Free Best Bondage Erotica 2 by Alison Tyler Page A

what we said or what I look like. You only want me to describe my dick and what it did. I won’t. Call me a tease, but we both know one man’s dick is another man’s dink is another man’s dong. Besides, I’d rather give your puny little imagination a workout. So maybe I have one. Maybe I don’t.
    The boy and I kept talking. Through several more beers, cigarettes, a course of spring rolls and pad Thai, then along the streets and up the stairs to my apartment and down the hall to my bedroom.
    We stopped beside my bed. I put one of my short, thick fingers to his lips. I stepped back. “Strip.”
    He nearly beamed. Quickly, he gripped the bottom of his terry cloth shirt of many colors and yanked it over his head and down his arms. His nipples stood out on the pale skin. Two dark dots. Alternating patches of muscle and bone. All strung together by a few hairs running from his breastbone to the rim of his shorts. He knelt and unlaced his Airwalks. They’d been the color of wet sand, but in the unsteady light of the room’s candles I could barely see the whites of their laces or his socks. He put them all against the wall and returned to the spot beside my bed. He unbuttoned his shorts, let them drop, stepped out of one leg and, with his foot in the other, kicked them over toward his shoes. I could forgive this smiling eagerness to
please as a bit of nervous excess, but that kick smacked to me of precociousness. My suspicion was confirmed when he tried to lock eyes with me as he tugged his white cotton briefs down over his budding cock and then his thighs. He had to look down once he got to his knees. As soon as his underwear was at his ankles, he raised his back so I could get a good view of his dick. It was long and fat like an animal’s snout. It flopped against his balls while he shook one, then another, foot free.
    It’ll do , I thought.
    I looked up and met his eyes. “It’s interesting how it’s often the choices made with the least thought that carry the most damning consequences.” He blinked. “Like your high kick. Very precious. I don’t like precious.” His eyes widened. “Maybe I should just send you home….” He blurted out something. The beginning of a plea. I jerked my right index finger to my lips. He swallowed a paragraph of yet-to-be-spoken words.
    “What—no one’s ever spoken to you in the conditional? I said ‘maybe.’ I said ‘should.’ You’ll stay as long as I want you to stay. And that might even be the whole night if—if you obey my one rule: you may speak; but each sentence may have only three words; and each word may have only one syllable. Otherwise, you can jabber away at the cab driver on your way home. Agreed?” He nodded. “Are you sure you don’t need me to diaper that mouth with a gag?” He shook his head so hard his balls swung from thigh to thigh.
    Always the student , I thought, craving tests. Good, we’ll begin with the hardest one first. So, I decided to take a few long minutes and bind him tight with the one thing I knew he feared most—silence.
    It began when my face stiffened into a stare. He smiled nervously for the first few seconds. I think it was a minute before I even blinked. By then, his lips had filled in the gash of teeth. We listened to our breathing. To the sputtering of the candles.
Finally, I turned and walked out of the room. I left him alone in the squirming shadows. It would be three, maybe five minutes more before I’d return with a wad of pink fabric tucked in my right fist.
    I tossed it toward his feet. The wad fluttered up into the air and blossomed into a pair of pink silk panties, a size 5 women’s, a snug fit even with his narrow hips. The one-petaled flower fell fast to the ground. “Put them on.”
    He crouched to pick them up. He fumbled trying to get the crotch going the right direction. He stepped out of one leg and turned the material around the pole of his other. The panties slipped up his calves and over his knees. Then,