The crowd was shouting suggestions, from the mundane to the completely outrageous. Then Karl leaned forward and whispered in George's ear. George smiled slyly.
"I dare you...to go inside, shove your head in the toilet, and flush it," George said sweetly.
His smile, that oh-so-cocky grin, faltered slightly. "You've had plenty of practice with that already, right?"
For a second, George thought he might actually do it. Instead, Dream downed the cup and set it aside. It still had the effect George wanted regardless: Dream lost his cocky grin.
"Oh, Gogy," he shook his head. "Gogy, Gogy, Gogy. Don't you know that you're supposed to grow up after high school? We're all adults here."
Dream tossed the ball and made it in. A dare for George too. "But I guess some of us really did peak in high school."
"What's your dare?" George snapped. There was no way he was losing this game - George would take whatever dare Dream gave him.
Dream didn't even hesitate. He has just been waiting for the opportunity to say it. "Kiss my boots."
People gasped, laughed, and whistled. Karl made a horrified noise behind George. He frowned. "So...what...just one little kiss?"
"Oh, no, no, no," he chuckled, walking around the side of the table so George could see him fully, boots and all. "I dare you to get on your knees, get your face down to the ground, and kiss my boots for sixty seconds."
The horror on Dream's face brought back that cocky grin of his. "Or you can pussy out and drink."
"Big words from someone who just refused his dare," George shot back. But he was unfazed.
"Yes or no, George?" he said.
Now the crowd was invested. Of course they wanted to see George do it, the perverted fucks. Of all things for Dream to choose, he'd gone straight for something humiliating - not that George had chosen any differently.
"Fine. Sixty seconds."
The crowd burst into cheers. Karl
was muttering protests behind George, stunned that he was actually going to do it. George walked around the table, heart pounding as Dream stood before him, arms folded. As he got closer, he remembered how tall Dream was. He could look down at George even in his heels, and as George sunk to his knees in the grass, Dream loomed over George like a creepy dead-eyed specter.
George glanced up, and Dream smirked down at him. "You look a lot better on your knees, George." he said softly, soft enough that George didn't think anyone else could have heard him over the music.
"Enjoying your revenge?" George hissed.
Dream laughed, shaking his head. "It's just a dare, Gogy. It's a game."
It wasn't just a game. It was more than that. This was payback for every time George laughed at him, every time he had whispered about Dream behind his back. Payback for the kiss that had gotten Dream attacked and expelled.
George wasn't going to let Dream see him blush...but the heat in George's face had become a wildfire, overtaking every inch of his skin. George was certain that even his toes were blushing. He lowered his head...bent low...ass up. His skirt hitched up, and the cold night air brushed against his cheeks. Cheers burst out, whistles and catcalls - if George was going to get attention, he figured that he should be hot while he did it.
He'd make Dream wish he could have more of him.
Dream's boots were shiny, as if they had just been polished. The leather was worn, with cracks and wrinkles around the ankle and where his laces were pulled tight. As George got closer he could smell the leather itself, rich and slightly sweet. The smell rushed in George's nose and awakened something in him, a strange feeling he couldn't quite name. He inhaled again, deeply, filling his head with the scent.
George kissed the toe of Dream's boot, eliciting more cheers from the crowd. The leather felt smooth under his lips. He kissed it again, then switched and kissed the other. Sixty seconds...only sixty seconds...that would go by quickly, right? George touched his lips to them lightly, but even so, his pale lipgloss left the imprint of his kisses behind. The marks would remain there, likely for the rest of the night, a constant reminder of what he had done. The heat that had been rising in George's cheeks became a blaze and the position he'd chosen to put himself in was causing his tight thong to press even tighter against his intimate parts. George was suddenly, horrifyingly aware that he was having a reaction to this that he hadn't expected.
George was getting horny. His dick felt so warm as if it was blushing too. Shit, shit, shit! Surely it wouldn't show through his thong, but the thought that someone might see a damp spot when he was in this humiliating position made his blush go cold with horror.
Why was this turning him on?
George kissed up the toe, until he reached the curve of Dream's ankle. He kissed there, too, where the leather was worn. George wondered what it would be like to run his tongue over it, to feel the texture of the leather, to savor it, just once.
It was the longest minute of George's life. He had never done something so blatantly degrading. George had expected to feel his embarrassment turn thick and settle in his stomach, twisted like rotten food and leave him feeling ill. Instead, that feeling of embarrassment was turning into lust, and suddenly George was thinking about Dream pressing the sole of his boot down on his face. He was thinking of Dream crushing him into the grass, laughing at him, calling him a dirty whore for daring to like it -
"Sixty seconds!" Sapnap yelled out the count, to the sound of more cheers and whistles. George got up, feeling dizzy, and turned away as quickly as he could. He didn't want to see Dream's smug, victorious face.
George went back to his side of the table, chin up, and tried to act as if nothing unusual had happened. Karl was watching him, wide-eyed.
"Was it that bad?" George said softly, taking his drink as Karl offered it and guzzling the alcohol down.
"Well...I mean...it was uh..." he shrugged, brushing it off. "It was just a dare. And you looked hot as fuck doing it. But... you're really red."
George nodded quickly. If he could have willed his blush away, he would have. Instead it remained, his very own scarlet letter branded over every inch of him.
Steadying his breath, George turned back to his opponent. "What the fuck are you smirking for?" He demanded.
Dream looked pleased. Far too pleased.
"Was it worth not losing the cup?" he said.
George readied his aim. "Of course it was. I don't plan to lose, Dream." George sunk his cup and he drank again, but he'd claimed a victory and they both knew it.
They traded cups, back and forth. Dream did his next dare, taking a raw egg shot effortlessly when George was hoping to see him gag on it. Dream took more of George's cups without dares, so George drank them down. It was just cheap beer, so his buzz was subtle even as he got down to only 4 cups remaining.
"Looks like you might be losing, Gogy." Dream chuckled, shaking his head. "Unless you really like doing dares."
"I don't lose," George said, his voice dripping with fake sweetness. While he was distracted with Dream's taunts, Dream bounced the ball and made it in, and the crowd gasped at George's bad luck. Two cups for one, both of them dares. George sighed, closing his eyes to mask his frustration.
"Just give me the dare," he groaned, certain that Dream was going to come up with something evil. Someone handed Dream a mixed drink that he took a long sip of, and that got on George's nerves. Why did people like him? Why had everyone decided to suddenly be nice to the freak?
"It's for two cups," Dream said warningly. "You know it's going to be a hard one."
"You don't scare me, Dream."
A lie - Dream did scare him. With one white eye, that confident grin, and George's kiss marks on his boots, he seemed like he held all the power. Even worse: every time George looked at him and found him staring back, George felt a warm rush in his belly and tingles up his back.
Dream was turning him on. Just standing there, he was turning him on, and that scared George.
"I like that thong you're wearing," Dream said musingly, pacing a little as if in thought. George's 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."
George rolled his eyes. He wasn't ashamed of the fact that crowd has already seen his underwear; He'd always gotten enjoyment out of showing off, knowing they desired him but couldn't have him. But George had a feeling he knew what Dream was going to dare him to do, and he already didn't like it.
"Take your thong off," he said. "And give it to me."
Cheers and whistles immediately sounded. They attracted a sizeable crowd. People from George's old cheerleading squad were there, people George knew for years. All watching, waiting, sipping their drinks.
If George hesitated too long, he'd overthink it. He was not going to lose, not to Dream. George reached up under his skirt and yanked down hid thong. As he did, he could feel his arousal clinging to the fabric. Even glancing at them briefly, George noticed that there was a spot of wetness on the cloth that would betray all his prideful posturing the second Dream looked at it.
Someone howled their approval. Phones were out, recording. This would be all over social media in the morning. But George put on his best sarcastic smile and twirled the panties around his finger.
"Are these what you want, Dream?" He said. "Hmm?"
Dream held out his hand expectantly. So damn cocky, as if it was no surprise to him that George took the dare, no surprise that he was giving him exactly what he wanted without hesitation. Before George could think himself out of it, he balled up the thong and threw it over, chucking it aggressively.
Dream caught it, smirked, and held it spread between two fingers. "Thanks for the trophy."
"You fucking perv," George tried to sound disgusted, but his voice came out too high and shaky to be convincing. To his horror, George saw Dream's eyes linger on the gusset and spot the dampness. As his gaze slid back up to George, there was a fire in his eyes.
George braced himself, expecting Dream to announce it, and add more fuel to the humiliation bonfire. But Dream just shoved the thong into his pocket with a victorious smile.
"Your move," he said.
Standing there in his short skirt with no panties proved to be a significant distraction to George's game. Every breath of wind kissed up under his skirt and slid over his dick, cold and shocking against his wet tip. Yes, wet. Embarrassingly wet. George tried not to think about it, tried not to let his mind linger on the peak of white fabric poking out of Dream's pocket.
George squeezed his legs together, worried that he was going to drip down his thighs. The moment George let his mind wander back to how embarrassing this all was, it only got worse. What was wrong with him? He was literally being degraded in front of friends and strangers, and he liked it. Dream was certainly enjoying himself; everyone could see it all over his face. George wondered how long Dream thought about humiliating him, if he fantasized about making George squirm, making his cheeks turn red and his voice shake. George wondered if it was turning Dream on too.
George took another of Dream's cups, and Dream took two more of George's. Sapnap 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 George already used his last dare to save two cups, those two swiftly went off the table.
Dream's aim was annoyingly good. He got a third cup from George, and George clenched his fists as he waited for Dream's dare. What else could he possibly ask of George?
He pulled George's 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.
George snatched up the cup, chugged it down, and threw it furiously aside.
"Fuck you," George jabbed his finger at Dream. "Fuck. You."
Dream shrugged, and tucked George's underwear back into his pocket. "Relax, George. It's just part of the game."
Part of him wanted to continue shouting at Dream. But he was losing and doing that would make him look even worse.
George drank down the cup as quickly as he could because if he hadn't...if he allowed himself to consider Dream's dare for even a moment...He might have done it.
George imagined stuffing his own panties into his mouth at Dream's command, then standing there drooling and gagged in front of everyone. He squeezed his legs together tighter. Maybe he was only paranoid, but George was certain that Dream could tell this was turning him on: there was a little too much humor in his crooked smile.
George was down to only one cup. He took one of Dream's, then another. Dream would have only one cup remaining if he didn't take George's dare, and they would be tied. The game was far too close for comfort. People were shouting obscene dare suggestions, but George already knew what he wanted.
"I dare you to give me back my thong," He said tightly.
Dream looked at him skeptically. "You sure you don't want to come up with something else?" Dream said.
But George was determined. "No. I dare you to give it back."
It was a weak dare, but George couldn't bear standing there feeling so naked. It was too distracting to see the lace peeking out of Dream's pocket, and there was no way George was giving Dream the satisfaction of getting to take it home with him.
Dream drank. He drank the damn cup rather than give George his thong back.
"Your turn," Dream said, smiling at George's shock. Softer, but no less confident, he added "You're gonna lose. Better get it over with."
They were tied. George couldn't lose, not now! Not after all his smirking and smug looks; He would never live this night down. George carefully took his aim, shot - missed. He glanced back at Karl, and found him watching in horror, hand over his mouth. He thought George was going to lose.
After that miss, George thought he was about to lose, too.
Dream took aim. The crowd was waiting with bated breath. George needed a drink, two drinks, a shot. He needed his thong back, because he couldn't separate his legs without feeling the dampness of his arousal.
The ball flew through the air - and plopped effortlessly into the cup. The onlookers cheered, certain victory was Dream's even before George's rebuttal. George tried to concentrate, tried to take his time with careful aim...but then Dream reached down and toyed with the edge of George's thong, caressing the fabric between his fingers. George's aim was off, way off.
He lost.
George squeezed his eyes shut, holding back a growl of frustration. Drunken Sapnap picked Dream 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 videos they got of George on his knees. God dammit, George was screwed. His social standing had just been drop-kicked. He stomped off, and Karl quickly latched himself reassuringly to George's side. George was ready to lose himself in a drunken stupor and forget this annoying game.
"Gogy! George!"
George turned back, jaw clenched. Dream was motioning him back. "You still have a dare, Gogy."
He was right: George's final cup had DARE written on the side. But what kind of dare was he going to give George that meant potentially losing his victory? It would be horrible, George just knew it. He would choose something George would have to refuse.
"Fine," George came back to the table slowly, arms folded. He didn't even want to hear it. "What is it?"
Dream paused before he answered, and he did it just to watch George squirm. George tried to keep still, but his dick was still slowly dripping, and he could feel it on his thighs. Just having Dream look at him like that - as if George was insignificant - made him want to curl himself back down onto his knees.
"I'm going to give you another rebuttal," Dream 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."
George's heart was pounding, and he masked how intrigued he 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 George brought down. And fuck his dick for betraying him every step of the way and making him horny over all this. George had to refuse.
Something in George was telling him that he'd lose, that he'd lose and he'd like it. He couldn't even let himself consider it.
"What happened to all that competitive spirit, Gogy?" Dream pouted mockingly as George wrestled with himself. Potential social destruction...or a chance to redeem himself. "Are you intimidated? A little scared of losing now?"
George snatched up the ball. Fury, intrigue, and horniness were creating a concoction inside of him that made his brain feel like mush and set his skin on fire.
Throw the shot, said an evil little voice in George's head. You know you don't really want to win. You want to do that dare. You want to get on your knees for him again.
His hands were shaking, time around him was slowing. The only thing in focus was Dream. Dream with his one white eye, his cocky grin, and George's lip marks on his boots. Dream, waiting and watching. Dream, knowing he won.
George's ball landed in the grass. Karl swore up a storm behind George and immediately called to him, "Come on, George, just forget it!"
But he couldn't. Dream curled his finger at George, motioning to him as the next group of players crowded onto the table.
"How does it feel to be a loser?" Dream said softly, as George came to his side, arms folded, refusing to meet his eyes.
His words dug into George, that smooth condescending tone sliding slimily over his skin. Dream had gotten to George, he had actually gotten to him...
And the worst part was...George enjoyed it.
