Table of Contents

Definition and Etymology -2

Beloved by Zoe Nichols - 3

Stay by Allison Payne - 11

Master Preston’s Bright Bottom by Lee Benoit - 18

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 1

Definition: col·lar Audio Help /'k'lәr/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[kol-
er] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1.

the part of a shirt, coat, dress, blouse, etc., that encompasses the neckline of the garment

and is sewn permanently to it, often so as to fold or roll over.
2.

a similar but separate, detachable article of clothing worn around the neck or at the

neckline of a garment. Compare clerical collar.
3.

anything worn or placed around the neck.

4.

a leather or metal band or a chain, fastened around the neck of an animal, used esp. as a

means of restraint or identification.
5.

the part of the harness that fits across the withers and over the shoulders of a draft animal,

designed to distribute the pressure of the load drawn.
6.

an ornamental necklace worn as insignia of an order of knighthood.

Source: Dictionary.com http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/collar

Etymology: collar Look up collar at Dictionary.com

1297, from O.Fr. coler, from L. collare "necklace, band or chain for the neck," from collum

"the neck," from PIE *kwol-o- "neck" (cf. O.N., M.Du. hals "neck"), lit. "that on which the head
turns," from base *kwel- "move round, turn about" (see cycle). White collar is first attested 1919;
blue-collar from 1951. Verb meaning "to capture" is attested from 1613.
Source: Online Etymology Dictionary -
http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?search=collar&searchmode=none

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 2

Beloved

By Zoe Nichols

“Kneel, Hohru,” Lucian said, perched in his armchair. I immediately dumped the last log into the
fireplace and moved to his side, falling to my knees with the ease of long practice. I took a subtle
breath as the plug lodged between my cheeks shifted with the movement, rubbing against the
stretched skin of my hole and sending ripples of pleasure up my spine.

I lowered my head, my hair moving loosely against my back, and set my hands perfectly on my
thighs. They framed my bulging crotch, hidden behind the pale blue silk of my thong, in the
triangle of my fingers and thumb. It had taken years to perfect this move, to display myself to his
liking. I bit my lips gently so they remained flushed and rosy and trained my eyes on the thick,
creamy white carpet, waiting for his next word.

A tug on the worn collar around my neck was my signal to look up. Lucian’s dark green eyes
trailed over me before his mouth quirked lazily. “You’ve become a very beautiful young man,”
he said, his fingers gliding along my features and through the jet black strands of my hair. “Do
you accept my compliment, Hohru?”

“Yes, Master, thank you,” I said softly. His hand moved to my throat, stroking the soft leather of
my collar and down to the pale skin of my shoulder. Chills followed his fingers and my cock
reacted, straining upward. To distract myself, I studied Lucian’s face as he watched his fingers
stroke over me. The deep tan was natural, as were the blond streaks in his hair, the look of a man
who enjoyed outside activities.

Such as public fucking.

“Not many Masters are blessed with such a beautiful pet,” Lucian continued, his fingers idly
caressing my lower lip. I wanted to slip my tongue out and lap at their tips, but well-learned
restraint kept me still. Starting the game without Lucian’s explicit consent could earn me the
worst of punishments: exile from his bed. “And to enjoy my good fortune, I have bought you a
gift.”

That was new. I struggled to keep from breaking my silence, choosing to show my shock in my
eyes. Deep in his green gaze, I could see the reflection of my brown eyes, muted with startled
pleasure. He smiled and rose to his feet, a long, lean man clad all in black who towered over my
diminutive five-foot-five by a full foot.

“Stand and follow, my pet.”

With that command singing in my ears, I stood and followed him from the sitting room and
down the hall. The carpet broke away as we entered the hall and the chill of the wood floor
against my bare feet made me shiver. The plug shifted to and fro as I walked, shortening my
breath and sending shivers of a different nature through me. The trip was short, with Lucian
walking through the second door we came to. The room was mostly empty, lit with soft white

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 3

lights and holding only a shuttered window, a black leather chair, and a rectangular onyx stand
covered by a velvety red cloth. The walls were a soft eggshell white, the carpet a muted gray.

I couldn’t remember ever seeing this room in my five years with Lucian. But that was easy to
dismiss as curiosity bespelled me. He turned slightly and his hand brushed the back of my neck,
sending chills down my spine.

“Come inside, Hohru, and put yourself beside the stand.”

I followed his orders immediately, positioning myself next to the stand and waiting with my gaze
downcast. My need to look was almost crippling and it took sheer willpower to not turn my head
to that stand, to not stroke the velvet and peek beneath it to what was surely my gift. I lowered
my lashes and studied it from the corner of my eyes.

Curiosity killed the cat, Hohru, I reminded myself. And in your case, it’ll be the ass does not get
fucked. Be patient.

I listened to Lucian’s muffled footsteps and the soft hiss of leather as he sat. Moving my eyes
just so let me see the hand-tooled Italian loafers adorning his feet. The legs of his pants lifted as
he sat, exposing the smooth skin of his tanned ankles. It was a provocative tease of flesh,
reminding me immediately of what was at stake. I stilled and waited for him to settle.

“Raise the velvet, Hohru, and give me your opinion of your gift.”

I turned and lifted the velvet quickly, incapable of hiding my excitement. I held my breath as it
revealed a smooth glass box. Inside it, atop a purple pillow trimmed with gold, was a gleaming
white leather collar. Written across it in elegant black script were the words, My Beloved Hohru.

I flushed with pleasure at the sight of it, unable to resist caressing the glass. Lucian wasn’t big on
public displays of affection and, though I knew the emotion was there, after all five years of
servitude was impossible to endure if you didn’t feel something for each other, I rarely heard him
say ‘I love you.’ But seeing that collar, it reaffirmed everything for me.

“Oh, Lucian,” I whispered, petting the glass and wishing I could touch the smooth, inviting
leather. “It’s so beautiful.” I turned his way. “Thank you,” I added softly.

Lucian smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” Then his hand lowered between his legs, rubbing the
rapidly growing bulge pressing against his slacks. “Come earn it, Hohru. Show me just how
deserving you are of that gift.”

My blood ignited on the spot, sending chills running through every vein. My cock pressed
against its silken prison, already weeping. I began walking toward him, only to have him hold up
a hand.

“Crawl.” His mouth quirked faintly. “Slowly.”

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 4

I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way, stretching out the movements
so that my mostly bare body was exposed in full length. I made each forward movement as
sensuous as I could, turning my rising passion into a private dance just for my Lucian. My balls
swung heavily with each move, reminding me of their full state. The plug strummed every nerve
in my ass, nearly making me wobble as I moved.

When I reached Lucian, his eyes had darkened to near black and the bulge had swollen into a
distinctive tent. His next order was silent and it was with pleasure that I licked the tip of his
loafer, first one and then the other. Unadorned, the leather shoe was full of slight crinkles you
only got from real leather. It smelled clean and tasted new. I licked my way toward Lucian’s
exposed ankles.

I felt his breath hitch and I allowed myself the tiniest smile as I blew air over the skin and
inhaled the smell of sweaty leather and Lucian’s body wash. I trailed my tongue over the ball of
his ankle and savored his soft moan. I could have enjoyed his ankles for a long time, but the way
his feet slid apart impatiently informed me that it was time to move onward. Between his legs, I
found myself eye level with his straining crotch. The slacks were dark enough to hide any stains,
but I could smell the musk of his arousal, a much stronger signal than anything my eyes could
have seen.

I placed my mouth against the fabric and found the thin material moist and hot. Lucian’s cock
twitched through it, as if waiting for my touch. I licked the fabric, dampening it further before
closing my mouth around the bulge and sucking it, material and all, into my mouth. Lucian
growled and his hands pressed me further in, his hips thrusting upward, filling my mouth. My
cheeks hollowed as I sucked, the thin fabric wet enough to allow Lucian’s covered cock to slide
further in.

I could feel the cock head brushing the back of my tongue and I was quick to suck it down as far
as the material would allow. Lucian groaned harshly before his hands yanked my head back by
my hair. I licked my lips and stared up at him as he one-handedly unzipped his slacks and freed
himself, his cock springing out. Thick and heavy, streams of precome spilled endlessly from the
swollen red head and slid down the sides to stain the dark curls peeking through the zipper.

My mouth opened wider, waiting for him to fill me. My hands curled into fists on my thighs
against the urge to give myself some relief. Lucian smiled down at me, his long fingers idly
sliding along his cock, covering them in the almost clear substance. A hungry gleam edged his
expression. He lowered his fingers to me and I licked my lips eagerly.

“Clean my fingers, Hohru.” He paused, rubbing his fingers together lazily. “Then clean my
cock.”

I nodded obediently while my cock swelled in excitement, making me squirm against the plug as
I moved to carry out my instructions. Lucian’s fingers dangled on the inner seam of his thigh and
it was only matter of turning my head to close my mouth along them, capturing three. He sighed
as I cleaned his fingers, openly thrilling in the taste of his come as it coated my tongue. I was as
thorough as possible as I cleaned those three then moved to the last finger and thumb. I swept my

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 5

tongue along the valleys in between and worked until Lucian’s hand was moist with my saliva
and clean.

“Stop.”

I sat back on my haunches, breathing shallowly through my arousal and the almost
overwhelming urge to grind down on the smooth plastic head of the plug. But it wouldn’t scratch
my itch; only Lucian could. And my turn would come only when he was satisfied. He sat
forward, still stroking his heavy cock in long, lingering strokes.

“I need something to dry my hand with, Hohru.”

My eyes widened at his mischievous tone and felt the heat of a flush shoot straight to my cheeks.
Even now, I still became a little shy showing myself fully, an incongruous sentiment since I
spent the majority of my day as close to naked as possible at the whim of my Lucian.

“Master?” I nibbled my lip nervously even as my heart started to race behind my ribs.

“Remove your thong, Hohru and dry my hand.” He lifted an eyebrow when I didn’t immediately
comply, my cheeks scorching hot. “Now, boy. My cock still needs cleaning.”

I flushed at the sharp reminder and with only faintly trembling fingers, came to my feet and
stepped back for room to pull the thong down. It was halfway down my thighs when Lucian
made the sound -- a low, hungry noise so primal it never failed to make me weak-kneed. I
shivered and kept pushing the thong down until it reached my knees and listened as his breathing
accelerated.

My own raced to match and by the time I’d gotten the damp bit of material to my ankles, I was
fully bent over and panting, my ass clenching around the plug and Lucian was groaning faintly. I
stepped out of the thong and clutched it tightly as I straightened. My cock pressed against my
belly, throbbing for attention. I curled my fingers into fists at my sides to stop from laying a
finger on myself.

Lucian’s gaze tracked over me like a touch, leaving sizzling sensation wherever his eyes landed.
His tongue swept out and he licked his lips. I licked my own in helpless mimicry. Then I
remembered his instructions and, holding the bit of sticky blue fabric in my hand, I walked back
over to Lucian and dried his hand to the best of my abilities with the cloth, my whole body
shaking as his heat took over my naked body. I leaned into him, drawn like a magnet to his body
as I completed the task.

I made to step back, about to fall back onto my knees, when Lucian grabbed my wrist and
brought my hand to his hard cock. My eyes shot to his and I thrilled at the storm clouds there,
turning the lazy green into glittering emerald.

“Touch me,” he whispered, his hand dropping from mine, leaving me carte blanche with his
body.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 6

I closed my fingers as much as I could around the thickness and like always, I couldn’t make it
all the way. Memories flooded my brain then, of being impaled on that weighty cock, of being
stuffed so full, I’d felt the sensation for days -- no, months -- afterward. I wanted to feel it now,
wanted to turn and sit myself atop until I was crammed.

The need swelled my cock to impossible inches, bringing a low gasp from my throat. My hand
slid down his cock slowly, aided by the slippery pre-come still dripping down the sides. Lucian’s
head dropped back and his hands fisted on the armrests. When I squeezed him, I got the pleasure
of seeing a hard shudder pass through his lean body, his hips jerking into the tunnel of my
fingers.

I pumped him smoothly, watching the weeping head disappear again and again into my palm.
My mouth watered and instinct pulled me to my knees and brought my lips around his cock.

Lucian groaned, his hands moving to fist in my hair. I licked him in fast, rough motions, sensing
the tension in Lucian rise to a new level. Slow would not please him. My mouth slid up and
down his length, each time pulling more and more of him in until he brushed the back of my
throat. Adjusting my breathing accordingly, I took him down faster, sucking him as if he was an
everlasting lollipop and I had an eternity to enjoy him.

His hips bucked, his hands clutched my hair, and he growled hard enough to make me vibrate.
And then he hissed out the one word I didn’t want to hear but knew, just by the way his hands
flexed on my scalp, was coming. “Enough!”

I pulled away immediately, but not without a long, slow lick along the underside of his cock. He
punished me for that, grabbing onto my hips before I got very far and tugging me forward until I
straddled his lap, my cock brushing against his. I gasped and thrust against him, pushing our
cocks together and coating them in pre-come until they were almost welded together.

I watched his long fingers curl around them and the first rough squeeze made me pant out his
name and he leaned forward, capturing my nipple. My reward, I thought dazedly and moaned
when he bit down, mixing pain with the pleasure. I bucked against his hands, my own bracing
against his shoulders. My bare knees slid against his slacks and suddenly I wanted, needed him
naked. I lifted my head to look at him to find the same need in his gaze.

He released his grip on our cocks and I rose up so he could push his pants down and away. He
pulled his shirt up next, exposing his hard chest to my play. I sank down again, delighting to feel
his skin, so much hotter than mine, rubbing against me. His hands didn’t fall immediately back
to their previous tasks, Lucian choosing instead to cup my ass and rub the plug still filling my
hole.

I cried out, only to have his mouth swoop down and take mine, his tongue pushing into my
willing depths and claiming me for his all over again. I slid my tongue against his, inviting him
into a wet duel, and pressed back against his fingertips, wordlessly demanding he tease me some
more. He smiled against my mouth and pushed the plug a little deeper, twisting it just so, and I

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 7

broke apart, my body bursting into a thousand pieces as I came, shouting my joy into Lucian’s
mouth.

I gushed between us, blanketing the both of us in come, shuddering as he kept the pressure on the
plug, sharp tingles of euphoria bursting through my blood. I dropped my head back, gasping as I
emptied, leaving my body feeling deliciously boneless. Lucian dipped his head and licked the
hollow of my throat, his smile warm against my neck.

A hazy thought penetrated my bliss. I froze. Oh, God... I’d come before Lucian gave me
permission.

I forced my heavy eyes open and stared at him. “Ma-Master...” I began weakly, but he shook his
head, his mouth curling into a sexy half smile, sending my pulse into an insane rhythm.

“It’s okay, baby.” His fingers tugged gently and the plug came free. “I’ll punish you later. It’s
my turn now.”

I moaned as the plug left me, leaving me open and empty. I watched Lucian coat his cock in
come before he lifted me, spreading my ass cheeks open as he angled me for his entry. I held my
breath, my hands resting on his broad shoulders and watched him line us up and push in slowly,
hard, come-coated inch by inch until he filled me to bursting.

I caught my breath at the feel of him and couldn’t stop myself from clenching around him. His
fingers still held my cheeks prisoner and squeezed them in reaction. I lifted my head and licked
my lips, winding my arms around him before I pushed up and dropped back down hard enough
to make us both shudder.

My ass throbbed from the impact and Lucian bit my shoulder approvingly before taking control,
setting a pounding pace that sent fire shooting into my reawakening cock. I sucked on Lucian’s
lip as he thrust and he turned it into a brutal kiss, his teeth crushing my lips. I whimpered,
rubbing myself against his belly and countering his thrusts as best I could.

The fullness was already getting to me, my ass too sensitive from the plug to last long. I bounced
harder, wanting Lucian with me when I came again. He licked at my mouth, his body pounding
smoothly, relentlessly into mine.

I mewled helplessly at the onslaught, my entire body tightening all over again. I was streaming
against Lucian’s stomach, adding to the sticky mess between us and, needing that extra touch, I
wrapped a hand around myself and pumped, catching his rhythm and moaning my relief into
Lucian’s mouth.

His hand covered mine and he made me squeeze, harder than I ever would, and I spasmed just as
he hit that sweet spot deep inside me. The world blurred at the edges and from a distance, I could
hear Lucian’s purring encouragement.

“Come again for me, Hohru, scream for me!”

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 8

He thrust harder, drilling that special gland with perfect precision.

My breath hitched.

My mouth dropped open.

Lucian raised his head and squeezed my cock at the very moment.

I didn’t scream. I shrieked as I came and felt Lucian’s pace stutter inside me before he exploded
as well, his growl more animal than human as he rode to his finish, following on the very tail end
of mine. We drained together, each shouting the other’s name.

My body wobbled forward and I dropped my head on his shoulder, panting, my heart chaotic in
my chest. His chest rose and fell just as fast, moving me with each hard breath. His arms slipped
around me and I nuzzled his shoulder drowsily, so weary I could have slept right there, with him
soft inside me and my stomach sticking to his with drying come.

But within a minute passing, he lifted me off of him, startling a small mew of protest out of me
when he slipped free. Come trickled from me, but he still held me close as he came to his feet
and carried me over to the stand. He set me down and, with a smile, lifted the glass. The smell of
new leather immediately rushed through me and I held my breath in helpless wonder.

“Oh, Lucian,” I said softly, instinctively knowing his name, not his title, was the right one to say
and Lucian held his smile while he set the glass cover down and picked up the collar.

“Take off your old collar, Hohru.”

My fingers fumbled only slightly as I pushed my hair aside and unbuckled the old collar. My
throat felt naked the minute I was free of it, the skin immediately chilling. I handed it over
wordlessly and Lucian tossed it to the floor.

I could feel my eyes widen, watching him move closer to me. “That collar,” he said quietly.
“Was for a pet, one I cared for more deeply than I’ve ever cared for anyone or anything in my
life.”

I went still as he went around me, pushing my hair so it fell over my shoulder and setting the
cool collar around my throat. The sound of him buckling it made me swallow against tears. My
fingers caressed the words, rubbed the new, stiff leather. When it was settled, he didn’t move
away immediately. Instead, he put his mouth my ear and whispered sweetly in my ear.

“This collar is for the man I share my life with, who I’m committed to, whose body I crave
beside mine at all times.” He pressed a soft lingering kiss beneath my ear. “This is for the man I
love.”

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 9

I couldn’t take it; I spun around and threw my arms around him, crying like a fool. A happy, love
struck fool. “Oh, Lucian,” I sobbed, squeezing him tightly. “I love you so much.”

He hugged me just as closely, then leaned away to tip my head up, running a finger through the
tears. “You’re more than deserving of this collar, Hohru.” Lucian lowered his head and his
tongue caught the tears. “And I’m proud to have you with me.”

My entire body flooded with joy and I turned my head to catch his mouth. For that kiss, we
weren’t Master and slave. We were lovers, sharing a perfect moment that I would keep locked
away in my memories for the rest of my life.

Lucian lifted his head and his fingers caressed my cheek before they tightened. I shivered as
Lucian, my lover, settled into Lucian, my Master. “Now, you still need to be punished.”

I sucked in a breath, my cock already hard and throbbing. “Yes, Master.”

“Hands and knees.”

I dropped immediately and while I listened to him move behind me, I slipped a finger up until I
could feel my collar. I traced over the words and smiled to myself.

He wasn’t big on the words, I thought, gasping when his hand came down with bruising force
against my ass. But when he does say it, he knows how to say it just right.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 10

Stay

By Allison Payne

Sometimes on my day off, I like to go to the pet supply store. I walk past the food, and the cages
and the beds, heading directly for the collars and leashes. They are all lined up, hanging in
straight, even rows. The ones made from nylon are displayed first. They come in so many colors,
all of them glossy and smooth. Those aren’t the ones I’m interested in, though. The ones that
interest me are the chain ones. Their silver links fit together perfectly, one after another, row
after row. I could stand in front of those chains for hours if the store clerks would let me, if they
didn’t get suspicious and try to ‘help’ me. I run my hand over the chain collars, letting them slide
between my fingers. I tug at them gently, testing their strength.

“May I help you?” A teenage girl in a crisp blue vest is smiling at me brightly. She startled me; I
didn’t see her coming. We look to be about the same age and when I glance over at her I can tell
she likes me. Fuck. It’s too early. They usually leave you alone for a while if it looks like you’re
checking things out. Her schoolgirl crush is ruining this for me.

“No, I’m all right. Just looking.” I let a smooth choke chain run through my fingers.

“Oh, okay. Well, what kind of a dog do you have? Because these come in a lot of different sizes.
It can be kind of hard to tell what will fit just by looking at them.” I don’t have a dog.

“Umm...” There’s a picture with a lot of different kinds of dogs on the display behind her. “A
Rotweiler, I have a Rotweiler.”

“Oh, I love Rotweilers! What’s his name?” God, go away.

“George.” George? No one names their dog George. Jesus.

“That is so cute. I’d love to meet him. You should bring him in. They let you bring your pets in
here you know.”

“Uh yeah, maybe... so um, which one do you think would fit him? He’s got a really big neck.”

“Well, let’s see.” She starts shifting through the chains, holding them up to check their length.
When she gets to the second biggest one, she stops. “I’d get this one just to be safe. It’s okay if
it’s a little too big, but if it’s too small, it won’t fit over his head.” She holds the collar up by the
two, large, metal loops on either side, stretching it out.

“Hmm, well, he’s got a really big head. You think this one will fit?” I reach out and take the
collar from her hands. It is heavy and the silver metal shines brightly under the florescent lights.
The links are so much bigger than the ones on the smaller sizes. My stomach tickles a little bit.

“Let’s try it out.” She lowers her voice as though we’re sharing a secret and she smiles
flirtatiously. Holding on to one loop, she guides the chain through it easily, creating a slip knot.
She pulls it all the way down and holds up the collar she has created. It looks pretty big. Lifting it

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 11

up, she lowers the chain over my head, pressing down on my ears when the collar gets caught on
them. The chain drops heavily around my neck and I can feel its weight against my collarbone.
“And when you want to tighten it you just do this.” She pulls on one end of the chain; the collar
gets tighter. I’m glad that I have really baggy jeans on. “If it fits you, it will definitely fit him.”
She smiles, loosening the collar. I close my eyes as she lifts the chain back over my head, biting
my tongue to keep myself from asking her to leave it on. She’s standing close and I can smell her
flowery, drugstore perfume. Why do girls wear that stuff? It smells so fake.

“All right, thanks for helping me. I think this is a good one, I’ll get it.”

“Oh, okay, good.” She leads me to the register where she rings me up. When I open my wallet,
my old school ID falls out on to the counter. She picks it up and inspects it. “Chris Owens, huh?
Hey, we almost have the same birthday, just two months apart. How old are you? Almost
twenty?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sixteen, can’t wait to be eighteen.”

“Well, thanks again. You were real helpful.” She was. I’ve come here a million times and never
been brave enough to buy anything.

“Sure. Come back and bring George okay?”

“Yeah, okay, maybe.”

The minute I get outside I take the chain out and throw the bag away. It’s a long walk back to the
trailer, but I’ve got a lot to think about so I don’t mind. I wonder what Daddy will say when I
show him what I bought. We’ve been together for almost two years now, but we’ve never done
this before. I’ve never even told him that I think about it. When I get home, he’s standing outside
by the truck, talking to Lawrence.

“Hey, Sam. Hey, Lawrence.” I only call him ‘Daddy’ when no one else is around. I wish
Lawrence would leave. I hate it when he comes over.

“Hey, Chris.” Lawrence leers at me. It makes me uncomfortable when he looks at me like that. I
wish Daddy would make him stop.

“I’m gonna go in and wash up, start dinner.” I keep my eyes focused on Daddy.

“All right, Chris. We’re just finishing up some business out here.”

The trailer is dim when I walk in. It takes a couple of minutes for my eyes to adjust to the light if
it’s bright outside. We keep the lights off most of the time, keeps the bill down. The chain is
heavy in my pocket and I start to think about how I’m going to bring it up to Daddy as I wash my
hands and open up the chicken pot pies that we had in the freezer. Should I explain it or should I

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 12

just come out of my room wearing it? I’m not sure that he’ll understand what I want, if I don’t
say something. Should I have gotten a leash, too? No, we’ve got rope. A leash would have been
too expensive. After the pot pies are in the oven and the trash has been thrown away, I head to
my room so that I can get ready. I have the bedroom to myself; Daddy sleeps on the couch. It’s
one of his rules. My mattress is on the floor and the sheets are all rumpled up. I never make it in
the morning unless he tells me to.

Last August, I was making it every morning for three whole weeks. Daddy had been in one of his
moods and he’d given me a long lecture about how if I was in the army they would never tolerate
sloppiness like that. He spent half an hour showing me how to make a bed ‘properly.’ I
wondered how he knew all the regulation terms as he had never been in the army himself. When
he’d tried to enlist at eighteen they had turned him down due to a medical condition. He never
told me exactly what the reason was, but it had happened fifteen years ago and he still hasn’t
really gotten over it.

There is a big mirror propped up against the wall across from my bed. I pull off my shirt and sit
down on my mattress, facing my reflection. I like how I look. I’m thinner than I’ve ever been
and I can see the outline of my ribs, even when I’m sitting down, which is pretty good. I mess up
my hair a little bit, pushing it over my eyes. It looks cool, glossy and black against my pale skin.
It’s getting kind of long though; I should probably get it cut soon.

Last time I needed it cut, Daddy wanted to do it so I let him, which was a big mistake. I had to
wear my cap everywhere for at least two weeks. I think he realized how goofy it had come out
because he never once told me to take my cap off, not even when we fooled around. He hasn’t
said anything about another haircut either, so I don’t think he’ll mind if I go down to the
barbershop. I’ll just have to make sure that they don’t take too much off. He likes it kind of long
on top, gives him something to pull.

I take the chain out of my pocket; it feels nice and heavy, just like it did in the store. It takes me a
minute to figure out how to make it into a collar like the girl did, but I finally get it after a few
tries. Dropping it over my head, I check myself out in the mirror. It looks so good, just like I
imagined, but maybe a little bigger. Taking one end, I pull gently, tightening it around my neck.
The cool metal slides over my skin and I get goose bumps from the sensation. Pulling it back and
forth, I test out different tensions and positions, turning it so that the part I pull on hangs straight
down my chest and then rotating it so that it hangs down my back. I lift the whole collar up a
little bit so that it will rest on my Adam’s Apple, the feeling makes me sort of uncomfortable. I
tighten it anyway; I want to know what it’s like. I start to feel like I’m choking, even though I
know I’m not. My guts get all tense, so I loosen up the chain and let it fall back into its resting
place on my collarbone. This is going to be trickier than I thought. I don’t think I want him to
choke me. Should I tell him outright or just wait and see what happens? I’m not sure.

“Hey, Chris?” There’s a knock at my door, “How much longer for the pies?”

“Um... just a few more minutes, I think. I’ll be out in a sec, okay?”

“All right.” He sounds confused. I don’t close the door like that very often.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 13

I leave the chain on and pull my t-shirt over it. You might not even notice it if you aren’t paying
close attention. The smell of the pot pies is coming up underneath the door. I’m pretty hungry; I
wish we didn’t have to wait twenty minutes for them to cool down. He’s sitting on the couch
reading the paper when I come out.

“Lawrence gone?”

“Yeah, he just came over to pick some stuff up.” He smiles; he knows I don’t like Lawrence
even though I make sure to always be polite when I see him. I walk over to the oven, it’s already
been turned off. The pies are still in there, so I take them out carefully, trying not to burn myself,
and put them up on top to cool. “Think they’re ready?” he calls over from the couch.

“Pretty sure, just need to cool off some.” I hope the insides aren’t still frozen; he turned the oven
off earlier than I would have. There’s room for me on the couch so I make my way over and sit
down, picking up the comics.

“What’s that?” He reaches over and touches the collar through my shirt.

“Um, nothing. Just something I thought I’d try. I don’t know.” He reaches over and pulls the
chain out so that it rests on top of my shirt.

“Is this a dog collar?” He’s rubbing the links between his fingers.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Why are you wearing a dog collar?” Fuck, this isn’t how it was supposed to go.

“I-I don’t know, I just wanted to, I wanted you to...” I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.
Help me.

“I like it, it looks good on you.” His voice is low, calm. He’s touching the collar with both hands
now, running his fingers along the inside, pulling it away from the front of my neck. I drop my
head down and press my mouth against his knuckles, closing my eyes, breathing hard. He
reaches up and strokes my hair which calms me down some. “Think those pies are ready?” I nod
even though I’m pretty sure they are still too hot. “All right, I’ll go get them.” He goes over to
the kitchen and I lean my head against the couch, not very hungry anymore.

We eat in silence. I burned my tongue a little on the crust but when I got to the middle the filling
was lukewarm. “Guess they could have used a few more minutes,” he says, poking around at his
pie with his fork.

“Maybe, but it’s good anyhow.” I eat about a quarter of mine and then take it to the kitchen to
put back into the refrigerator. He eats all of his. After dinner we watch some TV. He’s got his
arm around me and he fingers the chain absentmindedly, which feels nice. When the show is
over I kiss him goodnight and head to my bedroom. I don’t feel like messing around tonight.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 14

Sometimes it’s like that; he doesn’t seem to mind as long as he gets what he wants when he asks
for it.

Lying in bed, I pull at the collar with one hand while I stroke my chest with the other.

Why are you wearing it?
I don’t know.
Yes, you do.
Why are you wearing it?
I want to belong to you.
You do belong to me.
Why are you wearing it?
I want proof, this is the proof.

***

Daddy is showered and dressed when I walk into the living room the next morning. “Are we
going somewhere?” I look around for clues; this isn’t how we usually start our day.

“Yup, go get ready.” He’s in a good mood; I love seeing him like this.

“Where are we going?” Maybe he wants to go out for breakfast. He got paid last week; we
probably have some money left over.

“You’ll see, just get dressed.” He picks up the paper and starts flipping through it.

“Are we going to breakfast?”

“Sure, we can go to breakfast, but we need to make a stop first.”

“All right.” I take a shower and get dressed, leaving my chain on but tucking it in under my shirt.
I tousle my hair the way he likes it and check for stubble. I’m still smooth; don’t need to shave
just yet. When I come back out into the living room he looks up. His eyes travel down to my
collarbone and he suppresses a smile when he sees that I’ve still got my collar on.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Just need pick something up, won’t take long.”

We go on out to the truck and he heads into town. He drives past the diner and pulls into the strip
mall where the pet supply store is. My skin prickles a little bit.

“What are we doing here?”

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 15

“Just want to get something that I was thinking about last night.”

“Okay.” We get out of the truck and start walking toward the entrance. Don’t let her be here.
Don’t let her be here. Don’t let her be here.

Once we’re through the doors I start looking around really fast. I don’t see the girl who helped
me yesterday. I think she usually works the registers. I calm down a little.

“So where are they?” He’s looking at me, waiting for me to lead the way.

“Over here.” I walk ahead of him a little and take him to the aisle that I was in yesterday. He
walks by the collars and stops at the leashes. Looking around quickly, I make sure I didn’t just
miss her. She’s nowhere to be seen. He reaches out and runs his hand over the different kinds; I
follow along silently. His hand settles on a heavy chain.

“What about this one?” His eyes stay focused on the leash in front of him.

“I think it might be too big, I like this one better.” I reach out and take a longer, lighter chain off
of the hook. The tag says that it is five feet long, but when you drop its length into your palm it
fits easily into your hand; the links are small and light.

“All right, that one it is.”

Once we’re back in the truck he starts it without saying anything about the leash. I stay quiet
because I’m not sure where this is going and I don’t want to screw it up for either of us. The
diner’s parking lot is pretty crowded but we find a spot in the back, right next to a dumpster. He
kills the engine and I’m about to open my door when he puts his hand on my wrist to stop me.

“Wait a minute, okay?”

“Okay.” He pulls the leash out of the bag and takes off the tags.

“Come here.” I scoot closer to him and he reaches up, pulling the collar out from underneath my
shirt. He takes the loop at the end between his fingers and holds up the leash, pushing down on
the clasp to open it up. “This okay?”

“Yeah.” I breathe, looking down; I can feel myself getting red. I’m not sure what he’s planning,
but I want it really badly. He attaches the leash to the collar and it makes a satisfying clicking
noise. Balling the length of the leash up in his hand, he drops it down the front of my shirt, the
cool metal sliding over my belly, making me shiver a little. He reaches under my shirt from the
bottom and pulls the leash through, collecting the chain in his palm again.

“Here.” He takes my hand, flips it over, and gives me the leash. “Put it in your pocket.” I sit up
and slide the entire length of the leash into the front pocket of my jeans. It goes in easily. All of
my jeans are loose these days. I lean my forehead against his shoulder for a second, but he
shakes my knee gently. “Come on, you must be starving. You hardly ate anything last night.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 16

Let’s get you some breakfast.” I follow him out, wishing that we were about to walk into the
trailer instead of a busy restaurant. The waitress seats us right away in a booth near the back.

“This okay?” she asks.

“This is great, thanks.” He gives her a friendly nod. I sit down and he slides in across from me.
When the waitress comes back, he gives her both of our orders; he hardly ever does that. I like
what he chose for me. It’s not what I would have chosen; it’s better.

She walks away and I look up. “Take it out.” He says it really quietly, but I was watching him, so
I heard it, expected it actually. Digging into my pocket, I pull out the chain and reach under the
table. His hand meets mine halfway, I drop the leash into his palm. Pulling my hand back toward
me, I rest it on my stomach because I know that he’s going to pull, and I don’t want my shirt to
lift up when he does. He tugs twice, gently. I close my eyes and swallow hard. “Once is for yes,
twice is for no, got it?” I nod in agreement, eyes still closed.

Taking a deep breath, I reach for my water glass and look at him. One tug. I take a sip; the ice
cold water feels really good. I look around trying to think of questions, nothing is coming to
mind and I’m beginning to get nervous. He slides his foot over to mine and nudges it under the
table, I pull back some. Two tugs. Pushing it forward, I stop when I can’t go any farther. One tug.
He shifts in his seat a little bit so I lift my leg up slowly and rest my shoe between his thighs on
the seat. One hard tug. He sits up straighter, moving forward some in his seat. I follow his lead
and scoot up too, stretching my leg as far as it will go, pressing my beat up Converse against his
dick, or at least where I think his dick probably is; it’s hard to tell since I can’t see and it’s not
like I can feel it through my shoe. One hard tug. I guess my aim isn’t too bad.

Our food comes and the waitress doesn’t seem to notice anything. Bet you see a lot of weird stuff
when you wait tables, although I’m sure she’d be surprised if she knew what we were up to. I
start to rock my foot back and forth once she leaves, but he gives two tugs so I stop. He wants to
feed me; I let him. One tug if I get to take a bite of something, two if I don’t. I move around the
plate, taking small bites, making it last a long time. When the waitress comes back my plate is
clean and his has hardly been touched.

“Your breakfast all right, sir?”

“Oh yeah, just not too hungry right now. If you could wrap it up I’d sure appreciate it.”

“Sure thing. Be right back with your check.” She walks away, so I start to rock my foot back and
forth again. One tug, I keep it up. When I see the waitress coming back over I slow down but he
tugs twice, hard. I thank her, taking both the box and the check because he can’t talk anymore.
When he comes, he pulls hard and I actually have to grab the chain so that he won’t choke me.
Collecting himself, he pulls out his wallet out and pays the bill. He’s dropped the leash so I
gather it up and push it back into my pocket, already missing the tension.

I can hardly wait to get home.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 17

Master Preston’s Bright Bottom

By Lee Benoit

For R. deC., who held the leash on this one. Mil gracias, papi.

“Get it up, guys!” Hal hollered from the kitchen. “You’re both flat.”

Arlie gave Paulo a long-suffering look. “He’s being such a diva about this duet. Nobody’s gonna
know what we’re singing about anyway.”

Paulo knew what Arlie meant. Hal had written some new lyrics to the classic duet from Bizet’s
The Pearl Fishers. But Arlie was right: very few people in their audience would have enough
French to understand the change; and even if they knew Bizet’s aria, the only real difference
would be that there was a kiss at the end rather than a manly embrace. Still, Hal was all nervous
about tinkering with a master, and Paulo thought that was kind of cute, so he said, “Humor your
man, Arlie. Let’s do this one more time before brunch.”

They straightened up side by side on the piano bench, and tried again.

Brunch at Hal's used to be a lackadaisical, haphazard affair: bagels from the supermarket, your
basic drip-machine coffee, lounging and chatter, maybe some music if Hal was in a mood to
play. Not anymore, Paulo thought as he dipped his spoon into a grapefruit so elaborately cut, it
looked like a jaundiced lotus. He sipped his freshly-drawn espresso and waited to see what fancy
horror Hal served today.

“Clafoutis!” Arlie sang as he pushed the swinging kitchen door open with his tiny little butt. Hal
was right behind him with more coffee and the paper.

“You let him kiss your mother with that mouth?” Paulo teased and ducked the business section
of the Sunday paper as it sailed over the table.

“It's a pancake thingy. With fruit.”

Paulo tasted the puffy, crusty thing. “It’s almost... delicious,” he pronounced, earning himself a
hard swat with the arts section from Hal.

Arlie laughed and gave Hal a melty look over the top of the Sports section.

“Um, you guys sure you want me around for brunch every Sunday? I mean, if I wasn’t here you
could have naked brunch.”

Hal smirked. “We have naked breakfast every other day of the week. Brunch with clothes makes
for an interesting change.”

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 18

Paulo bopped Hal on the head with the book review section and went back to his puffy pancake,
trying to ignore the feeling of loneliness that welled whenever Hal and Arlie kissed over their
grapefruit.

When they pulled apart, Hal said, “You know, Paulo, I think that new tenor’s been checking you
out.”

Paulo stifled a groan.

Hal and Arlie hadn’t been at the Epiphany performance at the club -- BDSM just wasn’t their
thing -- so they hadn’t witnessed Paulo jumping in with both feet, submitting to the notorious
Master Rose on stage. When he told them about it later, they hadn’t understood what it was like
to fly, how it had moved him that Master Rose took care of him afterward. And they were just
plain baffled that he was still carrying a torch.

“I don’t want to see anybody new, Hal,” he said, as gently as he could manage. He knew his best
friend was just trying to help.

“Don’t push, Hal,” Arlie added. “Paulo will find someone when he’s ready.”

Hal shook his head at both of them. “I know him, Arlie. He’s pining for someone he can’t have.”

“Who says he can’t, er, I can’t?” Paulo knew he was being all angsty, another thing Hal didn’t
understand about him.

“And you’re not pining?” Hal put on his big-brother look. “How long has it been, Paulo? Three
months? What does that tell you?”

Paulo covered his hurt with a barrage of circulars and coupons. He could be patient. At least for a
little longer.

***

“When I decided to retire,” Preston hissed in Jim’s ear, “I never intended to spend my newly free
nights listening to amateur productions of show tunes in a drafty community center.”

“Snob,” Jim accused as they claimed folding chairs front and center. “Some of these guys are
really good. It’s all arias tonight, like I told you. Plus, they’re my friends; I want to support
them.”

“They’re not my friends,” Preston grumbled, rubbing his hands. Jim casually picked up Preston’s
hand and started rubbing the aching knuckles -- Jim was a pest, but he was a good sub.

“Now you’re just being a baby,” said Jim. “What would Tasim say?”

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 19

The mention of his oldest friend chastened Preston enough to decide to be gracious about the
evening’s entertainment. But, true to form, Jim wasn’t finished with him yet.

“Anyway, there’s fabulous sex with me at the end of the tunnel, so behave.”

“I’m leaving right now and never fucking you again if you make one more bad pun,” Preston
warned, but made sure there was no Dom in his voice.

“Shh!” The lights dimmed, and the concert started.

Whatever had possessed the local Gay Men’s Chorus to mount an all-opera production, Preston
had to admit after the first number that it wasn’t rank hubris. By the third piece he reluctantly
admitted to himself that there was talent and passion on display in the bare-bones production.

When a blond slip of a baritone proved equal to Gounod’s Faust, Preston deigned to glance at
Jim, and regretted it immediately. Smug bastard was grinning like a fool.

“That’s Arlie, the director’s lover,” Jim whispered, ruffling the hair near Preston’s ear and
indicating the affable-looking fellow at the piano.

They watched several more singers take the floor, Jim nudging Preston at the best parts. He’d
definitely have to take his annoyance out on his sometime-sub and fuck-buddy later on.

The last number brought Arlie back, along with a man who hadn’t yet performed. Preston
concentrated on breathing evenly. It wouldn’t do for Jim to realize he was affected.

Jim’s tickling whisper intruded on his efforts. “You remember Paulo, yeah?”

Preston nodded sharply and sat straighter, the better to see, and the further from Jim’s knowing
prods.

The duet, about best friends who’d fallen for the same person, was one of Tasim’s favorites, so
Preston knew it. He knew the minute the lyrics started to deviate from the original, and his
French was good enough to hear the two friends swear, not eternal friendship, but eternal love.
Arlie as Nadir and Paulo as Zurga moved slowly from opposite ends of the stage to the center,
ending in a kiss that brought Preston’s ass off his seat for a fraction of a second. His eyes flicked
to Hal, the director, only to see a fond smile directed at both his singers. He resolutely did not
look at Jim. The astuteness that made Jim a great sub also gave him endless ammunition to tease.

“Come on,” Jim said as soon as the applause died down. “I need to say hello before we leave.”

There was no backstage area, just a line of folding banquet tables set with coffee and wine and
what Hal the director cheerfully called ‘nibbles.’ The performers mingled with their audience,
which seemed to comprise friends and lovers. Preston was, as ever, an odd man out.

“You remember Preston, right, Paulo?” Jim was saying.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 20

Preston turned, and was confronted by the liquid dark eyes (really, there could be no other word
for them) that had wept for him on stage in January, and dogged him ever since.

“You sang well, Paulo. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that aria sung in quite that way before.”

Was that a blush blurring the freckles across the boy’s nose?

“That’s Hal. Has to gay up the classics. Thank for coming.”

“Jim’s idea,” Preston said. “But I was pleasantly surprised,” he hastened to add when Paulo’s
bright smile lost a little of its luster.

“I’ve thought about you a lot, sir,” Paulo said, low enough that the buzz of conversation around
them covered it.

“Have you, boy?” That ‘boy’ was sheer habit -- Preston called everybody ‘boy’ who wasn’t a
Dom -- but he saw his mistake. Paulo harbored hopes, it seemed.

“Yes, sir, and I wondered...”

Preston cut him off. Being someone’s “lifestyle experiment” did not appeal. Nor did a callow,
untrained sub with, no doubt, skewed ideas about a D/s pairing. “I’m sorry, boy. That is, I’m
sorry, Paulo. I’m retired, you see.”

If only there was a way to test the boy without making a real commitment. Not much chance to
do that now that he wasn’t on stage anymore.

“I see, sir.” Paulo said, his eyes on the floor as he started to turn away. He flicked those eyes at
Preston one more time. “It was nice to see you again.”

Preston reached for a plastic cup of wine, suppressing his grimace. When he turned to find Jim
and leave, he found his friend right at his elbow.

“You already regret that exchange, don’t you?”

Preston set his lips to ‘Dommy scowl’ and led Jim from the hall.

***

“I am the very model of a modern twinky on the prowl...”

“Would you cut it out? These leather guys hear your Gilbert and Sullivan homage and we’re both
out on our asses.”

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 21

Paulo laughed, tickled. “If you want these guys to take us seriously, you should stop using words
like ‘homage.’” He pranced up to the door, and opened it for Jim with a flourish.

Jim scowled and pushed him through first. “And what are you wearing? I thought you wanted to
check out the leather scene, maybe find someone to play with. You stand out like a limp dick at a
circle jerk.”

Paulo pouted and plucked at his shiny club wear. “Limp dicks don’t stand out, Jim.”

He hadn’t been entirely honest with his friend and chorus mate. Yeah, he wanted to get a taste of
the scene, but mostly he wanted to pick Jim’s brain about a certain Master Rose. He didn’t care
about all the daddies eyeing him up as they crossed to the bar -- if he could just find a way to get
Preston to see him as something other than a dilettante poser, he’d have accomplished his
mission. He gave his silver t-shirt a tug and sashayed outrageously to a bar stool, giving Jim a
show as he straddled it.

“You’re impossible,” Jim grumbled, and ordered two beers.

“Thank you,” Paulo said primly.

They turned in their seats and faced the rest of the club as they drank. Daddies circled, boys
sneered. Jim slouched and spread his legs as one especially huge cub wandered by, nodding at
Jim’s crotch but not making eye contact.

Paulo watched him walk, his beefy ass rolling, giant arms swinging.

“Him?” he gaped at Jim.

Jim shrugged and ducked his head. “What can I say? I like my daddies young.”

“Maybe he’ll come back,” Paulo soothed. “I thought Preston was more your style.”

“Nah. I mean, I’ve worked with Preston for years, and he’s the best. I’ve even played with him
since he retired, just to stay in fighting trim, you know?”

Paulo nodded, hoping the low lighting concealed his grinding jaw. Why should Jim get to play
with Preston, when it clearly was nothing but a convenience for either of them?

“Anyway, he’s not my type, not for real, you know? And he hasn’t even wanted to play much
since his book got picked up?”

“Picked up?”

“You and your one-track mind.” Jim passed him another beer. “Picked up by an agent, and now
it’s being published, so he’s working like crazy. He even tried to get me to do some yard work

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 22

for him so he could work on edits.” Jim laughed and took another pull on his beer. “Once a top,
always a top.”

Paulo shifted in his seat. He had to go see Preston. The man needed him. He just didn’t know it
yet. He’d finish his beer, but leaving Jim in the lurch seemed rude and ungrateful.

The meaty baby bear walked by again, with another predatory look at Jim. Jim gave a little
shudder, but didn’t make a move.

Obviously, Paulo would have to take matters into his own hands. “Bathroom break!” he sang as
he slipped off the stool. He sailed over to the leather-clad guy, hooking him by the belt loop and
towing him to the men’s room.

The guy growled, “Kid, you’re obviously new around here so I’ll take it easy...”

“Hush, little daddy. I don’t want you, and you can’t handle this,” Paulo camped, slapping his ass
hard enough to hear over the music. “But my friend is your wet dream come true. He’s saving a
seat for you.”

They took their time walking back to the bar, giving Jim plenty of time to see them together and
get all hot under the collar, so to speak.

When they reached the bar, Paulo gestured Baby Bear to the stool next to Jim. He leaned in close
to Jim and smiled sweetly. “I’ve done your hunting for you, buddy. Now, call me a cab.”

“You’re going over to Preston’s, aren’t you?” Jim was shaking his head with disbelief, even as
he flipped his phone open and gave a shy, dazzling smile to his new, furry friend.

The ride to Master Rose’s place was longer than Paulo had anticipated, nearly out of town, where
the suburbs and strip malls ended and the nurseries and horse farms began. The ride was almost
long enough for Paulo to talk himself out of his plan.

He asked the cabbie to wait and, with a witness to fortify him, made his way to Master Rose’s
door.

He fought the urge to kneel when the door swung open.

“Paulo.”

Paulo was struck dumb. Master Rose in his stage leathers was mouthwatering, and he’d worn
that suit at the concert like nobody’s business. But this Master Rose, barefoot in blue jeans,
flannel shirt open over a t-shirt worn thin enough to see the shadow of his chest hair through it,
was just devastating. Could this be what Master Rose looked like when he was just... Preston?

“Paulo!” The voice was sharp enough to jog Paulo’s tongue.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 23

“Um, yes. Jim said you needed yard work done and I do landscaping and carpentry and whatever
else. You know, gardening. And he said you’re busy, and need help. So I came over to ask if I
could be it. I mean, your help.”

Nervousness, on top of two beers, had Paulo babbling like an idiot.

“You came over here at 11:30 in the evening dressed as a street hustler, to ask for a job doing
manual labor?” Preston crossed his arms slowly over his chest, making Paulo’s mouth go dry.

“Y-yes. Sir. Yes, sir,” he croaked.

Was that a tiny quirk to the man’s lip? Did it mean amusement or irritation? Why can’t I read
him, Paulo railed at himself.

“An unconventional marketing strategy,” Preston said dryly.

Paulo hung his head and was about to babble an apology, when he saw Preston’s square, elegant
hand invade his vision. He looked up into Preston’s inscrutable light eyes.

“Come back in the morning, ready to work. We’ll discuss things then.” Paulo resisted the
impulse to kiss Preston’s hand, instead shaking it as offered.

Preston withdrew his hand far too soon, turned, and closed the door. Paulo was dismissed.

***

A week into the two week trial period they’d negotiated, Preston took a break from his edits to
rest his hands and watch yet another tradesman’s truck pull up outside his house. A mason, this
time, evidently come to help finish the patio. The work in the yard was nearly complete, weeks
earlier than Preston could have accomplished on his own. It seemed Paulo was related to every
skilled tradesman in Sister City. This one, the burly mason, even got a kiss on the cheek.

Preston turned his growl into a sigh and stepped outside.

“Oh, sir,” Paulo called, waving him over. “Meet my uncle Ruy. He wants to hear how you want
to repair the patio. I was right, it won’t cost any more to expand it than to just fix it.”

Preston shook the man’s thick-fingered hand and turned to Paulo. “Why don’t you get us
something cold to drink? There’s iced tea in the fridge.”

Paulo beamed up at him and trotted through the back door. If his plan all those nights ago had
been to make himself indispensable to his new boss, managing tasks Preston had neither time nor
talent for, he was doing an admirable job. He watched Paulo return, trying to ignore the way the
sun had pinkened the boy’s shoulders and multiplied the freckles on his light brown skin.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 24

“That’s my sister’s youngest you’re looking at with eagle eyes,” Ruy rumbled, snapping his
attention back to the matter at hand. “He gave up his job to come work for you. You treat him
right, now. You’re all he talks about lately.”

Preston fiercely dampened his curiosity -- what could Paulo possibly be telling his family? What
job had he quit? He wouldn’t have expected a traditional Portuguese -- Cape Verdean, whatever -
- family to be so blithe in their acceptance of a gay scion. Maybe they weren’t so traditional after
all. Preston realized he didn’t know much about his new... handyman (not sub, he reminded
himself sternly).

All afternoon as Ruy’s wet saw shrieked through the paving stones, Preston watched Paulo
through the kitchen window. His smudged carpenter’s jeans hung low on his hips, revealing the
sweet swell of his ass and, Preston decided after due consideration, no underwear. The muscles
of his back and arms bunched as he pushed a stone past the spinning saw blade or carried a fresh
stack to the patio. Ruy’s part of the job was done by mid-afternoon, and the guy took off with a
final kiss for his nephew.

Paulo was already back to work, kneeling on the new patio stones, by the time Preston walked
through the house to grab them each another drink.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the sight of you on your knees, but what are you doing?”

Paulo smiled up, accepting the glass of tea. “Mmm, sweet. Thanks, sir.” He held up a whisk
broom. “I’m brushing jointing sand between the stones, to set them. There’s a little concrete in it,
so it won’t wash away like regular sand.”

Impressed, Preston sat in one of the old teak chairs Paulo had moved off to the side of the work
area. “Why didn’t your uncle leave a bill? The landscapers didn’t, either, and neither did the
guys who cleaned the gutters and patched the roof. I know you bought the materials with the
money I gave you, but there’s been no labor cost except what I pay you. What gives, Paulo?”

Paulo took a long drink of tea. “Just calling in favors, sir. I don’t have a place of my own, so I
never call on anyone to even up.”

“Even up?”

“Every truck you’ve seen? Every machine on those trucks? I keep them working. Every good
boy needs a skill, and that’s mine. I must have saved my family thousands over the years.”

“You’re a mechanic? That’s the job you gave up to work for me?” Despite all the hard work
Paulo had done during the past week, Preston still thought of him as the flighty, singing naïf
from the Gay Men’s Chorus.

“More of a freelancing thing at the moment, so no worries.” Paulo shrugged. “Getting a trade
certificate was my dad’s condition for sending me to college instead of trade school.”

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“You wanted to study music,” Preston guessed.

Paulo nodded, moving to a new section of patio, dragging his bag of sand and glass of tea with
him.

“We really should talk about the windows, sir. I think that was the last big job you wanted me
for.”

Preston blinked a little at the reminder that Paulo wasn’t there to stay.

“Come find me when you’re done here, and we can figure out what it’ll take to get all the storm
windows ready for winter.”

If Preston spent far too much of his editing time that afternoon thinking of new tasks no one but
Paulo could do, who was the wiser?

***

Paulo waved as his cousins from the salvage yard backed out of Preston’s driveway, leaving him
with a load of storm windows in need of painting. He loaded them onto his big push cart and
wheeled them over to the sawhorses he’d set up on the shady side of the shed, then went round to
the side yard to do battle with weeds before the sun got too high.

As he dug dandelions out by their stubborn roots he broke off a few and twisted them into a
chain, fashioning a collar. So what? Preston had hired him on indefinitely after some discussion
the day before, he was here every day, and every day presented new opportunities to learn about
the man and his needs. He might not deserve a real collar yet, but this would do for now.

Happy on his knees in the sunshine, he sang, “A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but
dandelions are a boy’s best friend.”

He heard footsteps approach from the rear of the house, but stayed on his knees and kept singing.
“I've heard of affairs that are strictly platonic, but dandelions are a boy’s best friend. And I
think affairs that you must keep liaisonic are better bets...”

“Having a Jule Styne moment, boy?” Preston blocked the sun, causing Paulo to squint.

“If I say yes, will this little pet get big baguette?” he asked, finishing the line he’d been singing.

Preston chuckled, low and warm, and Paulo felt his face heat with pleasure. “No baguettes, boy,
just a sandwich and tea, if you’re at a stopping point.” He headed back the way he’d come,
saying something that sounded like, “Not all gentlemen prefer blonds, boy.”

Paulo grinned and hurried to follow.

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Having lunch together had become a habit in the last few days, delighting and discomfiting Paulo
in equal measure. He tried not to babble too much, or ask nosy questions, but it was hard. He
washed his hands and face at the spigot by the shed and met Preston at the newly-refinished teak
table and chairs on the patio.

Pouncing on his food with what he hoped wasn’t unseemly relish, Paulo watched Preston eat in
neat, precise bites. The ramshackle house and shambolic garden seemed so out of step with his
personality, Paulo couldn’t help but ask how he’d ended up there.

“This place reminded me of where I grew up. I’ve had it for years, but only moved out here
when I retired.”

Well, that raised more questions than it answered. Paulo ate in silence for another minute, then
asked, “So, how are your edits going?”

Preston sighed, brushed a few sandwich crumbs from his long fingers, and sat back in his chair.
The sun hit him full on, the red and silver lights in his dark hair and the blue of his eyes easily
the most perfect combination Paulo had ever seen. “They’re slow going. My editor knows her
job, but she’s... untutored in the subject matter.”

“Well, she would be, wouldn’t she, if it’s about your life?” Paulo ventured.

“I meant, untutored in the lifestyle.” Preston looked down at his hands, spreading the fingers and
rubbing, a habitual gesture that brought a flood of affection to Paulo’s chest.

“And your hands bother you,” he stated simply, belying the nerve it took to bring up something
so personal.

Preston’s eyes narrowed a little, and Paulo had to concentrate to maintain eye contact. “Arthritis.
I’m not used to typing eight or ten hours in a day, and it’s flared up. Getting old, I guess.”

Paulo thought Preston was just right, age-wise, but instead of saying so decided to take the
chance he’d been seeking for over a week. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little glass
jar with a handwritten label. “My grandmother makes this. For her joint pain. Works on muscle
aches, too.” He slid the jar across the table.

Preston looked at it, turned it around in his hand. Then he slid it back towards Paulo. “Thank
you, boy.” His expression was, as usual, inscrutable.

In for a dime, in for a dollar, Paulo thought. “You… that is, sir, would you let me massage your
hands?”

Preston leaned back in his chair and rested his right hand on its polished arm, and Paulo had his
answer. With what he knew -- and didn’t care -- was unseemly haste, he scrambled out of his
seat and around the table, unscrewing the lid of the jar as he knelt at Preston’s side. He scooped
out a bit of the spicy-smelling liniment and began to spread it gently over the slightly swollen

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knuckles. He used his thumbs to rub between the bones on the back of Preston’s hand, over and
over. He pressed into the meaty part of the palm between thumb and wrist, lost himself in rolling
fingertips between the pads of his fingers. The smell of the cayenne and olive oil in the salve
tickled his nose and soon he was breathing deeply, humming a fado his grandmother sang when
she missed his grandfather. He didn’t know how much time had passed by the time he moved to
switch hands, but it must have been a while as his feet tingled from sitting on them.

He shuffled over awkwardly, distantly surprised that his prick was tingling right along with his
feet. When had the erection started? It wasn’t the sort of thing he failed to notice in the normal
course of events.

“That’s lovely, boy,” Preston said as Paulo started on the left hand. Paulo didn’t say anything,
didn’t ask if Preston meant the massage or the song, while his erection flexed and the tingly
feeling spread through his balls to his ass and pelvis. He rocked his hips a little, cradling the
feeling, and let himself sink back into his trance state.

He kept up with both the fado and the rubbing until the prickles in his feet turned painful.

“You’ll burn if you stay out here much longer, sir,” he said quietly.

“Right, boy,” Preston said as he reached to clear the table.

“Let me, sir,” Paulo said, rising to stand on numb feet.

Preston looked at him and smiled, brushed the back of one oiled hand across the insistent bulge
in Paulo’s jeans, and walked slowly back inside.

Paulo took a minute to calm down. Their scene at Tasim’s club had been intense and heavy, and
had dominated his thoughts and fantasies for months afterwards.

So why was a simple hand massage so much more intoxicating?

***

Paulo was driving Preston crazy. It was a humid, overcast day, threatening rain, and the boy was
rushing to get all the storm windows up before the weather broke.

Up and down the ladder he clambered, with an uncanny sense of which room Preston occupied at
any moment. Shirtless, wearing a sinfully tiny pair of cutoffs that showed a filigree of tight black
curls every time he stretched up to screw a frame into place, his stomach muscles flexing with
each movement, Paulo was driving him slowly out of his mind.

He’d known, since their scene at Tasim’s club, when he’d astonished himself by losing control
and fucking the boy right on stage, that there was a connection between them, one he might very
well be helpless against. Now, having Paulo there every day, he was coming to rely on the boy
for all of the things he’d dreamed of relying on a sub for. It said a lot for Paulo’s sincerity that he

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didn’t ask for sex or scenes, just offered service and companionship, giving things that were only
his to give, like the favors owed him by his cousins and uncles, or the blissfully luxurious hand
massages.

It had been weeks, and Preston was beginning to admit that the boy was becoming his boy.
Today, inconveniently, his mind and body simmered with wanting his boy.

He tried to focus on the latest batch of queries from his editor, but the unrelenting pain in his
hands distracted him. Maybe Paulo was right, that the low barometric pressure made the arthritis
worse. They’d discussed it over breakfast. A breakfast Paulo arrived early to make before setting
to work. After the first two such days, Preston had stopped protesting and started giving orders.

“Spanish omelet tomorrow, boy.” It was frighteningly natural, especially when one considered
that for all his experience as a Dom, he’d never had a live-in boy of his own to perform such
services. Such a thing might have been possible in Cairo, if he’d stayed on there, but live-in boys
in the U.S. tended to expect to be kept well, or, paradoxically, to be slaves. There hadn’t been
any opportunity to forge the kind of partnership he needed. At least, he hadn’t thought so until
now. Until Paulo.

Who was driving him crazy.

He tried to focus on the birdsong and buzz of cicadas, but the boy’s singing drowned them out.
Today’s soundtrack was, appallingly, “Hair.” They’d been through “Age of Aquarius,” which
had made Preston chuckle a little when Paulo changed it to “Age of a queer boy’s ass.” They’d
been through “Black Boys” and “White Boys” which Preston tried not to hear as veiled
references to their racial differences (which hadn’t concerned Preston nearly as much as their age
difference until Paulo’s damned singing about it). Now it was “Sodomy.”

“Masturbation can be fun, join the holy orgy, Kama Sutra, everyone!”

He stuck his head out the window and called up, “Paulo! If you have to give us that Broadway
dreck, can’t you pick a different song?”

Hand dramatically over his heart, brown nipple peeking through his fingers, Paulo cried, “Sir!
You wound me! I don’t even have to change the lyrics on this one.”

“Anything else, please,” said Preston, fighting a smile as he pulled his head back inside.

There was a pregnant pause before Paulo’s clear tenor rang out with, “Good morning master,
your sub says hello. You easily top me, I quiver below.”

“He’s driving me crazy,” Preston muttered to himself, and called Jim. He needed help with the
typing if he was going to get these blasted edits done in the next week. And, if he was honest, he
could use someone besides Tasim to talk to about Paulo.

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The sky opened up as his call to Jim connected, and he watched Paulo dash to secure the
remaining windows in the shed and stow the aluminum ladder. He made small talk with Jim
while working around to asking the favor he needed, while Paulo toed off his muddy boots in the
kitchen and dried off with an old towel from under the sink. Making himself right at home, he
thought to himself with, alarmingly, no rancor. Quite the contrary -- Paulo at home in his house
pleased Preston very much.

He rang off with Jim and walked into the kitchen. Paulo stood by the stove, intently watching the
kettle heat. He’d wound another of his makeshift collars around his neck, this one of tiny
immature grapes from the ancient arbor. He looked to Preston like one of Von Gloeden’s wild
Sicilian boys, stepped out of an eighty-year-old photograph and into his kitchen.

Shaking the romantic association from his mind, he said, “Might as well head home, after tea,
Paulo. Doesn’t look like there’ll be more outside work getting done today.” Maybe some
distance would help him get his head right about what they were doing here, together.

To his intense surprise, Paulo crossed the room in a rush and dropped gracelessly to his knees
before Preston. Bending low, he rested his damp curls against Preston’s bare feet and murmured
something, his breath tickling Preston’s toes. Preston could no more move away than he could
remember a time when his hands didn’t ache.

“I can’t hear you, boy,” Preston got out with effort. What the hell had brought this on?

“Please, sir, don’t send me away.”

“Paulo, you go home every night. Today’s no different?”

“Sir, I’m sorry. I overheard you with Jim. Please call him back, sir. Please let me be the one.”

“Do you know what I asked of him?”

“No, sir. But you asked him. Please ask me instead.”

“Can you type?”

That surprised a laugh out of the kneeling boy. To his credit, he stayed down. “Yes sir. Was that
all you asked of him?”

Paulo and Jim were friends, Preston knew, so Paulo must know Jim and Preston indulged in a
friendly, tension-relieving session now and then. “No, boy, that wasn’t all I asked him.”

“Then, sir, couldn’t you ask me for that, too?” The voice against his toes was back to a whisper,
but Preston strained and heard him.

Ask you for advice about a singing handyman who’s gotten way too far under my skin? I don’t
think so. When Preston didn’t answer right away, Paulo looked up, then knelt up so his face was

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 30

level with Preston’s crotch. “Sir, please.” His hands clasped very deliberately behind his back,
Paulo leaned minutely forward.

It took an act of will to ignore his erection and step back. Not yet. “Yes, boy,” he said. He could
give Paulo part of what he -- what they both -- wanted. “I’ll call Jim.”

Paulo smiled up at him. Unless Preston was mistaken, there were tears in the corners of Paulo’s
dark eyes. “About the typing, Paulo. The other, well, we’ll see.”

Paulo nodded, his smile slipping a little, his eyes flicking to Preston’s obvious hard on, and
Preston left the room, but not before running his hand over the soft curls of Paulo’s head.

***

He’s made his whole self vulnerable to me, Paulo thought as he finished reading Preston’s
manuscript in his apartment over his folks’ garage in the wee hours of the next morning. He
washed away his melodramatic mood, along with the results of a melodramatic orgasm, in the
shower. He drove his truck over to the big house on the edge of town at dawn, let himself in
through the back door and fixed breakfast in a daze of excitement.

He couldn’t tell Preston how working for him, caring for him, and now reading his story, awoke
his deepest training, that of a son of Afro-Portuguese immigrants schooled, against his nature, to
be macho, to protect and provide. He never expected to have anyone to protect and provide for,
but the past month with Preston had changed that.

The rain continued all day, keeping Paulo indoors and close to Preston, listening to his smooth
voice dictate changes and work through the more frustrating of the editorial queries. Paulo had
been unable to resist asking questions.

“You grew up in Egypt, sir? Is that where you met Tasim?”

“Stories for another time, boy.”

After lunch and a hand massage, he worked up the courage to offer a suggestion to a particularly
tricky query.

“She implies I’m a poseur because I admit not being a sexual sadist.” Preston paced, talking with
his hands.

“You’re not?”

“No, boy, not really. You understand the difference between being a dominant and getting off on
my sub’s pain?”

“Sort of. I mean, does it turn you on when you use sensation to get your sub off?”

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Preston eyed him darkly. “You know it does.”

It was the first time since coming to work for him that Preston had referred to their night at
Tasim’s club. Paulo thought it would be wise to keep his mouth shut, and was rewarded when
Preston kept talking.

“Bringing my partner pleasure turns me on, yes, whatever form that pleasure takes. But what
speaks to my nature is...” He stopped abruptly, as if he’d said too much.

Paulo watched him pace, dying to ask. After long minutes, he said, “What speaks to your nature
is what we have now? Me offering you everything I am, and you accepting?”

Preston looked startled, and Paulo held his breath waiting to see if Preston would deny having
accepted anything. “It’s more than that, but yes. What we have is close to my ideal.”

Sex would make it ideal, Paulo thought, but let it drop. He tapped the computer screen. “You
used your skills and training in something you believed in. Like an actor. Tell the editor it’s like
any other performance, a craft. Make her see you’re an artist.”

He felt Preston’s hand on his hair in a caress he’d come to crave in the past few days. “Let’s take
a break, boy. You can give me that blow job you’ve been slobbering after.”

“I do not slobber, sir!” He tried to sound indignant, but the way his mouth was watering made
him splutter. He shrugged and dropped out of the desk chair, aiming to slink over to Preston but
losing the intention in a puppyish, tongue-lolling bound. So much for dignified seduction.

His special version of Oklahoma! came to mind -- “a prick long and wide as a fat tranny’s
thigh” -- but for once Paulo eschewed singing for something much, much better.

Preston was half-hard and smelled really good, so Paulo spent long moments snuffling and
licking. Bringing Preston to full hardness gave him a sense of achievement, and pulling a low
groan from the man was pure triumph. Paulo gave it his best -- which even modesty allowed was
pretty damned good -- until Preston spilled into him with a shout and deliciously painful tugs on
his hair. He licked some more, laving balls and shaft, sucking the spunk out of Preston’s pubes,
while the man came down. He’d be content to stay there all night.

But that was too much to hope for. “Good, boy. Good boy.” Preston petted his hair for a while,
making no move to let Paulo come. “Some tea, then back to work.”

“Yes, sir,” Paulo said, as evenly as he could with an adamant hard on. He headed for the kettle
and planned that night’s solitary wank while the water boiled.

***

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The night the final edits went off to the publisher, Paulo fell asleep on Preston’s sofa. He’d taken
care of some minor storm damage that morning, then spent the afternoon and half the night
racing Preston’s deadline with him.

Wired from the mental effort of the work, certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep for hours, Preston
puttered for a while, filing all the notes he’d made by hand while Paulo typed. He shut down the
computer and went to the kitchen. He wasn’t finished writing for the night.

He’d trained boys. He’d signed contracts for paying gigs. He’d negotiated his publishing
contract, with Tasim’s help. But he’d never drafted a contract for a boy to sign with him.

Two drafts and three glasses of sweet tea later, he was satisfied with the terms and the language.
Now all he had to do was wait until morning to deliver it, to watch Paulo sign.

Paulo would sign, wouldn’t he? Since he’d come to work for Preston, even since they’d met at
the Gay Men’s Chorus concert -- hell, since their scene at Tasim’s club, if he was honest --
Preston had sensed Paulo wouldn’t refuse him.

And he hadn’t, not once. He’d gently insinuated himself into Preston’s work and household, and
now Preston couldn’t imagine either one without the boy.

He’d retired from the professional scene planning to reevaluate his path. Tasim had teased him
for it, though Jim had tried to understand. But Paulo -- untrained, intuitive Paulo -- had made a
place for himself right beside Preston.

Preston still felt vulnerable, but he no longer wondered whether Paulo was sincere. He no longer
wondered if Paulo appreciated the value of his own submission. And he no longer questioned
whether Paulo submitted despite his faults and shortcomings. He’d shown Paulo his whole life,
and Paulo had embraced his gift -- he didn’t see faults, but opportunities to be what Preston
needed. His weaknesses inspired Paulo to greater service, not the resistance he’d expected.

Yes, Paulo’s submission, Preston had decided, was wholehearted.

Now it was time for his equally wholehearted domination.

He carried the contract and a small gift box into the living room, and set them down on the
coffee table so he could fetch a blanket from the window seat.

Paulo shifted a bit as he tucked the blanket around him, curls mashed flat on one side of his head
and wild on the other. Preston petted them, loving the feel of them under his fingertips, and he
could have sworn the boy preened in his sleep just like he did when awake.

Tucking him in and leaving the contract suddenly wasn’t enough.

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Preston leaned over, bracing his arm against the back of the sofa, and kissed Paulo. Their first
kiss, stolen. Preston had a moment’s self-doubt before Paulo moaned quietly and started to kiss
back.

“Sir,” he slurred against Preston’s lips.

Preston pressed the kiss, tasting deeply, playing his free hand over Paulo’s chest, plucking tight
little nipples, delighting in the knowledge that soon he could make -- and execute -- diabolical
plans for them.

Paulo arched up, and Preston was there to meet him, moving the blanket aside and lowering his
body to cover his boy.

“Please, please,” Paulo panted into their kiss, which Preston happily admitted had gone a little
sloppy. He knew what Paulo needed.

He reached between them and freed his cock, then Paulo’s. Tomorrow would be soon enough to
lay the boy out and savor every bit of him. For now, they’d seal their bargain -- a bargain he was
sure now Paulo would make -- with something simple, sweet and frank.

He drove one hand into the whorls of Paulo’s hair and grabbed Paulo’s hand with the other,
guiding it to wrap with his around their pricks. Tomorrow, any number of tomorrows, would be
soon enough to relish the sight and feel of Paulo’s balls plumping and drawing up. For now, the
sounds and smells of them getting off together would be enough.

It didn’t take long. “Oh!” Paulo looked stricken as he shot. “That was without permission.”

Preston panted through his own, not very tidy, orgasm. He didn’t tell Paulo his permission had
been on the tip of his tongue. With another kiss, he promised, “I’ll punish you in the morning,
boy. Hold still now.”

From his position astride Paulo he reached for the slender gift box with his dry hand and pulled
out the discreet, beaded collar, letting Paulo examine the tiger-eye and steel beads, and the tiny
steel ‘P’ that would rest in the hollow of his throat. “You’ll wear this?”

“You know I will,” Paulo said. He examined the collar. “It’s beautiful, sir. Thank you.” Then he
bent his head forward until its crown touched Preston’s chest. The smell of them together must
have filled Paulo’s senses, or perhaps it was something else that made him hum contentedly. He
drew Preston’s hand to his mouth to lap away their come so Preston could fasten the collar.

This wasn’t the pageantry of the club or stage, but when Paulo raised his head and lowered his
eyes, Preston knew Paulo was something new, was his. The drunken thrill of it all gave way to a
deep serenity, and Preston tilted the boy’s face up for another first kiss, the first kiss he
demanded as Paulo’s Dom.

“We’ll go over the contract in the morning, boy.”

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“More editing?”

“Quit whining, and come to bed.”

“Your bed, sir?”

“Always.”

Author’s note: The title of this story was inspired by a line from an article entitled, “On Being
Voluntarily Vulnerable,” by Tom A. Gordon, available online here:

http://public.diversity.org.uk/deviant/ssethics.htm#VV

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Contributors’ Bios

Allison Payne
Allison Payne lives and works in Los Angeles. She finds an artfully placed scratch far more
beautiful than a picturesque sunset.

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.

Zoe Nichols
I've been writing for over six years. I live in California, writing under the cover of darkness, like
a super hero. Only I don't have a cool rubber costume and I like having the light on. I enjoy
writing homoerotica along with just about any other form of erotica. As long as there's sex and a
few hot men, I'm there. I'm published with Torquere Press and recently had a story contracted
with Cobblestone Press, LLC. I'm hoping to work more with both.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 36

Toy Box: Collars

Edited by M. Rode

Master Preston's Bright Bottom © 2008 by Lee Benoit
Beloved © 2008 by Zoe Nichols
Stay © 2008 by Allison Payne

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: 978-1-60370-427-4
ISBN-10: 1-60370-427-2

Torquere Press, Inc.: Toy Chest electronic edition / July 2008

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

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 37