toy040

Waxing Romantic

by Kiernan Kelly

"Mark, I need you!"

"I'm busy right now."

"But, dude, it's an emergency!"

Mark looked up from his computer screen, glancing toward the animated figure bobbing in the
doorway. He just as quickly returned his attention to his World of Warcraft game. It was a
critical time; they were just entering into an important battle. "Greer, with you, it's always an
emergency. What did you do this time? Forget how to set the DVR?"

"No, Mark... I got a gig!" Greer was dancing on his toes like an excitable foal. He bent over and
threw his arms around Mark, giving him an exuberant hug.

Mark winced as his Dwarf was killed in action. He swore softly, and stabbed the button to close
his browser. "Do I have to remind you about your last modeling job?"

"This is different. It's a real one -- no old guy with a Polaroid in a two-bit motel room this time."

"Uh-huh. And how did you score this incredibly real gig?"

Greer's grin was broad and dazzling. "My agent got it for me."

"Your agent? You mean Scruffy, the pimply-faced guy who works down at the Circle K? That
agent?"

"His name is Scout, and he's a legitimate agent. He has lots of contacts."

"His name makes him sound like a Labrador Retriever, and the only contacts he has are the ones
in his eyes."

Greer huffed, his lower lip jutting out in an adorable pout. Actually, Mark thought, I have to
hand it to him -- he's one of the few guys who can successfully make a sulk look sexy.

Greer was short, and possessed a toned, if slender, body. He had blue eyes, longish blond hair, an
impish grin, and a bubbly personality. Mark always believed that dictionaries should put Greer's
picture next to the word, "twink" because he was the classic, textbook definition.

Mark, by comparison, was six-two, all of it bone. He was also, as Greer often pointed out, beige.
The label stood for Mark's coloring, his clothing choices, and usually, his personality. His hair,
eyes, and skin were all shades of brown, ranging from ivory to tan, and most of his clothes were
beige or brown. He was the quiet type, preferring a night watching an old "B" sci-fi flick on TV
or playing computer games to going out clubbing. It was Greer's opinion that if Mark didn't blink

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once in a while, he could easily be mistaken for a potted sapling.

"I got a part in a movie!" Greer squealed, immediately resuming his bouncing. Greer was like
that -- he couldn't stay angry for more time than it took to soft-boil an egg, and that was only if
he were enraged. Mark knew this for a fact because he'd once timed Greer out of curiosity. It just
wasn't in Greer to stay mad at anyone, or to carry a grudge.

Worse than his perpetually perky personality was Greer's tendency toward gullibility. He
believed just about anything anyone ever told him, which often led him into trouble and, by
extension, to Mark hearing the infamous words, "But it's an emergency!"

Mark raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "What sort of movie?"

"What do you mean? A movie movie. The kind that has a director, and cameras, and lighting
cues and shit."

"Greer, I want you to calm down and think about this for a minute. Is it the kind of movie you'd
take your grandma to see?" Mark, watching Greer carefully, saw the exact moment when Greer
caught on to what Mark was suggesting.

"Oh, no, you're wrong. It's not a porn movie, Mark. It's a real film, a murder mystery, and I get to
play the corpse!" Greer was wiggling with excitement, hugging himself.

Mark gaped at him with an incredulous look. "You're the dead guy? Guess you don't have any
lines, huh?"

Greer rolled his baby blues toward the ceiling. "Of course not. The movie opens just after I'm
murdered. But I'm in two scenes... the first one, and the morgue scene, and Scout said I might
even get screen credit!"

"Well, that's great, then. So, what's the emergency? Sounds like you and Scruffy have it all under
control."

"Scout, and it's an emergency because I have a rehearsal the day after tomorrow and I need your
help."

"With what?"

"I need you to wax my ass."

Mark blinked and was, for a moment, completely speechless. Of all the things Mark might've
expected Greer to say -- he needed a ride, he needed to borrow money to buy new clothes or to
get new head shots -- waxing his ass was nowhere on the list.

"Excuse me?"

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Greer slapped himself on his tight, little fanny. "I need you to wax my ass. See, I'm naked in the
first scene, face down on the pavement. It's all going to be really tasteful, of course -- high
quality, dramatic lighting..."

"Of course."

"So, my ass has to be perfect. It's the first thing everybody is going to see."

Well, that made sense, in a purely Greer sort of way. "And because you need to show your naked
butt to the theater-going public, it stands to reason that you need me to cover it with hot wax and
pull your hair out by the roots."

Panic flared in Greer's eyes, making them even wider and bluer. "You won't help me? You've got
to, Mark! They want a fistful of money to do it at the salon, and you know I'm a little cash poor
right now."

"If the director wants your butt baby smooth, why doesn't the film company have it done for
you? Don't they usually pay for that sort of thing?"

"Well, yeah, I guess so, for the stars and all, but the director didn't order me to get it done. It's my
choice. I need to do this, Mark. Have you seen my ass lately? It looks like a fuzzy peach." With
typical Greer aplomb, he turned around, pulled down his jeans and briefs, and mooned.

Mark's mouth popped open as he found himself staring at Greer's small, perfectly shaped ass.
Honestly, he thought, each cheek would fit perfectly into my hand. He's like the bite-sized version
of a male model.

Greer didn't have a tan line. A friend of Greer's owned a tanning bed, and Mark knew Greer
spent every Thursday evening squirreled away inside it, toasting to a warm, golden brown.

He does have a point, though, Mark thought. His butt does sort of look like two furry, golden
lollipops stuck together. "I never waxed anybody before, Greer. I don't even know how."

"Not a problem. I asked another extra on the set about waxing, and he gave me the address of a
website. He said all the information we need is there. It'll be easy, Mark. Wax on, wax off, just
like in the Karate Kid." He handed Mark a piece of paper. "I'm going to Sassy Clips to get my
hair cut. We can do it tomorrow night, okay?"

"I don't know, Greer. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable doing this..."

"Oh, please, Mark? Please?"

Then Greer batted his china-blue eyes with their yard-long, lush, golden lashes at him, and Mark
was lost.

He'd do it.

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Of course, he'd do it.

He couldn't refuse Greer anything. He'd been in love with Greer since they were freshmen in
high school, even though Greer never gave Mark any indication of returning his affection. They
were friends, sure, best friends in fact, but never boyfriends... they'd never even been friends-
with-benefits. Greer seemed to prefer men who were the exact polar opposite of himself -- dark,
powerful, older men with big bulges in their pants and bank accounts.

Mark sighed, nodded, accepted a peck on the cheek from a grateful Greer as Greer skipped out
the door, and went back to World of Warcraft.

***

It was nearing suppertime, and Mark's stomach was rumbling. Greer hadn't returned home yet;
Mark didn't expect him to until much later. He knew Greer would be off dashing from one club
to another after getting his hair cut, meeting with different friends, talking up his part in the
movie with his usual Greer-brand of hyper-enthusiasm.

Mark only hoped it really was a part in a film this time, and not another set-up by Scruffy-the-
gas-station-attendant-slash-agent. The last time Scruffy -- pardon, Scout -- hooked Greer up, it
turned out to be with an elderly man with an instant camera who wanted to take nude pictures of
Greer in some very imaginative positions.

Greer insisted the old guy had to be pushing a hundred (he claimed that the man reminded him of
a very large, very pale California Raisin), but that in and of itself wasn't the problem. It was
when the man pulled his wizened weenie out of his Depends and asked Greer to suck him off
that Greer, clad only in a very small towel, ran out of the motel room to call Mark. Mark barely
got there in time to keep Greer from being arrested for indecent exposure.

Mark sighed, and made himself a sandwich before sitting down at his computer again, and
picking up the piece of paper Greer had given him. Wax Master. Okay, he thought, it sounds like
they should know what they're doing. He typed the website address into the bar at the top of the
screen. A black background came up, with the words "Wax Master" in red, drippy letters. He
clicked on the "Enter" button, which was in the shape of a flickering candle.

His first clue that the site wasn't exactly what Greer had in mind came when an image of a
completely naked young man popped up. The man was nicely built, and completely hairless.
Even his head was clean-shaven... at least, Mark hoped it was shaven. He hated to think about
how painful it must be to have your whole fucking head waxed, never mind your balls. He
winced, knees inadvertently clamping together, thinking it sounded more like torture to him than
personal grooming.

The naked man was also covered head-to-toe in drips and droplets of multihued wax.

He thought it was a little odd that a waxing supply website would have full frontal male nudity

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on the first page no matter how artsy or colorful, but shrugged and perused the links for
something that might tell be instructional.

Glancing at the sidebar menu, he chose one of the videos in the how-to section. He watched
curiously as the video opened to show a middle-aged man wearing a sleeveless, black leather
vest and matching pants. The man was bald, heavily tattooed, and wore a gold earring in his left
ear. Mark thought he looked a little like Mr. Clean, if Mr. Clean were a member of Hell's Angels.

"I am Master William, and it will be my pleasure to introduce you to the basics of wax play."

Wax... play? Oh, this is so not what Greer had in mind, Mark thought. He snorted and grinned,
then took another bite of sandwich, too intrigued despite himself to click away from the video.

The camera pulled back to show the same man who'd been on the front page, still naked, still
hairless, but no longer covered in colorful wax, lying on a tarp on the floor. He wore a black
leather cock ring, his only adornment, although his face wore an expression of anticipation. His
cock was erect, indicating to Mark that the man was looking forward to whatever was going to
happen.

There was a small table nearby, covered with a sheet of plastic, that held a vast array of candles,
pots, and other odd pieces of equipment. Mark spotted a flea comb, a spackling tool, brushes,
and paper towels among them as the camera slowly panned over the table top.

"Wax play can be a most exciting form of sexual play, producing intense and delightful
sensations. It can also be quite dangerous if not done with care and caution, or with the right
equipment," Master William said when the camera returned to him. "In this video, I will give
instruction on the types of wax to use, safe equipment, and manners of application."

As Mark watched, his body hardened. In his mind, he pictured Greer in place of the man with the
cock ring, and himself as the Master. He knew he shouldn't even entertain such thoughts. Greer
was only Mark's friend, not a lover, and had never given any indication that he was interested in
any relationship with Mark other than that of the strictly platonic variety.

But the fantasy of being able to touch Greer's ass, to decorate it with abstract wax art, was
driving Mark crazy. He was rock hard, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fly of jeans.

Plus, Mark reasoned, he deserved a little bonus for all the times he'd bailed Greer out of sticky
situations -- Ancient California Raisin Pervert being only the latest in a long line of them. If
Greer didn't want to, or objected in any way, Mark figured he could just apologize, and proceed
to pull the hair out of Greer's ass by the roots.

Either way would give Mark some payback.

The whole idea was so completely out of character for him, that he shocked himself for even
considering doing it, but his yearning for Greer eventually outweighed Mark's natural reticence.
I'll do it, he thought firmly. For once in my life, I'm going to take a chance, and to Hell with the

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consequences.

Mark paused the video, and pulled out a notebook before restarting it. He took copious notes,
making a list of things he'd need to buy from the store. There really wasn't much, not enough to
strain his budget at any case. He found he didn't need fancy, expensive equipment. The few
supplies he needed could be bought at Home Depot or Wal-Mart.

He was smiling as he grabbed his list and left to do the shopping. He only hoped no one would
notice his hard-on, and realize the purpose he had in mind for the merchandise he was buying
was far from innocuous.

***

By the time Greer came home, Mark was waiting for him, wearing only a robe, tied at the waist.
He'd draped the living room in canvas tarps. Master William had stressed that wax play could be
very messy, and the last thing he wanted was to spend the night scraping wax from the hardwood
floors or furniture.

"What's all this for?" Greer asked, eyeing the coffee table that held the equipment Mark had
bought.

Mark hedged. "It's the stuff I needed, according to the website you gave me."

"Oh. Okay." It was totally, typically Greer, accepting what he was told without question. "So,
what do I need to do?"

"Take your clothes off and lie down on this tarp," Mark said.

"Speaking of tarps, why is everything covered? My ass isn't that big."

"In case I splatter. I can be a little sloppy, you know."

Greer arched an eyebrow and grinned. "You? Mr. OCD?"

Mark frowned. "I don't have OCD. Unlike some people, I was taught to clean up after myself."

"Don't get pissy. I was only kidding. What's the robe is for?"

Greer stripped off his T-shirt, and it was all Mark could do to keep his eyes above Greer's neck.
He wanted to feast his eyes on Greer's smooth skin, run his fingers over those pert rosy nipples,
roll his tongue over them.

He silently reprimanded himself, and reminded himself that he wore only a robe. If he got
excited, Greer was sure to see it. Once Greer was belly-down on the floor, Mark's potential boner
would no longer be an issue.

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"I don't want to get wax on my clothes."

"Ah, good point," Greer said.

Mark silently thanked whatever gods were responsible for Greer's gullible streak, then bit his lip
hard when Greer shucked his shoes and socks and lowered his pants.

Naughty Greer. He wasn't wearing underwear.

Mark tore his eyes away from Greer's naked body. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever had
to do. Sure, he'd gotten peeks of Greer in his birthday suit from time to time over the years --
running from the shower to the bedroom because Greer had forgotten his towel, a few times
when Greer forgot to close his bedroom door while changing, one memorable instance when
Greer had been drunk and decided to bring back streaking, and of course, the day before when
Greer mooned him -- but never purposeful, full exposure, with just the two of them alone in the
apartment.

Greer was small and slender, but not skinny. His muscles were well-formed and defined, in
perfect proportion to his body, covered with smooth skin, and dusted with fine pale yellow hair
that darkened to gold between his thighs. That was where Mark's eyes had focused for longer
than he'd intended, and why, when he finally forced his gaze away, he was blushing.

Greer's cock was semi-erect, colored a dark, reddish-gold. Mark's hands curled into fists as he
fought the urge to reach out and feel the delicate skin, and the heat of it against his palm.

The only bright spots of color on Greer's entire body were his eyes, and they seemed even bluer
than usual in relation to his bare skin. When Mark saw they were looking at him curiously, he
realized he'd been staring and forced himself to turn away.

"Lie down on the tarp, on your stomach," Mark ordered. He knelt down next to the coffee table
and pretended to busy himself with the objects on it, although in truth, he knew exactly what was
there, and what each did. He'd studied the instructions and videos on the website diligently, until
he had them memorized, and was confident he knew what he was doing.

The rustle of the tarp told him Greer had obeyed, and only then did he risk turning around. His
own cock was at full attention now, poking a tent in the material of his robe. He was relieved to
see Greer's head turned in the opposite direction.

He had paraffin wax, as recommended by the wax play site, in an electric fondue pot, melted and
ready to go, along with a colorful array of soy candles, and a couple of tiny vials of scents. Next
to the wax supplies, he had a comb, putty knife, a few paintbrushes, a drip plate, paper towels,
and a small bowl of ice.

Looking over the vials of scents, he picked up the jasmine and carefully added a couple of drops
to the wax in the melting pot, stirring it. The warmed fragrance drifted up; he heard Greer
murmur appreciatively.

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"I didn't know waxing smelled so good," Greer said. His rear end wiggled just a bit as he made
himself more comfortable.

"Comfy?" Mark asked, reaching for a bottle of massage oil. The site had recommended using it
on the skin first, to make removal of the wax easier, especially on hairy skin. Since Greer's ass
looked, in Greer's own words, "like a fuzzy peach," Mark thought it prudent to use the oil.

Getting to be the one to rub it on was just an added benefit.

He tipped the bottle and dribbled the clear oil over Greer's shoulders.

"Hey! That's cold!" Greer cried, lifting his head from where it'd been cradled on his forearms.
"What's that for?"

"I'm just going step by step according to the directions on that site you gave me." It was the truth,
after all. Not the whole truth, perhaps, but true enough.

"Seems a little strange, dude, but okay." Greer laid his head back down without another word.

Mark licked his lips, his hand hovering a few inches from Greer's back, when his conscience
suddenly woke up, nipping at his sense of honor with sharp teeth. He waged an internal battle as
the "good" Mark wanted to tell Greer the truth, tell him how he felt and hope for the best, while
the "evil-and-eternally-horny" Mark wanted to dive in with both hands and his mouth. He could
almost imagine a little angel Mark and a little devil Mark sitting on his shoulders, arguing.

He's your best friend. You can't do this to him, pleaded Angel Mark.

Just look at that ass! When do you think you're ever going to get another chance like this? Devil
Mark made a good argument.

Then Angel Mark pulled out the big gun... guilt. You love him. Is this what someone does to a
person they love? You ought to be ashamed of yourself! He would never do something like this to
you.

Mark sat back on his haunches, head hanging. It was no use. He couldn't go through with it. As
much as he wanted to, he just couldn't take advantage of poor, trusting, naïve Greer. He picked
up a towel, and covered Greer's butt.

"What are you doing? What's wrong?" Greer's big blue eyes blinked up at him.

"Giving up. Look, Greer... that site you gave me? It wasn't for the kind of waxing you need. It
wasn't for removing unwanted body hair -- it was for wax play."

"I know."

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Mark shook his head. "No, you don't understand. I'm talking about erotic wax play."

"I know."

It was Mark's turn to blink. There was a mischievous light in Greer's eyes now, and a small smirk
on those perfect, Cupid's bow lips. "What do you mean, you know?"

"Dude, I may be a little naïve, but I'm not stupid. I knew what the site was about when I gave it
to you. I didn't know if you wanted to play or not, and figured this was a good way to find out. I
didn't think you'd be quite so devious, though." Greer winked at him. "I like this new, insidious
you."

Mark was dumbfounded. Who was this, and what had he done with Greer? "You... you mean you
lied about the movie and needing to wax your ass?"

"No, that much was the truth. I did get that part in the movie, and I still need to have my ass
done, but I'll get it waxed down at Sassy Clips. They're only going to charge me thirty-five
bucks. That's the one tiny fib I told."

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Like you just came out and told me you wanted to have sex with me? You were willing to go
through all this subterfuge just to get me naked."

Mark looked away, feeling himself flush. "That's different."

"No, it isn't!" Greer sat up, and put his warm hand on Mark's arm. "Mark, listen. I've wanted you
for a really long time, but I never thought you were interested in a relationship with me, just
friendship. I didn't say anything because you... intimidate me, Mark. It's true, dude! You're smart,
you always were. I've never had much in the brains department. I was always just an average
student, but you... you whizzed through school, and even took those advanced classes. You're
always bailing me out of trouble, too."

"You're smart," Mark argued. "The only reason you get into trouble is because you're too
trusting, but that's not a flaw, Greer. You're not wrong for trusting people; they're wrong for
taking advantage of you. Besides, you have guys drooling over you every time you step outside
the apartment. I figured you couldn't possibly see anything in a beanpole like me."

"You are way too hard on yourself. I always thought you were a good-looking guy. Plus, you're
good on the inside, Mark. You take care of me; you go out of your way for me. You have for
years... what other guy would drop whatever he was doing to ride to the rescue just because I
asked? Plus, you do a lot of other things, too, like making sure I'm eating enough when I get
neurotic about my weight, and cheering me up when I don't get a part I audition for. Yet you
never, ever ask for anything in return."

"You're my friend. That's what friends do."

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"Is that all you still want to be with me, Mark? Just friends?"

Mark stared hard at Greer, his mind whirling. He didn't want to be just friends, and he knew it,
but should he risk their solid friendship for a chance at something more? What if it didn't work
out? What if he couldn't measure up to the other guys Greer had been with? What if Greer grew
tired of him, like the pair of two-hundred dollar Ed Hardy jeans Greer just had to have, that now
sat in his closet gathering dust. Greer said they made him look fat, but Mark knew it was because
Greer had gotten tired of looking at them.

Then again, did he want to go the rest of his life without knowing what it was like to touch
Greer, and have Greer touch him?

The answer, when it came, was emphatic. No, he didn't. He wanted Greer, plain and simple, and
this might be his only chance.

His decision must've shown on his face, because Greer smiled. "Good. Me, too. Now, that brings
us to the sixty-four thousand dollar question: do you still want to try this wax thing?"

"Do you?" Mark countered. His stomach filled with butterflies, but he couldn't decide if he was
nervous or excited. Maybe both, he thought. Yeah, definitely both.

Greer cocked his head, and gave Mark his trademark impish grin. "It sounded kind of kinky.
Dude, did you see that guy on the video? The one with the cock ring? He seemed to be enjoying
it. He came like Mt. Vesuvius at the end, anyway."

"Are you sure you don't just want to... you know, do it the regular way? I mean, for our first
time, and all." Mark felt his cheeks flame; he was uncomfortable. He felt like he was in
negotiations for a bank merger or something, hammering out all the fine details of a contract
rather than getting ready to have sex with the guy he'd been in love with for years.

He got that shit-eating grin from Greer again. "Yeah, I do. If you're up to it, that is. I think it'd be
fun. Come on, Mark... wanna wax my board?"

"Oh, hell, no! I have plans for that particular board a little later on. I'll wax everything else,
though," he added with an impish grin of his own. He licked his lips for good measure, and was
rewarded by Greer sucking in a breath, eyes widening. "Now, lie back down."

"Okay, I just want to--"

"Lie. Down," Mark ordered, frowning at Greer. "You watched the video, right? Well, I'm the
Master tonight, and I told you to lie down." He really had no idea what being a Master entailed
except for what very little he'd gleaned from the Internet, but he liked the way it sounded, at least
for their play.

"But--"

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"Down," Mark said, pointing to the floor, forcing himself not to smile.

Greer gaped at him for only a heartbeat before quickly lying down on his stomach. Mark didn't
hear what Greer murmured under his breath, but Mark thought it might have been, "Yes,
Master."

Mark took a deep, steadying breath, then stripped the towel from Greer's ass, and slipped his
robe from his shoulders. Both of them being naked seemed to somehow level the playing field,
and boosted his courage.

He reached for the massage oil again, and gasped when his erection brushed against Greer's
shoulder. He ignored the bolt of desire that rocketed through him from that one, slight touch.
Later, he thought. Greer first. There was no way in Hell he was going to fuck this up by coming
too soon.

He added more oil to the slick he'd already squeezed onto Greer's shoulders, then put the bottle
down and began to massage the oil into Greer's skin. Greer mewled softly, his body squirming
slightly under Mark's fingers.

"God, that feels good!" Greer moaned.

"Shh. No talking," Mark ordered.

"Oops. Sorry... Master."

Mark heard an undertone of sarcasm in Greer's voice, but chose to ignore it. He'd worked his
way down to the small of Greer's back, and was anticipating the next step too eagerly to bother
disciplining Greer.

Grabbing the oil bottle again, he squirted a fat dollop on each of Greer's ass cheeks, then went to
work. His cock bobbed its approval; just as he'd always imagined, Greer's butt cheeks fit
comfortably in each of Mark's hands, all soft skin and firm muscle. Mark squeezed and rubbed,
getting into it now, spreading Greer's cheeks and getting a glimpse of Heaven between them.

This time, it was Mark's turn to mewl. Oh, God, I want in there so badly, he thought, biting down
on his lower lip. He touched a lotion-slicked fingertip to the ridged, rose-colored hole, fighting
the urge to forget about the wax.

Patience, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the way Greer's butt rose to meet his finger. I
want this to last. He dug deep and found the fortitude to continue with what he was doing, even
though Greer was practically purring.

Of course, that didn't mean he didn't hurry through the rest, rubbing Greer's legs and arms down
in record time.

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He wiped his slippery hands on a few paper towels, and turned to the melting pot. Dipping in a
tongue depressor, he lifted out a glob of oozing, warm wax. "Ready?" he asked Greer.

"Fuck, yeah," Greer answered. "I'm so fucking hard already." He lifted a hip, as if easing the
pressure on his dick.

Mark held the tongue depressor over Greer's back, letting the wax drip onto Greer's skin in an
abstract pattern.

He heard Greer hiss, and watched Greer's skin twitch as the wax hit it and swiftly cooled. Biting
his lower lip, he returned the depressor to the pot, and picked up an ice cube. He slowly rubbed
the cube over the area of Greer's back that he'd just decorated with wax, working his way to
Greer's ass.

Greer squirmed under the new sensation, and although Mark was sure he was trying to bite back
a groan, the strangled sound that escaped Greer's lips was even more erotic. Mark slipped the ice
cube between Greer's cheeks, and the sound grew into a true moan, low and raspy.

"You're killing me, here," Greer whispered. His voice sounded ragged, and when he turned his
head, his eyes were dark and hooded with lust. "This is so fucking hot, Mark."

Mark slapped Greer's ass, making Greer jump. "Quiet!" he barked. His cock twitched at Greer's
submissive mewl.

He picked up a paintbrush, dipped it in the melting pot, and began to write his name on Greer's
butt in wax. It took several trips to the pot to complete his name, but the result was worth it. "I
like the way that looks, my name on your ass."

Greer picked his head up, trying to look over his shoulder at his own ass. "You put your name
back there?"

"What did I say? No talking. And, yeah, I did."

"That's fucking hot, dude."

Mark bit back a grin and smacked Greer's bottom again, sharper this time. "Shh."

Greer yelped, but lay still.

Mark watched his palm print raise up pink under the white candle wax. He drew his breath in
between his teeth, feeling his body respond to the picture he'd painted on Greer's ass. He ran his
fingers lightly over the raised surface of the wax. It was time to kick their play into high gear.
"Roll over, Greer."

He saw Greer freeze, body tensing, before Greer slowly rolled to his back. Greer's blue eyes
were wide, darting from Mark to the wax pot and back again.

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"Dude, you're not going to..."

"What? Decorate this pretty dick with wax?" Mark asked, trying not to laugh. Poor Greer,
thinking Mark would risk injuring the very part of Greer he most wanted to touch and taste. Not
a chance, pal, he thought, but kept it to himself for a moment. It was too much fun watching
Greer sweat.

Greer's cock was full, listing slightly to the right and framed by hair a shade or two darker than
the corn silk on his head. It was the most beautiful prick Mark had ever seen, slender and rosy-
red. No, he wouldn't dare risk putting Greer out of commission with a burn to that pretty dick.
Instead, he dipped the brush into the wax and drew circles around Greer's nipples, watching the
pink buds draw up tight. Leaning down, he flicked his tongue over each one.

"Oh, fuck, that's good. Want, Mark. Come on," Greer moaned. His hand moved to his cock, but
Mark slapped it away.

"All in good time," he said. He painted a line of wax along the cleft that delineated Greer's
stomach muscles, ending it at Greer's navel. Another quick dip of the brush in the pot, and he
filled the perfectly round dimple with wax.

Greer hissed, his hips lifting into the air. "Fuck! That's hot, Mark!"

"Feel the burn, baby," Mark replied, grinning. "Now, let me kiss and make it better." He returned
the brush to the pot, then bent over and took Greer into his mouth.

He heard Greer's hiss of complaint instantly segue into a full-throated moan as his mouth filled
with Greer's unique flavor. He'd dreamt of what Greer would taste like, what his cock would feel
like in Mark's mouth, but found that the reality was much, much better. He sucked hard, drawing
his lips over the sensitive skin of Greer's dick, as he fondled Greer's furry sac.

His own cock ached for attention, and he groaned when he felt Greer's hand on him, stroking
him, but this wasn't how he wanted to come. He didn't want a handjob -- he wanted to be inside
Greer first, to feel Greer's tight body wrapped around him. He backed away from Greer's cock,
and gently removed himself from Greer's hand. The time for being coy was behind them now. "I
want to fuck you," he said simply, meeting Greer's eyes with a direct look.

"Yeah?" Greer grabbed him again, giving him a good, solid stroke. "Want to stick this big dick
inside me?

Mark gasped, and pulled away again. "Been wanting it for a long time, Greer."

"Yeah, me, too. I want to feel you stretch me wide, Mark. Fuck me so I'll feel you for a week."

Mark reached for the lube and condom he'd hidden among the wax supplies earlier. He worked
quickly, sheathing himself in the rubber, then lifted and spread Greer's legs. Using a generous

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 14

amount of lube, he slipped a finger inside Greer's ass. A second finger followed the first. "Oh,
sweet fuck!" he gasped as Greer's body clenched around his finger. "Jesus, you're so tight." He
removed his fingers and slipped in his thumb, working the puckered ring of flesh.

"Wanna feel your cock in me, Mark," Greer said. He was stroking himself, head up, watching
Mark finger fuck him. "Now, right now!"

"Impatient," Mark breathed, but knew he couldn't hold out much longer, either. He withdrew his
thumb, and guided the head of his cock to Greer's opening. Gritting his teeth against the urge to
ram himself in to the hilt, he began pushing slowly inside.

It took a minute or so, but Greer's body slowly stretched to accommodate him. Once he was fully
seated within Greer, Mark forced himself to remain still. "Tell me when I can move, Greer."

"Fuck! You're big, Mark. I can feel you stretching me," Greer moaned. "Oh, God, you filled me
right up."

Mark didn't answer. His teeth were clenched; he was fighting the instinct to move, to pump
himself into Greer until the feel of him was permanently etched into Greer's brain.

Greer's lips were parted, and his eyes hooded as his hand returned to stroke his dick. "Now,
Mark. Move. Fuck me!"

Mark's breath expelled in a long sigh as he began to move, pumping his hips. Slick sounds filled
the air, adding an erotic soundtrack to their lovemaking. He drove himself in as deeply as he
could, again and again, watching his cock slide in and out of Greer's body, while at the same
time, Greer jerked off. That's beautiful, and sexy as all Hell, he thought, then ceased to think
anything at all as he felt his orgasm begin to roll up.

"Gonna come," he said, his voice sounding as tight as his balls felt. He pulled out of Greer's ass,
and quickly stripped off the condom, tossing it to the side. Supporting himself on one arm, he
leaned over Greer's body and jerked off, watching his semen splash over the wax on Greer's
belly, coloring it white.

"Fuck!" Greer cried, jerking wildly. His come painted white streaks over his taut stomach,
mixing with Mark's.

Mark sat back on his haunches, breathing hard, but feeling lighter than he'd felt in a long, long
time. "Man, that was great," he said. "You were great."

Greer grinned at him. "Nah, we were great together. Dude, tell me again why we never did this
before?"

"You know, I can't remember now," Mark said with a laugh.

"Something about you thinking I'd never go for you."

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 15

Mark felt his cheeks heat up. "Yeah, that."

"You know now that it's not true, right?" Greer sat up, and put a warm hand on Mark's cheek.
"I've wanted you for a really long time, but I was intimidated by you. I won't make that mistake
again. From now on, I'm going to be honest with you, and just tell you what I feel, okay?"

Mark grinned. "What? No more snow jobs about waxing your ass?"

Greer chuckled. "It worked, didn't it? But no, no more lies. I really, really like you, Mark. I
always have."

"Yeah? You think maybe we could try being something besides just roommates and friends?"

"Dude! Are you asking me to go steady? Am I going to, like, wear your ring or something?"

Mark gave Greer a little nudge with his shoulder. "Don't be a doofus. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know, and yeah... I would."

Mark smiled, and leaned in, kissing Greer for what he realized was the first time. He snickered
against Greer's lips.

"What's so funny?"

"Well, we kind of did things half-ass backwards," Mark explained. "Isn't the kiss supposed to
come before the hot, mind-blowing sex?"

"Hey, whatever works," Greer answered.

Mark reached for another kiss, deeper and longer lasting than the first. "Well, I guess there's only
one thing left to do.'"

"Oh? What's that?"

Mark peeled a spot of wax from Greer's chest. "Well, since I bought all the supplies, and did all
the work, you've got clean-up."

"Hey, that's not fair! What are you going to do while I clean all of this up?" Greer whined, and
Mark thought again that Greer was one of the few men who could pull off a pout.

Mark grinned, and rotated his hands, palms out, in the air, first in one direction, then the other.
"Ah... Mr. Miyagi is going to go take a nap. Remember, Daniel-son, wax on, wax off. Wax on,
wax off."

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 16

Full Frontal

By Lee Benoit

Preston finished working up a ruby glow on Paulo's prone back side and surveyed his work with
satisfaction while wringing the ache out of his whip hand. The flogger he'd used was light in
deference to his arthritic hand, but it packed a sneaky sting Preston appreciated for the sudden
deep pink ridges it called up on Paulo's light brown skin. If Paulo's long, low moans were
anything to go by, he appreciated this particular instrument as well. Preston knelt on the bed
beside Paulo and hovered his hand just above his sub's hot skin. The smell of leather and well-
worked boy pervaded the snug bedroom.

"Stunning," he murmured. "So fuckable."

In answer, Paulo drew his knees high beside his hips, presenting his reddened ass beautifully.
Preston took a moment to appreciate the way his stripes on Paulo's back, ass, and thighs matched
the color of Paulo's slick, open asshole. Grateful for the new anti-inflammatory he had taken
before their session, he inserted a finger very gently, barely having to push at all. Paulo moaned
and plainly struggled to keep still when Preston used a finger to tug at the little ring that winked
in Paulo's taint.

"Slutty today, aren't you, boy?" Preston knew his smile warmed his voice when Paulo turned his
head and smiled back without opening his eyes. Oh, yes, his boy was in a blissful place.

Going there with him, fucking Paulo while he floated like this, would be wonderful. But when
Preston had planned this scene, he'd envisioned something more... symmetrical.

He withdrew his finger, gave Paulo's guiche ring a farewell flick, and said, "Over, boy. On your
back."

Paulo did so, pliant and languid, smiling all the while. Once on his back with his legs bent and
feet bracketing Preston's knees, Paulo opened his eyes.

Preston put all his affection into his smile as he reached for the soft flogger. Stripes across that
lovely chest would be the perfect complement to a nice, long fuck, and Paulo's raw back against
the comforter would keep his boy from coming down from his sweet flight. Preston indulged in a
sloppy grope of Paulo's tight balls and raised the flogger.

"Solfeggio!"

***

Preston lowered the flogger immediately. Paulo knew his master had never heard his safe word
within a scene -- probably hadn't heard the word at all since Paulo had chosen it nearly two years
before.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 17

Now, the word rang between them. Preston's face was frozen in a hesitant half-smile. It was all
Paulo could do not to fold his body like a sea anemone and hide.

But that would be cruel. Preston hadn't done anything wrong.

"What did I do wrong, Paulo?"

Paulo moved then, not to hide but to roll up onto his knees to embrace Preston.

"Master." He whispered the word deliberately. They were still master and boy, nothing had
changed. "I can't bear being struck on my front."

Nothing had changed except now Paulo had to come clean about something he'd never
mentioned in any of their negotiations of limits, never told Preston about when they shared their
pasts.

"Why?" Preston's arms came up around Paulo's shoulders and he used his greater height to drive
them down to the bed, to lie face to face.

Paulo smiled at his master, but it felt wobbly. He could only imagine how he must look to
Preston. "You know where I grew up, right?"

Preston nodded. "It's a nice neighborhood."

It was. Shabby and old in its architecture, Paulo's childhood neighborhood was tightly knit
socially. "I didn't go to school near River Road, though."

"You won a place in the arts magnet school."

Paulo smiled and settled more comfortably. Of course his beloved master remembered. "Yeah.
I'd only ever sung in St. Sebastian's choir, so going to Arts was a great chance for me."

Preston nodded. "Your folks were proud, I imagine." He ran his hand down Paulo's arm to rest
on his hip.

It hurt Paulo's heart a little bit that Preston so obviously avoided his chest and belly. Time to get
to the point.

"They were a little confused by me, but Vovo about floated away, she was so excited." He
smiled at the memory, and then dipped his head to cover his frown at what came next.

Preston, sharp Dom and observant lover that he was, caught Paulo's chin and raised his face to
kiss. "No hiding."

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 18

"Arts was across town, so I took city busses. This was before they built that nice bus plaza in the
center of Sister City. There were transfer points all over downtown. I had to go from my stop to
the stop for Arts on foot."

"I didn't live in Sister City then, but Tasim says downtown was pretty rough."

Paulo nodded. He really wanted another kiss before he confessed.

Somehow Preston knew, and their tongues met in a kiss that was more about affection and
understanding than arousal. "Go on," Preston said.

"I was fourteen, small, dark, and pretty obviously not a tough guy. I got jumped."

Preston's arms tightened around Paulo's body, but he didn't say anything.

Paulo said the rest in a rush. "I got jumped almost every week that first year. Kids from Central,
same guys over and over. They'd follow me even if I took the long way around to avoid
alleyways. They learned I was fast and would set traps for me. Guys would pop out right in my
path. I couldn't avoid them. 'Time for little faggot's beat-down.' They always said shit like that."

"They hurt you." Preston didn't have to ask.

Paulo curled his body up as much as he could, trying to hide even as he drew closer to Preston.
The glow along his back, butt, and thighs warmed him, as if Preston were pressed against him
from that side, too. He honestly didn't think he could ever have talked about this outside of a
scene, though neither would he have thought that afterglow would be conducive to such a
conversation -- he was usually so melty. The thought made him smile. He looked into Preston's
eyes. The troubled gaze eased in answer. There was no pity, no righteous rage, and Paulo found
Preston's evenness gave him strength to keep talking.

"They always held me upright and kicked my gut, punched me all up and down my torso. They
knew if I got dirty or if they bruised my face, I'd have evidence I was getting beat. If they really
hurt me, broke a bone or something, I'd press charges. So they were smart, and I hurt all the
time." Paulo paused, fearful of looking into Preston's eyes again now that the meat of the
confession was on the plate. Pity there would be unbearable. Paulo rushed on.

"I learned to sing through it. I never told anyone."

A couple of endless heartbeats thudded before Preston asked, "Why not?"

Did he really need to make a list for Preston? "I was fourteen, queer as a five-stringed fiddle, and
son of a pretty macho ethnic tradition. And anyway, who would I have told? My dad? You've
met him."

"Teachers?" Preston prodded. Paulo figured the Dom in Preston made him want to change
history.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 19

"They were busy trying to keep the school open with all the cuts to arts programs in the '90s.
And then, you know, there was a fair bit of drama for them to manage at school without me
bringing them my trashy outside drama." Paulo shook his head at how bitter he sounded and tried
to take the edge off with a weak smile.

But Preston didn't let it drop. "What about your grandmother?"

Paulo had a feeling all these questions were Preston's way of stalling for time before they talked
about Paulo safewording, but he answered anyway. "You're kidding, right? She would have
pulled me from the school to protect me. It would have killed her, but she'd have chosen to
protect me rather than my dream. I didn't understand it at the time, but it was her dream, too. It
never occurred to me to tell her."

Preston nodded and pulled Paulo closer. Paulo settled comfortably, letting his mouth open
against Preston's neck and his tongue take little tastes of his master. He would have liked to see
Preston's face as he processed all Paulo had told him, but he counseled himself to patience.
Preston was a smart man, deliberate. He'd understand.

After a few moments, Preston swallowed against Paulo's flickering tongue and said, "I surprised
you. It wasn't fair."

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it didn't matter. "All of a sudden, I was back on those mean streets. I
didn't trust you."

In one voice they told each other, "I'm sorry."

***

The next morning, as Paulo served a nice breakfast of shakshouka with chorizo, he broke their
habitual just-awakened silence to say, "Sir? I've been thinking."

Preston knew Paulo's use of 'sir' this early in the day was deliberate. Most mornings, they were
just Preston and Paulo. "You want to try again, don't you?" His boy was nothing if not
determined. The night before, Preston couldn't imagine loving him more, but the admission
stamped plainly on Paulo's face carried Preston's love for his sub into 'here be dragons' territory,
an unknown place of peril and glory.

Paulo started to clear the table, humming while he did. Preston loved to hear his boy happy even
if he didn't recognize the tune. Then Paulo's humming turned to lyrics:

"For his master, his splendid master, the Paulo subs tonight..."

Preston grinned into his coffee. Today would be a good one.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 20

Later, with Paulo and his songs gone for the day helping Uncle Rui put storm windows on the
triple-decker where Vovo presided over a dizzying and variable multitude of Soares relatives and
friends, Preston took a break from the annual report he was writing for a local engineering firm.
His hands hurt. He rubbed them with some of Vovo's smelly salve, made a cup of tea, and went
back to work.

By mid-afternoon, Preston feared he'd be unable to wield his flogger. Maybe he shouldn't have
rushed into another heavy scene so soon after the last one.

"Preston, aching Dom, he sadly set aside his whip..."

Preston didn't consider himself the sort to make himself laugh, but there he was, mangling Peter,
Paul, & Mary's classic. He tucked his hands into his armpits to warm them and relieve the ache a
bit, all the while wishing Paulo were there to laugh with him and assure him he wasn't
disappointed about postponing their full frontal scene.

He inhaled the cayenne and eucalyptus scent of Paulo's grandmother's salve. An idea popped into
his head. He examined it and decided it wasn't stupid or desperate. Preston shook out a hanky to
avoid getting the oily salve on the phone, picked it up, and dialed.

***

Paulo kissed Vovo goodbye and tried like hell to remember the names of the new babies his
cousin Fina had brought with her from Brava. Gosh, they were cute. At lunchtime, he'd gotten to
hold one and give it a bottle. He'd actually skipped most of Vovo's delicious canja in favor of
singing the little guy to sleep. "Little Potato" was such a cool song even without Malcolm
Dalglish's dulcimer accompaniment, he didn't have to change a word.

He checked his watch as he started up the car. He had an appointment, one he'd only made
during his lunch break, one he hadn't told Preston about. He turned the key two clicks so the CD
player came on but left the engine off. He really wasn't sure about this appointment.

"Evening come and me wanna get waxed!" Paulo sang along with Harry Belafonte.

He drove across town to the salon that shared the River Road mill with Tasim's club. He hadn't
been there before, usually trimmed his own hair with clippers, so he was already nervous and
giggled when the sweet older fellow at the reception desk offered him a hot beverage.

He apologized in short order, and the receptionist was a gentleman about it, but Paulo's
nervousness at the unfamiliar setting and the reason for his presence there kept him on edge
while he waited for the cosmetologist to be ready for him. He couldn't help laughing out loud
when Taj Mahal's version of "The Banana Boat Song" came through the high-class sound system
mounted in the ceiling.

The receptionist glanced over at him and Paulo could have sworn he smirked conspiratorially
when he reached over to a tech console and turned the music up.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 21

Paulo sang along with the standard lyrics for a few bars but when the receptionist brought him a
creamy chocolate chai with an obscenely large dollop of whipped cream bobbling on top, Paulo
sensed the presence of a kindred spirit. The feeling loosened his voice.

"Come Mister Waxin' Man, wax my chest and belly..."

The receptionist looked like he was about to crack up when the air in the converted loft space
changed. A man stepped out from behind a glass-bricked partition and crossed substantial arms
over a chest that was positively... imposing.

By then, Paulo was in the zone, nerves and chocolate and his feeling of simpatico with the
receptionist making him reckless. He kept singing.

"In there hides the deadly black tarantula.
My time comes to get depilated..."

He would have gone on but the unsmiling beast by the partition boomed, "And he's smooth as a
buttered baby."

Paulo lost it. Cackling, he sang to the receptionist -- or to his back, as the man was bustling back
to his post behind the curved counter. "In there hides the hairless black tarantula!" But the
moment had passed and Paulo sobered.

The mountain beckoned, and Paulo made for him like the proverbial Mohammed.

Behind the partition, despite the glass blocks and the incredibly high wooden ceiling of the old
mill building, the space felt cozy. Large pillar candles burned, emitting a spicy scent, and a plush
table covered in soft-looking fabric had pride of place.

The mountain handed over a drape and told Paulo to strip and lie on the table. "And no more
singing," he cautioned before he stepped out, his voice no less booming for being pitched low.

The mellow voice of that Hawaiian singer who'd died way too young flowed from the speakers,
changing the mood in the small room and settling Paulo's jitters. He wondered if the new music
was the cosmetologist's choice or the receptionist's.

Paulo hopped onto the table seconds before the man returned. He lay down, pushing with one
bent leg to get to the center of the table. It was as comfy as it looked and Paulo sighed with
pleasure. His welts from the night before were a bit sore after all the work he'd done with Rui
earlier.

He reached for the drape and made to cover his danglies. The man was looking right at them.

"Guiche piercing, eh? Respect."

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 22

Paulo felt a blush flood his face and neck. No one saw that little ring but Preston.

"I'm Bruno, by the way. Alex said you're called Paulo?"

Paulo nodded, not meeting Bruno's eyes.

"And what are we doing today? Full body wax?"

"Um, just my chest and belly, please," Paulo said.

"Not your pubic area? Armpits?"

Paulo winced at the thought of getting his pits waxed. His torso would be bad enough. And his
pubes? "No. My mas-- partner likes the hair down there."

Bruno nodded and reached up to run a thoughtful finger under Paulo's collar, letting the steel and
stone beads clack together. "I see how it is. Chest and abs it is, then. You've never done this
before, I take it?" He moved over to a ceramic container, kind of like Vovo's crockpot, and took
up a wooden spatula, stirring while he waited for Paulo to answer.

That took Paulo a beat or two. This guy had made him, all right. "No, never. Never occurred to
me until... recently."

Not until that morning, actually, after he and Preston had made their date to try the frontal
flogging again. Having exposed his past, he wanted to expose his body in a new way. Wanted to
be even more vulnerable to Preston, to show his trust on his very skin. "I want to be as naked as I
can be," he said, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until Bruno answered him.

"You won't believe how it feels." And with no further ado, Bruno spread warm, fragrant wax in a
thick line from Paulo's navel to the place where his pubic hair fanned out around his prick.

That selfsame prick stirred at the unfamiliar feeling.

"Sensation slut, huh?" Bruno said with an understanding smile as he pressed a linen strip over
the wax and rubbed gently to adhere it.

"I guess so... OH!" Paulo yelped as Bruno pulled the strip off sharply.

"Nothing like it, is there?" Bruno asked. Paulo could hear the grin in his voice, but he couldn't
confirm without unscrewing his eyes, and there was no way he was doing that until the danger of
tears had passed.

Paulo wasn't a hairy guy, but tight curls grew in an infinity-shaped pattern around his nipples and
over his sternum. The next two strips yanked the hair from the upper part of his chest. He didn't
scream again now that he knew what to expect, but each ripping sound and searing sensation
drew forth a clenched grunt.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 23

"God, I love that sound," Bruno murmured, and Paulo wasn't sure whether the man meant the zip
of the wax coming off or Paulo's noises. "You can let go, you know. You're our last client today,
and Alex won't mind." Something in the way Bruno said Alex's name told Paulo that Bruno
knew intimately whereof he spoke when it came to the puckish older man out at the desk.

Paulo didn't reply. Bruno pursed his lips and spackled wax around Paulo's left nipple. At the last
moment before applying the cloth strip, Bruno's lip quirked and he smeared warm wax right over
Paulo's areola.

"Hey!" Paulo protested.

Bruno just smoothed the cloth strip over Paulo's tit and said, "Trust me, I'm a trained
professional."

Paulo was about to retort, "professional what, torturer?" but his words were lost in the exquisite
agony of the wax shearing off. It felt like his nipple went with it, and Paulo actually looked down
to make sure he was intact. To his horror, he was more than intact -- he was getting hard. He
hoped Bruno wouldn't notice.

If he did, he didn't say anything as he gave the right tit the same treatment. Paulo felt that sense
of unmooring he always felt when he and Preston did a scene. It wasn't the same, though. It was
sexual, if his throbbing nips and rising cock meant anything, but it wasn't erotic. It wasn't about
his whole self the way it was with Preston; it wasn't about love.

By the time Bruno had laid down and ripped off two final strips, Paulo was not exactly flying,
but flirting with flight.

"Wow," he gushed as Bruno smeared some kind of blue oil over the reddened 'T' of Paulo's
newly bare skin.

"This azulene oil will soothe without numbing you out."

Paulo nodded and rested his eyes.

"Don't float too long," Bruno cautioned. "Alex and I have to get home. Preston's going to want to
see that glow."

Paulo blinked. "You know Preston?"

"We go back a ways," Bruno said and tipped Paulo a rakish wink. "You come back if you want
the rest done, hear?" Paulo could have sworn the man winked at Paulo's cock before he left the
room.

Bruno wasn't his master, but Paulo was conditioned to obey a master's voice. He left with all
deliberate speed and pointed his heated nipples and straining cock toward home.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 24

***

When Paulo hadn't come right home after work, Preston had figured he stayed for supper with
Vovo. The phone had rung once, but by then Preston couldn't answer.

Tires crunched on the shells of the driveway and within moments the back slider opened. Preston
smiled. Even though he'd said a thousand times that it didn't matter, Paulo always came in the
back and left his work boots on the deck.

"The glow is amazing, arousing and dazing."

Preston looked at his hands. Even if he was quick as a wink, he wouldn't be able to hide what
he'd been doing.

"You're so amazing, you keep me Dom-gazing,
What do we think we might see..."

Paulo's singing continued no farther than the kitchen for the time it took to get the kettle on.

"...I've fallen under your spell, I know you're a Dom made of magic."

Barely registering Paulo's words, Preston hummed along while Paulo's voice approached.
Humming damped his worry -- if he could have, he'd have hidden from Paulo, and that made him
feel about as unworthy a Dom as ever drew a leather-scented breath.

"Master, you'll never believe... Preston! What did you do to your hands?" Paulo rushed into the
room and knelt before Preston's chair.

Preston should have stood and faced this humiliation like a man, but he feared getting the
upholstery sticky, which, right there, was humiliating. He slumped back and held out his hands.

"It's paraffin wax. Good for arthritis. Vovo said so." He couldn't meet Paulo's eyes.

"It's too perfect, Master."

There was a barely suppressed guffaw in Paulo's voice and Preston made the effort to scowl
quellingly. It was the least he could do. Of course, that brought his gaze directly into contact with
Paulo's. As he'd feared, Paulo was grinning ear to ear. He was also unbuttoning his work shirt,
which boded well for cuddling and maybe even sex. No way Paulo would go through with the
frontal scene after seeing Preston's hands.

His boy knelt proud and excited before him, though. No doubt or uncertainty seemed to assail
him and Preston was forced to name his fear: it was his own. He feared again triggering Paulo's
bad memories of being beaten as a youngster. He feared his hands wouldn't be up to the task,
though he'd been confident the night before that they were. Yes, the fear was his.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 25

Experimentally, Preston flexed his fingers to the small extend he could within their soft wax
casing. Not bad. None of the sharp twinges that had plagued him earlier that day, no echo of his
exertions the night before. He'd be fine, at least for a while, but he fretted Paulo wouldn't see it
that way.

He decided to stall. "What do you mean, perfect?"

Paulo whipped off his shirt to display a smooth, bare chest. Without the tight, dark curls that
usually graced his body, Paulo's brown-sugar freckles stood out invitingly against pinkened skin.
"Looks like we both waxed to prepare for our scene, Sir!" Paulo said triumphantly.

In a blink, Preston's worries evaporated. "Looks like we did. Boy, peel these wax gloves off me,"
he ordered as he thrust his hands toward Paulo's kneeling form, letting his tone announce that
their scene had begun.

"With pleasure, Sir!"

***

In short order, Paulo lay stretched upon their bed, his legs together and his arms flung out wide.
He loved this moment, the one right after a session started and before anything heavy happened.
It was the moment when Preston looked him over from head to toe, always coming back to
Paulo's eyes to let admiration and heat connect them.

Paulo's dick was already hardening.

"To what degree am I your master?" Preston murmured.

There was only one reply. "The highest."

Preston walked to the closet where they kept their toys and retrieved his medium flogger. When
he returned to the bedside he said, "And yet you did this, got waxed, without my knowledge or
permission?"

Paulo's eyes widened and a flush deepened the pink marks from the wax job. "Are you
displeased with me, Master?"

Trailing the thick, buttery tails of the flogger up and down Paulo's legs, Preston replied, "I didn't
say I was displeased. Why did you do it?"

Paulo's eyes closed and his lips parted. Preston was letting the tails of the flogger tickle the
underside of Paulo's prick. "Oh," he sighed before answering. "I wanted to be as naked as I
could. I wanted you to know that I wanted this, that it has nothing to do with what happened to
me in high school." He met Preston's eyes again, willing him to understand.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 26

Lightning-fast and with no warning, Preston flicked the tails of the flogger once on each of
Paulo's pectorals. The pain was minimal, but the surprise dragged a cry from Paulo's throat.
Without intending to, Paulo's arms drew in to his sides and his hands fluttered over the strike
points. He looked at Preston, grinned sheepishly, and very deliberately stretched his arms out
again.

"I won't bind you for this, boy," Preston said. "Now, show me your guiche."

Puzzled -- wasn't this about his front side and making it a part of their pleasure? -- Paulo
complied. He lay breathing deeply while his master examined his trench and taint. Was there
anything hotter than Preston playing with his ass?

Preston hooked a finger into the little ring in Paulo's perineum and tugged gently while laying
down a soft flurry of swats with the flogger all along Paulo's thighs and butt. If Paulo hadn't
already been so aroused, he wouldn't have felt the heat rise so soon, but as it was, the modest
warmth of his ass and his exposed position joined the sharper heat in his chest and belly. That
closing of the circuit nearly stole his breath.

Preston gave it back to him with one word, "Breathe." Then he said, "Now put your legs down.
Keep them slightly parted. I may want your balls or that sweet ring again soon."

Paulo's dick gave a hearty throb at that, and he thought perhaps he needed some help to stay
grounded during what was to come. "Won't you bind me, Sir?" he dared to ask.

Preston bent so that he looked closely into Paulo's face. "Do you want that? Or do you want, as
you said, to be completely naked for me?" As he asked the question, he smoothed his free hand
from one side of Paulo's chest to the other, milking briefly at each swollen nipple.

Well, if Preston put it that way... "I want to be naked, Sir. I want my will and yours to be the
only things between us." His throat felt so tight, it was difficult to get the words out, but he
meant every syllable.

Preston nodded once and began. The near-trance state Bruno had induced during the waxing
resumed almost immediately and quickly deepened until all Paulo could hear was his own
breathing and his heartbeat whooshing to the rhythm of the soft flogger. Somewhere in his mind,
Paulo knew that flogger could go hard, could raise welts along with a full-skin flush. But he
wouldn't need that force to fly.

Preston spoke through the trance, telling Paulo how beautiful he looked, how brave he was, how
proud Preston was to be the one who did this with him. Paulo registered the words at a distance,
recording them in his floating brain for examination later.

Preston's floggings generally cycled through gentle and vigorous, up and down, so that Paulo
knew more or less what to expect and could concentrate on will and sensation. But this flogging
was different. His chest and belly were terra incognita, sure, and the newly waxed skin seemed to
drink up each blow like a parched flower, but that wasn't all.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 27

No, Preston was doing something new. He worked the edges of Paulo's torso, the places where
his torso gave way to some other part of his body. Chest ceded to armpit or, higher up, to
shoulder and throat. Ribs eased off into soft belly, abdomen rushed to become groin and thigh
and hip. Those borderlands were Preston's objective, and he worked them around and around
with even, modulated strokes. Paulo felt his edges awaken.

The expanse of skin within the borders Preston defined was, with the exception of Paulo's
nipples, a tabula rasa. None of it bespoke anything erotic; it was territory to protect, his tender
underbelly, and now he offered it up to his master. His power, he gave over. Preston would
husband it well.

Paulo let go the last shred of defense just as Preston began to lay his strokes closer and closer to
Paulo's core. Distantly, Paulo understood what his master was doing. He was weaving of Paulo's
body an entire canvas, stretching it over the frame of their trust and preparing it with deliberate,
increasingly demanding strokes. The clarity of understanding gave an edge to Paulo's experience
of Preston's strokes and he gave voice to that in desperate, needy wails.

Almost immediately, the flogger's strokes lightened but didn't stop as Preston reached down to
weigh Paulo's balls in his hand. The hand itself was unusually smooth from its paraffin
treatment, and Paulo gasped at the sensation.

"Wait, Paulo. Wait." Preston's voice came closer as he moved onto the bed between Paulo's legs.
"Let me in."

He draped the tails of the flogger, warm from Paulo's body and smelling of earth and animal,
over Paulo's face. There was a moment's hiccup while Preston shifted to find lube, but Paulo
shook his head vigorously enough to get Preston's attention. He'd availed himself of Bruno's
azulene oil before leaving the salon -- he'd tell Preston later, when he passed along Bruno's
greetings.

Preston nodded his agreement and came back to Paulo immediately. When he pushed in, it was
the final blow, the last strike, the final breaching of all of Paulo's defenses. He wasn't even fully
seated before Paulo began to erupt between them, flowing inevitable as lava and forceful as
thunder. Paulo's body was a new land, experiencing its first conquest, natural and welcome as
rain.

Afterward, Preston appeared to sleep. They'd rolled to their sides and Paulo had been impressed
with himself that his floating body recalled the trick of moving with Preston still inside him. His
warm front frotted lazily against Preston's and Paulo started to sing along with the rhythm.

"Have you been half asleep, and have you heard voices?
I hear my Dom calling my name.
Is this the sweet sound that calls to submissives?
The voice might be one and the same.
I've heard it too many times to ignore it,

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 28

Wax On, Wax Off

by Syd McGinley

Wax On, Wax Off takes place one month after White Day.

Tommy just couldn't help it. He burst into giggles as the calligraphy brush swooped over his
belly.

"Tickles!" he hooted, but kept writing. It was a good thing Dr. Tanaka was still out at school
giving a midterm exam. He'd say Tommy was being most unseemly in his squirmy mirth. He
inspected his design in the mirror, and sighed. It still wasn't right, and his deadline was
tomorrow.

He spritzed his belly with diluted alcohol and wiped off the ink. A faint ghost of it remained. At
least Sensei would know Tommy had tried.

Tommy flopped down at his drawing slope and stared out of the window. It was a gusty, damp
day and the blossoms on the trees across the street were already swirling around in the gutters. It
made Tommy blue, but Tanaka-sama had teased him yesterday and said sakura were lovely
precisely because they didn't last. Then he'd added that wistful was one thing, but moping around
when your owner needed his tea was quite different. He'd pinched Tommy's ass to cheer him up
and hinted that next Spring break could be spent in Japan and they could go to a blossom
viewing festival.

Tommy doodled on his sketchpad. A future with Dr. Tanaka was all he wanted, but if he couldn't
get his ownership mark finished on time, Sensei would conclude Tommy didn't want to be his
full partner. But it had to be right! Tommy would wear the scars on his belly forever.

And nothing worked. He'd tried all sorts of kanji, but none seemed enough. Obey had been all
well and good as a lesson, and communicate had been a vital reminder, but they weren't what he
wanted for his lifetime mark. He'd tried abstract designs and images, but they didn't resonate, and
he suspected they wouldn't work as well as a kanji for a scar design. How had he chosen even his
regular tattoos? he thought, and drew the T of his own tattoo on the sketch pad. Sensei had
selected that one -- T for Tanaka and T for Tommy.

Fuck, Spring break would be hellish if Tommy screwed this up. Dr. Tanaka hadn't said their
relationship would be over, but what else could really happen if Tommy didn't accept the offer of
being a full partner? They were already domestic partners in the university's eyes, and Tommy
would be starting some tuition-waived, half-semester classes after break.

He picked up a colored marker and started to shade around the T. Sensei had already committed
to him. The onus was on Tommy.

By the time Sensei arrived home, Tommy had covered the whole sheet in a fantastic swirl of
colored curlicues with kanji lurking in the swoops. It was only marred by a hot pink streak where

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 30

Tommy had jerked in alarm when he saw Dr. Tanaka's car pull into their street. Tommy almost
fell down the stairs in his haste to get the kitchen and at least have the kettle on the stove. To be
fair, he thought, Sensei had said his return time would be uncertain based on the exam and his
grading. Surely Tommy wouldn't be in trouble?

Tanaka-sama looked tired, thought Tommy, as he came in and set his briefcase on the hall table.
His owner loved teaching, but the grading exhausted him. Sensei was far too conscientious. He'd
write a page of notes to students who'd never even read them, but simply look at the grade, and
shove the paper into their book bags. Tommy was determined to be an exemplary student. It
would dishonor Tanaka-sama in so many ways if he screwed up.

Tommy bowed. "Tea will be just a few minutes, Sensei."

Dr. Tanaka nodded. "Bring it to me in the sitting room, Tommy, and set the tray for two. I would
like your company."

Tommy's belly flipped. This was unusual! They shared the dinner table, and Tommy would work
quietly in the study while Sensei graded, but tea together was new.

Tommy added some cookies to the tray, and fussed with his placement while the kettle finished
boiling.

Tanaka-sama was on the sofa leafing idly through the mail.

Tommy knelt and served. He stayed kneeling, but sipped his own tea after Sensei nodded at him.

Dr. Tanaka tossed the letters aside -- even the one from his mother. "Tommy-chan. Bad news.
Olivia Henry is worse. She may not make it until the summer. I know you are fond of her."

"As are you," mumbled Tommy, made bold by his grief.

Sensei nodded. "She wondered if you would visit and read to her and gossip sometimes."

"Of course, Sensei. I would be honored."

Dr. Tanaka nodded. "Yolanda and Juliet will visit in the evenings, and I will see her at weekends.
Your class schedule should permit you to visit in the afternoons. I will, of course, understand if
my tea is not waiting on those days." He gave the faintest hint of a smile, and Tommy dared to
lean a little against his owner's knee.

"I will teach you to play Go so that you will have a game to play with Olivia."

"Thank you, Sensei."

Dr. Tanaka frowned. "She specifically asked for you to be something called her moustache
buddy. I have no idea what that means."

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 31

Tommy giggled and then sighed. "Sensei, if she is ever in a coma, I am to wax her upper lip for
her. Assuming her hair has grown back from the chemo by then, of course."

Tanaka-sama shook his head. "American humor. It puzzles me."

"It's a whole other ball of wax," said Tommy solemnly and then giggled as his owner carefully
set down his teacup.

"Tommy-chan, you are very silly. Have you been talking to Charlie or Owen again?"

"No, Sensei, but I do owe Charlie a call."

"Heh, I doubt the wisdom of permitting it, but very well. Perhaps it will vent your giggles, and
cheer you up."

Tommy dipped his head, and murmured his thanks. He didn't like this curious mixture of sad and
silly. He was so stressed about his design, and now the news about Olivia had him close to
flipping out.

He whimpered. Dr. Tanaka's hand was cradling the crown of Tommy's head, and gently stroking
him.

"I know, boy. But you will feel better tomorrow evening. We will have your answer to my
ownership offer and you'll have chattered with Charlie. And perhaps we will both take lunch to
Olivia."

"Thank you, Sensei." Tommy rubbed his head upward into Tanaka-sama's palm.

"Tommy, remember -- I will approve the design. It's not just you."

Tommy gave a wan smile. Sensei was getting the psychic master thing down on him.

"You may call Charlie before dinner while I get some grading done. We will both take the
evening off after dinner, and I will teach you Go."

Tommy bowed, gathered the tea tray, and left for the kitchen. He felt oddly worse and better at
the same time. He needed this swinging to stop! He wanted to settle back into adoring and
serving his owner. Sensei was the center of his universe.

He felt better already just reminding himself of that, and gossiping with Charlie while he did his
dinner prep put him back into a sunny mood. Charlie was on top of the world -- not only was he
back with Ben, but he'd been accepted in to the accountancy bachelor's degree program and, best
of all, he was a father. He was also still extremely silly, thought Tommy as he held the phone
away from his ear as Charlie cackled about something.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 32

"...and OMG Tommy, Kelly has bought green onsies! She might as well have let Cam choose
camo! No one will know WHAT little Charlie is! Owen and I are having an intervention next
weekend! Can you make something ADORABLE and send it?"

Tommy sigh-giggled. "Sure, Charlie. I'll have to check with Sensei though. He has a week off
and I may not be, um, available for my own projects."

"Oooh. Lucky you! Oh! Owen has a question about Dr. Tanaka! I promised I would ask."

"Uh-oh," said Tommy, and put down the chopping blade.

"So, Owen was reading some stuff about kinky and Japan..."

"No," said Tommy. "It's private. Whatever it is."

"Aw, don't be like that. He wants to know if your owner gets off on having his ears cleaned."

"What?" said Tommy, suddenly understanding Dr. Fell's frequently growled need for
interrobangs around Charlie.

"Mimikaki," said Charlie. "Honest, Tommy. Owen says Japanese men like it when you dig the
wax out of their ears."

"Ew," said Tommy. "Sensei hasn't asked me to do that! I mean, I would if he asked, but ew."

"Just ask him about it! Please?"

"No! I'm not going to pester my owner with Owen's nut-jobbery."

"This call has gone on long enough, Tommy-chan. Say goodbye to Charlie and finish dinner
plans."

"Sensei! I'm sorry! Charlie, Dr. Tanaka is here. Bye. Love to Ben and little Charlie and Dr. Fell.
And tell Owen to grow up."

Tommy hit disconnect before Charlie could say anything, and bowed his head.

"Sensei. I'm sorry."

"I don't care for us to be discussed, Tommy; however, I know you did your best to evade your
friend's curiosity, so I'm not angry."

"Thank you," whispered Tommy, and wisely resumed chopping vegetables.

Dr. Tanaka stayed in the kitchen. It was getting to be a habit, thought Tommy just a hair irritably.
He liked cooking alone.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 33

"So what is this 'nut-jobbery' of Owen's?"

Tommy gulped.

"Um, Sensei, he asked about mimitake?"

Dr. Tanaka actually snorted. "You have been listening to Charlie too much if you end statements
with a question. And when you meet my mother you can ask her about it."

Tommy blanched. "Mother? Me? And, um, Owen said..."

Dr. Tanaka almost smiled. "Tommy, mimitake isn't really a sex thing. It's just lying with your
head in someone's lap and letting them groom you. Japanese mothers clean their children's ears
that way -- hiza-makura. Like most things, it can be fetishized. Owen is being salacious."

Tommy nodded. That was Owen all right, but now he was more worried about meeting Mrs.
Tanaka.

"Next summer," said Sensei, doing his psychic owner thing again. "Right now, you should be
more concerned about my dinner and your deadline."

"Hai, Sensei," muttered Tommy, and whacked his garlic just a shade harder than he had
intended.

***

Tommy yawned and stretched on his futon at the foot of Dr. Tanaka's bed. It was Saturday! And
the first day of Sensei's Spring break. Despite the cold lump in his belly about his unchosen
design and his anxiety about Olivia, Tommy felt full of springtime spirit. It had stopped raining
and gusting -- the light through the curtains was perfect April sunshine.

He and Sensei had spent a mellow evening playing Go, and their bedtime sex had been tender.
Surely, thought Tommy, even if he couldn't select a mark, an honest admission of his dilemma
would be good enough?

Good enough, he sighed as he started the coffee. Was that really the standard he and Sensei
wanted?

He set out marmalade to go with the toast. Dr. Tanaka was quite a fan of English breakfasts. He
had spent a summer in England as a student. Tommy wondered if he'd ever dare tease his owner
about his Anglophile tendencies. At least Tommy had the excuse of being one quarter-Japanese
to legitimize his love of Japanese culture.

"Pop culture," grumbled Sensei seeming to just appear in the doorway.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 34

Tommy's yelp was hidden by the toast popping up. Really, his owner was getting too good at
messing with him.

"You're up!" he said. "I mean, uh..."

Dr. Tanaka sat at the kitchen table. "Tommy, I am on vacation, and I will have breakfast in the
kitchen in my robe. Is that a problem?"

"Of course not, Sensei! But I was going to serve you in bed!"

"Oh, you'll do that," said Tanaka-sama smoothly as he buttered his toast.

Tommy controlled a dimple, and turned to pour the coffee.

"What is that on your belly?"

Tommy gulped. His yukata had flared open as he'd turned, and Dr. Tanaka had seen the remains
of the ink.

"A rough draft, Sensei. I didn't like it though."

"Show me."

Tommy obediently held his robe open.

"The placement is good, but your kanji is sloppy."

Tommy nodded. "I wasn't happy with it, Sensei. It is hard to write on yourself! I am still fine-
tuning. And I am not sure this is the design I will present. I -- uh -- thought it would be after
dinner?"

Dr. Tanaka crunched some toast and nodded. "Correct. And remember, I will adjust the marking
as I see fit, so do not panic about the details. I told you that yesterday. Don't make me remind
you again. Pour my coffee."

Breakfast passed peacefully, although Tommy's mind had resumed its racing from exuberant to
despair. He was relieved when Tanaka-sama dismissed him with orders to clean the car.

"Yesterday's rain has left it streaky. I dislike driving it that way. And it will dishonor Olivia's
driveway."

"Hai, Sensei! What do you think Olivia would like me to make her for lunch?"

"I am making her lunch. You are cleaning the car."

Tommy's jaw dropped, but luckily Dr. Tanaka didn't see.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 35

Tommy hastened to the garage side door, snagging the car keys as he passed the hall table.
Tanaka-sama was going to cook!

"And in my kitchen," muttered Tommy as he unlocked Sensei's car. "Shit. Mine! What am I
thinking? His kitchen." He plopped into the driver's seat and paused with his hand at the ignition.
"Our kitchen. Yeah! Ours."

He reversed out of the garage, and parked the car just where the driveway curved around the side
of the house. Nice and secluded and, with any luck, nosy Mrs. Pichotti from across the street
wouldn't see him and come over to try prying into Sensei's life.

And even better, he could see into the kitchen and watch his owner puttering around in his robe
and cooking! Despite being in his robe, Sensei looked just the same alone as in company,
realized Tommy. Still all stern. And orderly. Tommy giggled. Sensei probably didn't even think
of being different! Or even of scratching his ass when he was alone.

"Focus!" hissed Tommy to himself and got to work.

It was already a warm sunny day. Easter had been cold and gray, and it had rained a lot since
then, but now it looked like true spring. Almost clichéd: birds singing, sunshine, breeze, and blue
sky. Tommy whistled while he soaped and rinsed the car. He ran through possible kanji symbols
in his mind as he worked. Nothing clicked. Tommy frowned. He really was trying hard -- and he
was resolutely not discarding kanji with too many strokes!

He peeked in the kitchen window as he coiled the hose. Sensei was gone, but a big pot steamed
away on the stovetop.

Tommy got out the wax, and took a deep sniff of it as he smeared it over the hood of Dr.
Tanaka's Lexus. He hummed a little as he remembered polishing Dr. Fell's Harley for him, and
how it was surprisingly easy for mean old Fell to get a distant dreamy look in his eyes with just a
waft of Turtle Wax. Charlie had finally explained that Rob, the dead love of Fell's life, had been
a car wash worker. Tommy hoped it was a less painful memory and, heck, scent for Fell now that
he had Dave in his life. From all he heard, Dave Rasmussen had Dr. Fell around his pinkie.
Tommy could hardly wait until the summer retreat to meet him.

He settled into a good, deep rub of the hood. He wanted to burst into song, but Dr. Tanaka had
scolded him for outdoor exuberance before. Humming and whistling would have to do.

He'd worked himself into a good mood -- some exertion and sunlight had done wonders for him.
He may have privately thought Sensei's car was already clean, but he had to admit, the black
paint looked fantastic freshly waxed and with no rain streaks.

He yelped. Dr. Tanaka had slapped his ass. Outside! That was more shocking than the blow.

"Sensei! Mrs. Pichotti!"

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 36

"She can't see from here," said Dr. Tanaka cheerfully. "And my boy's ass bending over a car is as
fine a harbinger of spring as the sakura. And it's not a fleeting pleasure, either."

Tommy smirked and wriggled his ass as he rubbed at a final spot.

"I will think you are asking for a beating, boy."

Tommy's grin grew. That was what he needed to be back in balance! He just had to tease Sensei
a hair more. He made an exaggerated swoop with the polishing rag. "Wax on! Wax off! Sensei!"

Dr. Tanaka hissed.

"Get upstairs! And if you squirm from your bruises while we lunch with Olivia, I will beat you a
second time when we get home!"

"Hai, Sensei!"

For a moment, Tommy was genuinely worried that teasing his owner with a Mr. Miyagi joke was
a step too far, but, as he grabbed the wax, he caught the now unmistakable crinkle of amusement
at the corner of Tanaka-sama's eyes.

Tommy all but tossed the wax into the garage and scampered up to their bedroom.

Sensei strode in behind him, giving a quick look at his wristwatch.

"Just enough time to beat you, boy, and then to pack up the lunch. I will make the last stages in
Olivia's kitchen."

"What did you make?" asked Tommy, trying to pace himself as he undressed. Sensei hated it
when he yanked off his jeans.

"Ramen," said Dr. Tanaka.

"Ew," blurted Tommy before he could censor himself. "For Olivia? Sensei, I would have made
something better."

Dr T swatted his ass hard. "Careful, round-eyes. This isn't your crappy, instant, starving-student
shit. And when you taste my mother's ramen recipe you will agree you couldn't have made
anything better."

"Sensei. I'm sorry. I just remembered living on dollar ramen for a week once when I had screwed
up my finances."

"Heh, disgusting stuff, but I know you have eaten real ramen when we were in Tokyo. I will
have to teach you to make noodles."

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 37

Tommy gulped. Given his past disasters with Japanese cuisine and his gratuitous insult to
Tanaka-sama, the lessons seemed more like a threat than a reward and mark of trust.
Nonetheless, he dipped his head and thanked his owner. He suspected there would be a real edge
to the beating he was about to receive.

"Face the wall and brace your hands."

Tommy sighed, and felt some stress slip from him already as he got into position.

"Itadakimasu," he murmured as the first blow from Sensei's belt landed on his ass.

He was right -- Sensei was letting the belt thud and thwap hard. He hated the first few blows, and
twitched as if he would bolt for the door, but he toughed it out, and soon he started to groan and
lift his ass to receive the leather kisses.

Dr. Tanaka was talking soft and low in Japanese, and Tommy managed to understand enough
through his haze to know he was being admired and encouraged.

"Sensei, Sensei," he moaned. His whole world spun and centered on his owner and what he was
doing.

The blows felt like caresses... oh, they were caresses. Tanaka-sama was stroking and massaging
his ass.

"Katashi," whispered Tommy. "I love you."

Damn! That earned him a stinging slap.

"Katashi is for in public, boy. You know that."

Tommy was on the verge of spiraling back down into a miserable funk, when he heard a murmur
of Japanese, and Tanaka-sama's cool lubed finger probed at his hole.

"Hai!" breathed Tommy as the translation sank in while his Sensei also penetrated him.

As good as Dr. Tanaka's cock felt, it didn't compare to hearing "and I love you, Tommy-chan."

Dr. Tanaka fucked him long and slow against the wall, and Tommy wriggled and moaned
luxuriously. Sensei finally reached around and fondled Tommy's prick and coordinated their
orgasms.

Sensei's hand caught Tommy's come and traced a pattern with it on his boy's belly.

"Mine," he said.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 38

"Yours," said Tommy and leaned back against him even as he frantically tried to decipher what
Tanaka-sama had written on him.

Sensei moved Tommy's braid and lightly kissed the T on the nape of his neck. "We must shower.
I do not wish to be late for Olivia."

***

Tommy almost fell asleep as they drove over to Olivia's -- he was so relaxed and content after
the beating, fuck, and hot shower. His bruises throbbed even against the deep seats of the Lexus,
but they were a dull pulsing pain that fed into his trance.

He smiled contentedly at his owner. "The ramen smells delicious, Sensei."

"Heh, you are smelling the broth I defrosted. The noodles are not yet cooked."

Tommy blinked.

"Tommy-chan," said Sensei as he waited at a light. "Tonkotsu broth takes a day to make. I make
it in quantity once a year and freeze it. That is lazy, in my mother's opinion. All I did today was
defrost the stock and make the noodle dough. I will cook the noodles and soft eggs at Olivia's,
and I will use a short cut and just drop in some pork from the deli. Do not tell my mother that I
cheated. She chops her own pig bones to get the marrow out!"

Tommy gulped. Mrs. Tanaka sounded formidable.

Dr. Tanaka chuckled as if he knew what his boy was thinking, and drove on.

At Olivia's, Dr. Tanaka took over the kitchen and insisted Tommy and Olivia relax in the sitting
room. Tommy was surprised to see that Olivia looked quite well, and was out of bed. She was
wearing some elegant silk pajamas and the head wrap Tommy had made her.

"You look like you should be in some fabulous movie!" exclaimed Tommy as he settled in next
to her on the chaise.

"It's just the drawn on Garbo eyebrows, sweetie," teased Olivia.

Tommy and Olivia dished, although Tommy couldn't quite relax since his owner was working in
the kitchen while he gossiped! So wrong!

Olivia patted his arm. "Don't fret, Tommy. Katashi has cooked for me before, and we had many
adventures at noodle stands in Tokyo. Now, tell me about your friend, Charlie. Katashi tells me
he is a new father!"

Tommy bucked up and launched into explaining how the infamous twink had actually had a
baby and how besotted he was, and all about poor big and little Charlie's suffering with right-on

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 39

feminist parents who bought gender-neutral onsies! Olivia gasped and oohed at all the right
places, and was full of ideas for what Tommy should make little Charlie.

Tommy clapped his hands. "Oh that's brilliant, Olivia! Kelly and Cam will love it, and Charlie
can't complain without being a cultural ninny! Sensei! May I make Charlie's baby a little yukata
this week?"

Dr. Tanaka set down a tray of steaming bowls of noodles. Tommy and Olivia both inhaled
gustily.

"Katashi, this smells so wonderful! Just like we had when we traveled together! Oh! Do you
remember that textile studio? You should take Tommy and let him learn how to make the
designs!"

"Maybe I will," murmured Dr. Tanaka and then switched to Japanese for quick rebuke of
Tommy. "Katashi in public, boy. Olivia is too polite to comment, but you just called me Sensei
and asked permission. I will deal with that later."

He turned back to Olivia. "I think a yukata for little Charlie would be a fine gift. It will last a
long time even while the baby grows if Tommy makes it carefully. Much better than something
too small in a few months."

Tommy hid his chagrin by slurping at the noodles. Oh, they were sublime. There was no talking
for a few minutes until Olivia had to stop halfway though her bowl.

"Oh, Katashi -- my mouth says more, but my poor tummy is saying to stop. Will you leave the
pot so that Juliet and Yolanda can have some with me this evening?"

"Of course, Olivia! And Tommy will come by on Tuesday to play Go and show you the yukata
he has made before he ships it off."

Tommy smiled shyly at them both. He knew Sensei had forgiven his slip, and Olivia was too
well-mannered to ever comment on her suspicions. Sensei gathered the bowls onto the tray, and
gave Tommy a stern stay with his gaze.

Tommy couldn't quite look at Olivia.

"Katashi is your center, isn't he?" said Olivia softly.

"Yes! Oh, Olivia -- I love him so much."

"He's a good man," replied Olivia. "And he loves you, Tommy. I can tell. Now, when you come
on Tuesday, can you bring me some magazines? Here, I have a list!"

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 40

Dr. Tanaka and Tommy could tell Olivia was getting tired, so they didn't stay much longer. At
home, Sensei dismissed Tommy to work in his studio on Charlie's yukata and on his ownership
design.

Tommy sketched designs for the baby clothes, but with each stroke of his pencil, he remembered
Tanaka-sama's fingers stroking on his belly. He shut his eyes, and traced the pattern on his
stomach. Up and around his navel, lots of little boxes, some bold horizontals, and several cross
strokes -- oh!

He knew what it was. And he knew he'd found his design. Even Olivia had been telling him the
answer!

Tommy tore the yukata designs off his sketch pad, and confidently drew his permanent
ownership scar in ink. He tugged the sheet out carefully, and pinned it to his bulletin board.

It was perfect.

Full of calm, he returned to selecting some materials for baby Charlie's outfit. A Japanese robe
for an American child -- he may as well keep going with the cross cultural mash-up and
experiment with his new batik wax. He had an awesome little device rather like a glue gun that
melted the wax and let him trace patterns. He'd made Juliet a fantastic shawl decorated with all
sorts of math proofs, and she was so chic in it! Not that hard in the math department, thought
Tommy a little meanly, but Juliet would be elegant even over in liberal arts.

He worked swooping symbols for luck and happiness in to the material. He wondered what color
to dye the finished robe. Something to please little Charlie's moms and big Charlie.

"Batik?" said Dr. Tanaka over his shoulder. "That is not Japanese."

"Nor is little Charlie," replied Tommy calmly. "But I would like a traditional color, just not one
that shows Western gender to respect Cam and Kelly. What do you suggest, Sensei? The script
will be white."

"Little Charlie is a February baby?"

"Hai, Sensei."

"Then plum."

"Perfect! Thank you Sensei."

"Olivia had a good idea. I should have you learn shiborizome -- it uses indigo dyes. You'll make
something wonderful with it, I am sure. My mother had a quilt that looks like the midnight sky
with stars."

"I would like that, Sensei."

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 41

"Your wax is about to blob."

"Bugger!" said Tommy as it dripped onto the fabric, and then clapped his hand over his mouth.
"Sorry, Sensei." He scraped the soft wax off quickly.

Dr. Tanaka folded his arms. "It is not dinner time yet, Tommy, but I think I see your completed
design."

Tommy felt a hot glow that couldn't be explained by the batik pen.

"Hai, Sensei. I hope it's pleasing to you."

"Will you use the placement of yesterday's mark?"

Tommy nodded. His mouth was dry.

"Take your shirt off. Lower your jeans. Lean back against your design slope."

Tommy fumbled. He knew Tanaka-sama hated haste, but he still popped a button from his shirt.

"Calm."

Dr. Tanaka stroked Tommy's navel jewel, and then retraced the design he had drawn in come
earlier. Then, using fast, sure strokes, he used the batik wax to write across his boy's stomach.

Tommy whimpered. It was hot and smarted, although it didn't really hurt, but he knew this was
Sensei's way of seeing the design in place before the marks were permanently applied. Dr.
Tanaka stood back and watched the thin layer of wax set and dry.

"Heh," said Dr. Tanaka. "You chose well, boy."

"The center of my being," whispered Tommy. "I promise, I will never call you Katashi again in
private, not now I have your name at my core and enclosing my heart."

Dr. Tanaka chuckled. "That is a contradiction, Tommy-chan. How can I be at your center and
surround you?"

Tommy shrugged cautiously and felt the wax crackle and pull. "But it's true."

"Stay still. I will peel it off. You will be tender. And I think you will have a red Katashi on your
belly for a day or so."

Tommy smothered a giggle as the first wax peeled away. Oh, it tickled. He tried not to squirm.
He knew Sensei would say he was being silly. His belly trembled as Dr. Tanaka scraped the
design off.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 42

Contributors' Bios

Lee Benoit
Before dawn and after dark, Lee Benoit is a writer of gay fiction, some contemporary, some
speculative, some historical. During the daylight hours Lee is a professor of sociology, and round
the clock a two-spirit, single-by-choice parent of two.
http://www.leebenoittales.com/

Kiernan Kelly
Kiernan Kelly lives in the wilds of the alligator-infested U.S. Southeast, slathered in SPF 45,
drinking colorful tropical, hi-octane concoctions served by thong-clad cabana boys.
All right, the truth is that she spends her time locked in the dark recesses of her office, writing
gay erotica while chained to a temperamental Macintosh, drinking coffee, and dreaming of
thong-clad cabana boys.
Sigh.
Kiernan's webpage is:

http://www.kiernan-kelly.com/

Syd McGinley
Syd McGinley writes the Dr. Fell series and other gay fiction. Syd is a Sexuality Studies program
advisor and English lecturer who fled Thatcher’s England in the late 1980's, and has lived in the
American Midwest since then. Frying pan and fire comes to mind. Visit Syd at
www.sydmcginley.com and Dr. Fell at www.inlocodomin.com.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 44

Toy Box: Wax

All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or
reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.
Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN-13: 978-1-60370-949-1

Torquere Press, Inc.: electronic edition / March 2010

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX
78680

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 45