Free Best Bondage Erotica 2 by Alison Tyler Page B

he had to tug slowly up along his slim thighs, over the ass I’d yet to see, and around his resistant cock. The waistband snapped at his hips and the dick was plastered against the right side of his pelvis. He looked up. Either the material chafed or he was pantomiming defiance. I didn’t care.
    “Take off your glasses.”
    He nearly chirped. Something about no longer being able to see.
    “What’s to see?”
    I walked up to him, pulling a strip of leather out of my back pocket. I let it hang out of my right hand, though I doubt he could see this. I got behind him and lifted it above my head, then over his. I tied it around his eyes. I stepped back in front of him. As I pressed my hands close to his eyes to adjust the blindfold, I could smell his face. It was bitter with smoke and fear. I lingered long enough for his cold skin to feel the warmth from my breath.
    I moved away. “You’ve talked a lot tonight. Most of it, I enjoyed. In fact, by dinner, I felt like I was back in school. Shooting the shit at three in the morning with a paper due at ten.” I paused to cross the room and return with my butterfly knife.

    “I just have one question. It’s about what makes a man. You seem to know. Well, you did in that article for Homosex(e) .” He started as he realized how naked he’d become. “What was your thesis for that one? Something about ‘penetration being a mode of production in the manufacturing of the masculine.’” I stopped to let his own stilted words limp over to him.
    “I’m sorry. Here I am contextualizing my question and I haven’t even asked it. Let me try this again. First, I’ll introduce some givens, then the question.” I opened my left hand. “This is a dick,” I said while I pushed my palm flat against the pink panties and then his prick until each were mashed against the wall of pelvic bone. I waited for his dick to stiffen and push back. Hand and cock then began a little dance until the hand had shuffled the tip of the dickhead up and under the strangling elastic waistband. Below it, a swelling pink stem was pointing toward the ceiling.
    “Then,” I said as I plucked the head, nearly in full purple bloom, “to use your own terms,” and I pulled flower, stalk, and the taut rim of the panty out to me as far as I could—I almost lifted him up off his feet—“there’s what you called the concretized phallus.” And now my right hand and its knife reached into the gap between his dick and his belly.
    I turned the knife on its side and stroked the dull edge of the cold blade up the shaft, prickling with hairs and goose bumps. “Actually, anything with a point’ll do.” My left hand slowly let go so that only the knife held his cock and the over-extended waistband in place. “So here’s my question. If I took this,” and I flicked my left index finger at his dickhead, as if it were a marble and this were a game. I paused to feel it thud against the warming metal. “If I took this and left you with this,” I pushed the concretized phallus against the cock that was trapped on the other side by my finger, “would you still be a man?”
    I waited.

    The muscles of his stomach flinched, shaking the skin that rippled the air that stirred the hairs on my arm that held the knife. I hoped that this was his answer. I waited. It was.
    I almost smiled. I was beginning to enjoy our date. For now I could spend the rest of it teaching him the deeper meaning of his wordless response.
    I pulled the knife out in one stroke. The panties snapped his prick back in place. He gasped. He was stung but uncut. I grabbed both his hands and pulled them toward me and the bed as I jumped up onto it. I rolled off the other side still holding him. I let go and he lay facedown across it. I took his left hand and tied it to the left post of the black metal headboard. I moved around the bed knotting and cinching his three remaining limbs to the three remaining corners. Then I stood. Breathing deeply. I’d