog would. I told him to suck. Told him to suck hard as I dropped my mouth over his cock and sunk all the way down to his balls and clenched my throat. He cried out, his cock pulsing in my throat as he came. I sucked him dry and he groaned for forgiveness. I told him he was forgiven already and pressed my needy cunt to his mouth.

  Suck me hard, Father. I’m going to come on your face.

  His fingers dug into my hips and he sucked hard, grazed me with his teeth, pushed his tongue in and flicked it about. I squirmed on him, told him he was fucking divine, then I rode him, fast, the sharp stubble on his chin sending needles of pleasure through me and I was coming. So wet and so hard I was coming and I was crying out for sweet mercy when Father Martin screamed, pushed me off him and scrambled to his feet.

  I smelled it then and almost puked. The rotten smell of period blood. It was all over his horror-struck face. A dark clot of blood hung from his lip. Blood on his neck, his chest, his fingers.

  I was dumbstruck. He was sobbing, splashing his hands in the font, scrubbing at his face. I went to him, told him it was okay. Told him I’d help him clean up. But the fucker slapped me. Slapped me and grabbed up his robe and vanished towards the vestry.

  I ran after him only to see my clothes fly through the doorway and the door slam shut. The key turned in the lock. He bellowed through the door that I was an evil demon whore, that he never wanted to set eyes on me again. That’s when I stole the crucifix. Slept with it for weeks after. Slept with it up my cunt.

  ‘An eye for an eye,’ he said.

  Cherry looked terrified, there on his lap, her dress ridden high, his arm clamped around her middle. That crucifix in his hand.

  ‘Let her go.’

  He shook his head. ‘Get down on your knees, whore. I’m going to check her. And you can watch.’

  I heard the foetuses then. The pulsating foetuses behind me in the barn. I told him it was okay, because he wasn’t real. He wasn’t really there. But he looked so real. I could smell him. Smell his pungent musk. And he had a hard on. I couldn’t see it but I knew.

  He stroked the rounded top of the crucifix on Cherry’s thigh. I denied her as well. Told him she wasn’t real either.

  I know, he said, but I tasted her.

  Cherry cried. My heart broke. I begged him for forgiveness, but he said no, to get down on my knees.

  I did something then I’d never done before in my life. I dropped to my knees, brought my hands together and prayed. Prayed for Divine intervention. Promised the Almighty that I’d never sin again, if only he would save my poor Cherry.

  I heard lowered voices outside the stall, movement, scuffling of heavy boots.

  ‘Anyone in there? This is the police. Show yourself.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  I was out of that stall in a heartbeat. Three cops in black. Safety vests and big boots. Two cops had batons drawn, the other had a taser. ‘In there,’ I pointed to the stall, backed away from it, ‘he’s hurting my baby.’

  The cop with the taser beckoned me to him with a frantic wave as the other cops approached the stall.

  ‘Is he armed?’ Taser-cop asked in a whisper.

  ‘Yes,’ I lied and taser-cop pushed me behind him, told me to go. I was met by the arms of a woman cop. She was pretty. Blonde hair in a ponytail under her cop’s hat. She told me her name was Angela, took my arm and we left together through the gap in the back wall.

  She was babbling on as she walked me quickly up the side of the barn. Are you hurt? What’s your name? Don’t worry, you’re safe now. But I didn’t answer her. I knew those cops would soon be coming when they found an empty stall. I had to make a run for it. So I did. Broke free from Angela-cop’s grip and ran like hell. Ran up the side of the barn and onto the wasteland, hoping against all hope that the keys were still in the pickup.

  But I stopped dead when I saw the fucking commotion. The pickup was blocked in by at least eight cop cars. Two riot vans as well. And fuck, so many cops. Maybe thirty of the bastards and they were all looking my way.

  That’s when the shout went up from behind me. ‘Freeze! Stay where you are!’

  Some cops broke away from those by the barn and stepped onto the wasteland. And the chopper in the sky had dropped low – thuka-thuka-thuka

  I did the only thing I could do, whipped my dress off, spread my legs and slapped my cunt. I shouted to the fuckers to come get me and I rubbed my clit like crazy as the cops picked their way through weeds and rubble. Ten of them I counted, and two from the other barn closing in behind me, including cop Angela. They were all holding tasers. It seemed I was going to get fried.

  I closed my eyes to them and I’m thrown face down in the coal dust. A hand presses to the back of my head. I can’t move as he sticks me hard in the ass. I search for fossils with my one open eye as he fucks me roughly. I spot the tiniest fish, two of them, little silvery shapes on a flat piece of coal. I’ll take the fish to the signal box and put them on the shelf with the others once the monster has gone. He grunts when he comes. Kicks me between the legs before he leaves. It’s a while before I can collect the little fish.

  Coal dust changes to floorboards, the same hand pins me there. I smile at bloody Cherry on the wall as he sticks me. Smile at her pretty eyes as he rips into my ass. Scream when he rams so hard he shunts me up the floor. I feel his cock pulsing inside me as he comes. He pulls out, but he isn’t finished. From the corner of my eye, I see his big hand swoop down and pick up a hammer from an ol
d toolbox. He twists the wooden handle into my ass and kicks it home with his boot. I scream again at the ripping pain. I can feel the blood spilling from me. The door slams. The sound of his boots going down the rickety stairs. I laugh, push myself up on my knees and the hammer falls to the floor with a thud. I stroke my fingers through the blood coming from my ass and start another painting of Cherry, even though I’m still bleeding down my legs and the signal box is swaying, the walls turning from peeling paint to grey and then black as I eventually pass out.

  It’s the crack of my head off the floor that wakes me. I stare into darkness. I’m warm in my bed, cuddling Teddy. It was all just a dream. A horrible nightmare.

  But the darkness is suddenly split by a line of yellow light coming under the door. I see his shadow, hold Teddy close and pretend to be asleep. Not that that will make any difference. He’ll still do it.

  I hear the turn of the handle. Feel the change in the air against my face. I smell him then. Beer. Cigarettes. And musk so pungent it makes my stomach turn. It’s just a dream, I tell myself. Always the same old dream. That’s all.

  He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask if I’m awake. Just pulls the covers away, turns me over and lifts my nightie. I bite into Teddy’s ear as he pushes my head into the pillow.

  There’s a jab and a pull deep inside as the orgasm starts its release. I slap my cunt to it, open my eyes to it. Little red circles of light dance across my tits. The cops are aiming their tasers; the laser sights all concentrated on my tits. There’s six of them. Maybe ten. My head is swimming. The cops aren’t saying anything. Just watching as I slap my cunt again. I can see it in their eyes. They don’t know what to do, except aim their tasers at my tits.

  I rub faster, feel the swirl of magic inside. ‘I’m going to fucking come,’ I tell them and watch in amazement as the zippers on the combat pants of each and every cop peels down of its own accord. The cops don’t seem to notice when lime-green cock-headed shrooms come flopping out.

  One cop takes a step forward. Another follows suit. I growl at the fuckers. Hiss through my teeth as the orgasm starts to burn through my middle. I shout at them, tell them to fucking stick me and I slap my cunt again.

  The first taser sinks its barbs into the flesh of my right tit. The second grazes my shoulder and takes some skin with it. The third gets me in the gut, electrifying the edges of every cut I’d made. I was on my knees then, convulsing like a broken puppet, and coming like a crazy train as more tasers stuck me, frothing at the mouth as the cops approached, the cock-headed shrooms poking from their pants were twirling like drills.

  - - -

  ‘And the last thing I remember,’ I say to the man in the suit, ‘is those twirling cock-shrooms coming at me, spunk flying everywhere.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s all.’ I squeeze the base of his cock until the engorged end blooms purple. I flick my tongue at his pisshole.

  He tells me to give it a suck. ‘Nice and slow.’ I suck him in, clench my mouth a little. He moans for me.

  ‘Danielle,’ he says.

  I look up at him doe-eyed, swirl my tongue around his knob.

  ‘Where did Drew go? What happened to him?’

  I shrug, keep on sucking. I feel his thighs tense. He’s gonna blow soon.

  ‘And Colin? What happened to him?’

  I shrug again, edge his cock to the back of my throat. He tenses again.

  He grabs my hair and pulls my head away from his cock.

  I lick my lips at him. ‘No parole, I guess?’

  He shakes his head. ‘No chance. Not without full recall. And remorse, of course.’

  ‘Of course. Will you fuck me now?’

  ‘You know I won’t.’

  Yeah, I know that. Evidence must be swallowed. ‘I don’t ever want parole anyway,’ I tell him. ‘I’m Queen Bee here. The bitches love me.’

  He looks at his watch. ‘Time flies when you’re having fun,’ he says, shoves his pants down to his ankles, hitches his ass forward to the edge of his seat. ‘Do it,’ he says.

  I spread my knees, fuck myself with two fingers until it’s nice and squelchy. I show them to him, covered in my cream. ‘Do it,’ he says again.

  I twist those fingers into his asshole, nice and tight, all the way in. He tenses. ‘Hurry,’ he says. ‘I’m close.’

  I squeeze the base of his cock with one hand while I finger-fuck his ass with the other. Sink my mouth onto him. A suck. A clench. I pull away, flick my tongue over his glistening pisshole.

  I tell him I’m surprised he trusts me, what with my history. ‘I mean, I could so easily bite your cock off,’ I say and wrap my mouth around his knob.

  He tenses again. ‘You wouldn’t fucking dare,’ he says.

  His cock jerks in my mouth, the first spurt of spunk. I bite down hard. Bite it clean through.

  THE END

  CASE NOTES

  Cory Clarkson – witness and friend of the accused. They were playing a game of dare. Cory dared Danielle to ask a man standing at the bar for his phone number and then send him a private image of herself. After she had done so, the man and Walker had left the bar together. Miss Clarkson identified that man as Colin Crawford.

  CCTV footage from Daisy’s Diner shows Colin Crawford and the accused Danielle Walker. They appear to be having a good time. The diner’s owners said they were in good spirits when they left.

  CCTV footage from the Holiday Inn shows Colin Crawford and the accused Danielle Walker checking in at Reception. Later footage shows Crawford carrying an apparently unconscious Walker to her father’s pickup.

  Colin Crawford was found dead in the north barn on the Walker property. His neck had been broken via the chain wrapped around it. His body mangled around a steel spindle. A haybale knife had been pushed into his rectum.

  Kevin Walker – father of the accused. His body was found in the old signal box adjacent to Dooley’s Pit. His face had been smashed in with a hammer. The murder weapon was found inserted in his rectum.

  Patricia Walker – mother of the accused. Her naked body was found chained to a radiator in a bedroom at the Walker property, a broom handle inserted in her rectum. Cause of death: drowned in a bucket of urine.

  LAST ENTRY: Danielle Walker has been moved to a private facility, locked away in a little box.

  ~}{~

  Thank You . . .

  Colossal caw-felt gratitude to the girls in my Crowgirls reading group. Not just for their unyielding support and ballsy encouragement, but for the ideas they bring to the writing table and the fun and games we always have. Thank you, you filthy lot, you make my job a whole lot easier.

  Special mention to comp-winning crowgirl Patty Walker whose grim snapshot on life made my gut churn and my balls shrivel up. Patty loaned her name to the psycho that is Dani’s mother. Oh, and the white stilettoes – they were all Patty’s too.

  To the Juicy Ladies my dogged street team of prolific pimpers, thank you for relentlessly pimping my ass. Michelle, Lesley, Tilly, Leanne, Marie, Lisa, Kirsty, Emily, Jocelyn, Wendy, Esther, Sandra, Laura, Natalie, Rhiannon, Nik, Helena, Heather, Tabitha, Louise, Lilith, Fran, Aurelie, Kelly, Lyndsay, Kim, Jo, Anastasia, Robyn, Stacey, Daverba, Kathy, Carina, Nico, Sharon, Jess and Jessica – your persistence thrills me every day. Extra special thanks to Michelle McGinty, Lesley Edwards, and Tilly Broad, who keep the team trim and push it all the way. Thank you all so much!

  Thank you also to the crazily talented Poppet for a truly outstanding cover. Check out her amazing work here: Southern Stiles Design

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/356331234748001/

  A tremendous shout out to the talented eye that is Jocelyn Quirindongo – so many teasers, so many banners. Jocelyn, you are an absolute star. Thank you!

  Thanks also to Leigh Stone for those lovely deft little touches when formatting for e-book and paperback. Your attention to detail makes all the difference!

  https://www.facebook.com/irishinkbelfast

 
; Finally, a very special thank you to my incredible PA, Michelle if Carlsberg made PA’s McGinty. Michelle, the sun really does shine out of your sweet ass. You’re always on the ball. Always ready to help anyone at all. Always picking my shit up. Always there, keeping things right. You are a true friend and an amazing lady.

  Thank you.

  About the Author

  James Crow lives in the UK in a redbrick mansion, where the walls are tall, the basements deep, and where secrets aplenty are just waiting to be told. Watch this space.

  Crowgirls reader group:

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/252990785058841/

  Juicy Ladies street team:

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/1805959579636055/

  Shop: http://www.jamescrowauthor.co.uk/