Table of Contents

Definition and Etymology -2

Dildos, Floggers and Nipple Clamps, Oh My by Vic Winter - 3

Disciplinary Measures by Mychael Black - 11

A Secret Vice by Syd McGinley - 19

Contributors’ Bios - 27

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Definition: A nipple clamp is a clamp used to stimulate the nipples by applying varying degrees
of pressure. Its basic principle relies on restriction of blood flow to the erect nipple. They are
often used in certain BDSM activities, on both men and women. The use of nipple clamps is
often portrayed in the media as deviant or kinky sexual behavior.

The main types of nipple clamp are the clover clamp and the tweezer clamp. The common
household clothes-pin is also popular. However, any device that can be used to apply direct
pressure can be used. For self-use, successful application requires the user to find a personal
balance between the amount of pain and pleasure by fine-tuning the degree of pressure exerted
by the clamp. The clamps are typically used in pairs and connected by a chain.

Weights may be hung from the clamps to increase the force on the nipples. This also discourages
the clamped person from moving suddenly (for example, jumping when spanked or caned), since
this would make the weights swing and increase the pain.

Another variation involves a separate chain attached to the chain connecting the nipple clamps.
The other end of this chain is connected either to a clamp to be attached to the clitoris, for
female, or a cock ring, for male. This variation is known as "Y clamps" for the shape of the chain
linking all 3 connection points when attached to the body.

Source: Wikepedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nipple_clamps

Etymology:
Nipple: 538, nyppell, alt. of neble, probably dim. of O.E. neb "bill, beak, snout" (see neb), hence,
lit. "a small projection."
Clamp: 1304, probably from clamb, orig. pt. of climb, or from M.Du. klampe, from W.Gmc.
*klamp- "clamp, cleat." The verb is from 1677.
Source: Online Etymology Dictionary http://www.etymonline.com/

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Dildos, Floggers and Nipple Clamps, Oh My

By Vic Winter

Derek pointed and giggled; Jamie followed Derek’s finger to the shelf that had his best friend
ever red-faced and chortling.

“Oh. My. God.”

It was the biggest dildo he’d ever seen. Not that Jamie was an expert or anything, but he was
pretty sure most dildos weren’t a foot and a half long and six inches across. “It’s just for show.”

“You think?”

They approached it cautiously, together, and Derek looked around to make sure no one was
watching before reaching out and poking the huge erection. The touch made it jiggle a little bit,
and then topple over. It landed with a bit of a crash, knocking over a display of penis key rings
and pens.

“Shit!”

He and Derek crouched down, hurrying to pick up all the key rings and pens, throwing them into
a nearly-empty basket of flavored lube on the bottom row of the display. They were almost done
when the biggest dildo in the world rolled off the shelf above them and landed on Jamie’s head.

Ow.

That fucker was heavy.

And one hundred and forty-nine dollars. Not only was it not fake, it was for sale.

“Ouch,” said Derek, looking at the price.

“Yeah, in more ways than one.” Jamie rubbed his head, while Derek rubbed at his own ass,
making a face.

“Put it back before someone comes up this aisle and sees.” God, he knew it probably made them
immature or something, coming into the sex shop and giggling like they were a pair of teenagers.
But truth be told, he’d never been in a sex shop before and all of Derek’s experience involved his
credit card and the internet.

If it wasn’t well over a hundred dollars, Jamie might actually have bought the humongous dildo,
just for fun. Because it was fun. It felt hard but jiggly in his hands as he picked it up and tried to
get it to stand up the way they’d found it. In order to do so, he had to get both hands around it
and kind of… well, stroke it to get it stop moving and settle firmly on the shelf.

Derek managed to keep quiet until Jamie almost had it steady, but his friend burst out into a loud

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bark of laughter and Jamie jumped, knocking the thing over again.

He glared, but Derek was unapologetic. “Dude, you were giving it a hand job.”

Yeah. Yeah, he really had been. Suddenly seeing the humor in the situation, he started laughing,
too.

They were both silenced by the sound of boots heading toward their aisle and Jamie shoved the
dildo back onto the shelf, stacking a couple of videos in front of it to keep it from rolling off
again. They were three-quarters of the way down the aisle, randomly tossing items into their
basket, when the chick in a leather corset, leather pants and high heeled, knee-high fuck-me
boots who’d been at the cash counter rounded the top end of the aisle and glared down at them.

They moved even faster, grabbing a few more things and making a bee-line to the counter to pay
and get out before the scary leather chick realized they’d been fooling around with the dildo from
hell. Or heaven, Jamie supposed, if you were a size queen. A really, really big size queen.

He took one look at Derek and nearly burst out into more gales of laughter, so he very studiously
didn’t look at Derek anymore once the leathered-up sales chick was back and ringing up their
stuff.

He didn’t have a clue what all they’d grabbed, but it came to a hundred and forty-seven dollars
and they had to pool their money. They sure hadn’t meant to spend that much, especially on
randomly grabbed items, but as the clerk handed over their bag, she gave them the evil eye and
frankly, Jamie was happy to get out of there.

They took one look at each other as they made it out the door and hightailed it to Derek’s beat-up
little Honda, laughing all the way. Okay, so it had been money well spent because he hadn’t
laughed that hard in forever.

Now they needed to figure out exactly what it was they’d just bought.

***

They got back to Derek’s tiny little one-room apartment, tossing their goodie bag on the bed
before they started arguing about the best way to explore what they’d bought. Derek wanted to
sit on the dilapidated, outdated, electric-green monstrosity he called a couch, so they could look
stuff up on the laptop if needed. Jamie thought they were both smart boys and knew they’d
somehow manage to figure out what was what and they might as well start naked on the bed, so
they were comfortable both when they started out and when their looking got more...
adventurous.

Derek finally agreed with him, after copious amounts of kissing and lots of feeling each other up,
and Jamie had to hide his grin. He pretty much always managed to convince Derek that he was
right, because Derek was so damn easy. Not that he was complaining about that. Nope, not at all.

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So there they sat across from each other on the bed, nice and naked, cocks standing eagerly like
they wanted to see, too, brown bag in between them.

“Take turns?” Derek asked, hand hovering over the bag. He was bouncing a little, his cock
bobbing in his lap.

Jamie nodded. “You can go first,” he offered magnanimously.

“Thanks. I think.”

Laughing, Derek reached into the bag and pulled out a dildo. It was longer than either of them,
with a helmeted head and a number of realistic-looking bumps and veins, the latex smooth and
flesh-colored. Derek held it near the bottom and it flopped over a bit, a healthy curve in it.

Derek opened his mouth to fellate it, but Jamie grabbed it from him. “Ew! It hasn’t been washed,
man. Besides, latex tastes like crap. You wanna suck something, I’m more than happy to
volunteer.” He pointed at his cock, which was extremely interested in the idea of being involved
in some sucking.

Leaning over, Derek gave him a quick suck, taking just the tip in and tongue-slapping it. Jamie’s
eyes crossed and he groaned, hips trying to buck despite the fact that he was sitting with his legs
crossed which was not at all conducive to bucking. That was all the sucking he got, too, because
Derek backed off, looking smug.

“Your turn.”

“Tease.”

Derek grinned unrepentantly. “Quit stalling and let’s find out what else we’ve got.”

Jamie was going to draw it out, tease Derek back, but he was just as curious to see what all
they’d picked up and so he reached into the bag, grabbed what felt like a handle and tugged it
out. It was leather, and he did indeed have the handle, which was braided. The rest was about
two and a half feet of leather: two inches wide and maybe a quarter inch or so thick. The leather
was smooth and heavy and dark and it smelled sexy. He wasn’t sure why leather always smelled
sexy, but it did. Like the couches in the furniture store he occasionally went by.

He caught sight of the price tag. This was the big-ticket item, the reason why their total had been
so high.

“What is it?” Derek reached out and felt the smooth leather. “It’s not a whip.”

“No, but I’m pretty sure it has the same basic use. It’s a flogger. We saw them on that online
leather store you chickened out of buying from.”

“I didn’t chicken out!”

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“You didn’t buy anything.”

“Well, no, it was scary.”

At that they both started laughing again. God, he did love Derek, the big goofball.

Jamie hefted the flogger and slammed it down onto the bed. The mattress reverberated and both
he and Derek sobered, looking at the leather. Shit, that had not been a sexy sound.

“Wow.” Derek took the thing from him and tossed it over the side of the bed. “I was right to
chicken out!” Man, they were going to have to auction that off on eBay or something to get some
of their money back.

Laughing again, Jamie reached over to ruffle Derek’s hair and push the bag into his hands.
“You’re next.”

Derek reached in and made a show of feeling around, before pulling out the next item. It was a
silver chain with two silver... clips?... at either end. “Earrings?” Derek handed them over for him
to see.

Jamie looked at the clips, which were silver with little rubber teeth on them. “Oh! These are
nipple clamps!”

“No way!” scoffed Derek, snatching them back. He looked closely and opened and closed them.
“Are you sure?” Before Jamie could answer Derek attached one to his right nipple. “Ah! Ah!”
He jumped and shouted. “Get it off! Get it off!”

Jamie reached over and took it off, grinning as Derek rubbed his abused nipple. “Ow!” Derek
said emphatically.

“Maybe, but I think you liked it.” Jamie hefted the chain and little clamps in one hand. They
hardly weighed anything, but they’d had a huge effect.

“It hurt!” Derek insisted.

Jamie nodded. He had no doubt that it had hurt. Still. Derek’s prick was harder than ever and it
had started to leak. “Yeah, I bet it did. But you liked it.”

“What?”

Not bothering to answer, Jamie reached over and quickly clipped the clamps on one nipple each,
the silver chain swinging gently between them on Derek’s chest.

Derek gasped, mouth open as he stared at Jamie, and then at his own chest, and then at Jamie
again. “You. I. I.”

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Oh, man. Derek looked... debauched and sexy as hell. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide in
shock, but the dilation of his pupils was all arousal. The silver chain looked cool hanging
between his nipples, which had gone dark red inside the grip of the little rubber clamps. And
Derek’s cock, well it was as hard as Jamie’d ever seen it, the head darker than Derek’s nipples
and leaking. A lot.

Jamie moved over toward Derek and reached out to fondle Derek’s balls, which were drawing up
against his body. Jamie played with them for a moment, watching Derek breathe heavily. He slid
his hand up along Derek’s cock and over the wet head, a keening noise coming out of Derek’s
mouth.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, fingers of his free hand tracing around one aureole and then the other.

“Yeah.” Derek watched his hands, eyes still huge, color high.

“You want me to take them off?”

“N...no.”

Oh, big fucking wow. Jamie wrapped his hand around Derek’s cock and started jacking him off.
Derek shifted, legs stretching out in front of him, hands behind him, elbows locked and
supporting him. It took some of the weight off the chain, which Jamie thought maybe was
cheating, but he didn’t say anything because it also let Derek buck, hips pushing the long, red-
tipped cock through his hand.

Jamie split his attention between Derek’s cock and his nipples and his face, utterly fascinated by
the way having the nipple clamps on had changed this simple, easy hand-job. It was something
else now, something deeper and sexier. Derek made all these noises, too: groans and moans and
little breathless keening sounds. When they started coming more and more frequently, Jamie
reached over and tugged on the chain, giving it a good, hard yank.

The effect was immediate.

Derek screamed. He didn’t shout, or cry out -- he screamed. And his cock pulsed, spunk flying
up over Jamie’s hand and Derek’s belly and chest. Derek’s hips kept moving, punching the still-
hard cock through Jamie’s fist.

“Fuck,” muttered Derek. “Fuck. Oh, God. Fuck.”

Jamie slowed his hand down, watching as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across the tip,
Derek whimpering and shuddering for him. The way Derek writhed under his touch made him
feel pretty damn powerful. A hand job had never been like this before.

The intensity was incredible and he looked up, met Derek’s eyes. “You want me to stop?” he
asked softly, as if the sound of his voice would break the spell.

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“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” He thought that probably meant no, but a glance at Derek’s nipples proved they were
pretty red and he thought maybe that wasn’t too good for them. He kept jacking Derek lightly,
making Derek moan some more, the long body undulating for him. Oh, yeah, Derek was still into
it, still jonesing on it.

He went a bit longer and then reached over to take one of the nipple clamps off.

Derek cried out, hips bucking as more spunk poured out of him. Oh, wow. Too cool. Still
jacking, Jamie reached over and took off the other clamp, Derek whimpering this time and more
come dribbling out of his throbbing cock.

Collapsing, Derek rubbed at his nipples, groaning as his fingers made contact. “Oh, God.”
Another shudder went through him.

Jamie rubbed his hand off on Derek’s skin and then lay down with his friend, cuddled up to
Derek’s body, his cock pushing at Derek’s hip. He was so turned on by what they’d done. Like
really. He thought he might come all over Derek’s hip just thinking about it.

“They still hurt?” he asked, pushing Derek’s hand away from the nipple closest to him. It was
still dark red and pretty swollen and, when he reached to touch, hotter than the rest of Derek’s
skin.

Derek hissed as he touched it, the sound turning into a moan when he leaned forward and licked
it. Derek gasped and bucked as Jamie sucked, and he noticed that Derek’s cock hadn’t gone
down. At all. Not one little bit.

Now, it wasn’t unusual at all for them to get it up more than once in a night -- they were both
young and in their prime, after all -- but this was kind of a constant thing and Jamie thought that
maybe he’d just found out something about Derek that was going to be a lot of fun in bed. He’d
played with Derek’s nipples before, but usually just a cursory rub or pinch on his way down to
the main action at Derek’s groin, but now... well, now he knew how to make Derek scream.

And that was pretty damn cool.

He started rubbing, pushing his cock along Derek’s hip. Derek shifted, pushing with his thigh
and Jamie raised one leg up, putting it over Derek’s so his balls rubbed against Derek’s skin, too.
Groaning, he moved a little faster.

“You want to try them?” Derek asked, picking up the nipple clamps and running the chain over
Jamie’s hip.

He shook his head, shivering as the cool metal tickled along his skin.

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“You want the dildo, though, don’t you?” Derek’s voice held a teasing note and Jamie felt
himself blush. “I’ll do you with it after,” Derek told him, hand sliding to play with his crack.

Jamie shivered again and moved faster. It hadn’t taken this trip to the sex shop for Derek to
discover he liked having his ass played with, fucked. He loved having Derek’s long, hard cock
inside him, Derek leaning over him, pounding into him and making him come. Just the thought
of it had Jamie humping harder against Derek’s hip, his breath starting to come in the short,
sharp little pants that meant he was getting close.

Derek pushed against his hole, something cool and hard right there and as it went in along with
the tip of Derek’s finger, Jamie realized it was one of the nipple clamps. He could feel the
coolness of the chain as it hung along one butt cheek. Derek pushed it in a little farther and then
pulled out his finger, leaving the clamp inside.

Groaning, Jamie moved faster, the clamp soon warm and feeling strange. He could feel it with
every movement he made. Derek tugged him and he got the idea, rolling up onto Derek’s body
and lining up their pricks.

He started moving, thrusting, his cock sliding along Derek’s belly, bumping into Derek’s cock
with every push. The chain was hanging out of his ass, hanging down over the back of his balls
and sliding, the other clamp giving it weight and making it swing a little.

It was obscene. And really turning him on in a big way.

He and Derek started kissing, mouths smashed together, tongues thrusting and licking and
tasting. All he could smell was sweat and come and musk, and the room was filled with the wet
sounds of their cocks sliding, and the groans and pants and grunts they made as they moved
together.

Derek reached behind him and grabbed the little chain, tugging on it. Jamie cried out as he felt
the clamp move inside him, the chain slowly tugging it out. When it was nearly out, Derek gave
it a quick jerk and it flew out past his ass muscles. Jamie cried out, body bucking as his head
went back, his mouth open as come poured out of him. An answering splash came from Derek
and suddenly Jamie was sliding easily as it got slick and wet between them.

“Oh, wow.” He collapsed down onto Derek who patted his ass with one hand.

“Yeah. Wow. Who knew?”

Giggling, he rolled off Derek and reached onto the floor for one of their T-shirts. “Obviously not
us. Good thing we knocked that King Kong dildo off the shelf or we still wouldn’t know.” He
wiped up the come with Derek’s T-shirt and tossed it back onto the floor before cuddling back in
against the lean warmth of Derek’s body. Derek tugged the covers up and they both sighed,
settling comfortably together.

They lay like that for awhile, and Jamie had almost dozed off when Derek asked quietly, “Do

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you think it’s weird?”

“Huh? What?” Jamie raised his head and looked up at Derek. “Is what weird?”

“That I like the, uh, you know, the things. On my nipples.”

Jamie put his head back on Derek’s shoulder and thought about it. “Nah. It’s different and I don’t
think I’d have ever thought of it if we hadn’t accidentally brought ‘em home. But it’s not weird.”

“Cool.”

“Uh-huh.” He settled in again, body quickly going heavy as he started to fall asleep again.

“Jamie?”

He grunted to let Derek know he wasn’t quite asleep yet.

“You think we should go down to that tattoo and piercing shop next?”

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Disciplinary Measures

By Mychael Black

Dennis eased his shirt closed, gingerly buttoning up the front. Every nerve in his body screamed
with the rough caress of the starched material. He almost regretted getting carried away last night
-- almost. Heat rushed through him when he thought back to everything he'd done: the plug, the
ring, the rubber-tipped clamps. Jesus, he'd nearly blown his head off his shoulders with an
explosive orgasm that rivaled anything any partner had ever managed. Sometimes, playing alone
just seemed so much easier -- no bullshit, no one to think he was fucked in the head for wanting
a bit of pain.

Unfortunately, the line of thinking that led to his playing last night now had his cock tenting his
slacks. He was already running late, damn it. Dennis gave his unruly prick a hard thump and
straightened his tie. There'd be time enough for other things involving knots and pain later --
preferably after work and well away from the prying eyes of co-workers. He grabbed his wallet,
slipped on his shoes, and pulled on his suit jacket as he headed out the front door, keys jangling
in one hand. If he was lucky, the day would go fast, because, sweet fuck, his nipples ached.

Dennis slid into his car and soon the opening notes of "Du Hast" from Rammstein filled the air
as he backed out of the driveway. The drive to work was fraught with the usual headaches:
traffic, pedestrians not watching where the hell they were walking, horns blaring. By the time he
rolled into the parking garage, Dennis' hard-on had faded and a headache was taking its place.
With a sigh, he grabbed his briefcase and locked the car up before heading toward the elevators.

He was waiting for the doors to open, praying to God that Roland Forbes was out on a golf day
and not stalking the building, when the object of his fears stepped right up behind him. Even in
the reflection off the metal doors, Roland's features resembled tempered steel: hard, unforgiving,
imposing. And those piercing green eyes were staring right at Dennis' own blue ones.

"Last I checked," Roland said, making a show of glancing at his Rolex, "all agents are to be at
their desks at eight -- precisely." Dennis swallowed, unable to look away from his boss'
reflection. "It's eight-thirty."

Dennis cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. I apologize. I wasn't... feeling well this morning. It won't
happen again. I swear."

The doors swung open just as Roland opened his mouth to say something else. Dennis stepped
into the elevator, groaning inwardly when Roland followed. Couldn't the man take the stairs?
Lord knew it looked like he was obsessed with fitness -- there wasn't an ounce of fat anywhere
on that chiseled, muscular body.

Whoa.

Dennis blinked, turning away and making as if he was fumbling with his briefcase. Instead, he
discreetly readjusted himself. Jesus. The boss? Roland Forbes was straight as a fucking board, no
doubt about that. The last thing Dennis needed was the man finding out Dennis saw him as a

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muscle-bound god encased in a suit. Of course, that was a secret Dennis would never let out.
Roland intimidated the hell out of everybody; for Dennis, though, the man had a starring role in
every depraved fantasy parading through his head.

The elevator doors hissed open and Roland's deep voice startled Dennis, it was so close to his
ear. "I expect you in my office in ten minutes, Grant."

Stunned and, if he had any sense, half-terrified, Dennis could only nod. He was young; he was
new to the firm. And now he'd fucked up enough to land a private chat in his boss' office. With a
newly-raging hard-on, no less. Lovely start to a Monday morning.

At exactly eight-forty, because God knew he couldn't afford to be late again, Dennis knocked on
the wooden door of his boss' office. Dennis had only been in here once -- for his initial interview
with the man who'd quickly become the object of his fantasies. When the rumbled "come in"
sounded, Dennis said a silent prayer and opened the door. As CEO of the up-and-coming
insurance company, Roland spared no expense in the decor of his office. Just like the man who
sat behind an over-sized mahogany desk, Roland's surroundings exuded masculinity and power.
Dark colors, tinted with a touch of gold here and there, dominated the room, giving it an overall
foreboding feeling.

"Sit."

Without thinking, Dennis did as he was told, the office door clicking shut. He sat up straight,
hands folded in his lap, palms sweating. The silence stretched on, Roland watching him, the
man's hands clasped in front of him, elbows on the arms of his chair. Roland looked precisely
like Dennis always imagined he would: commanding, intense, master of all he did and said.

"You've been with us for six months, Mr. Grant."

"Yes, sir." A stern narrowing of those green eyes had Dennis snapping his mouth shut. He barely
swallowed the whimper, grateful his hands were over his lap where they could hide the result of
that glare.

"And in that time, you have been late a total of six times." Roland stood, towering over the desk
and, inevitably, Dennis. Hands clasping behind his back, Roland walked over to the large plate-
glass window overlooking the sprawling hub of Chicago below. "Normally, I would not tolerate
such obvious belligerent behavior," he said. "However, you show great promise in this field.
Therefore..." He turned and Dennis knew, somehow, some way, he'd been found out. "I will
handle your discipline myself."

Dennis didn't dare speak, not even when Roland went over and locked the door. Sweet Jesus.
Roland returned to his chair behind his desk and sat down.

"Empty your pockets."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

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His stomach sinking, Dennis shifted and shoved his hand into his right pocket. He tried his best
to ignore the sudden throbbing ache in his prick as he pulled out the thin silver chain and put it
on Roland's desk. The clamps were small and tipped with black rubber -- highly effective and
easily tightened if so desired. Roland eyed them, and then looked up at Dennis.

"Put them on."

"Sir... please..."

"Do it."

Dennis bit and chewed on his bottom lip as he unbuttoned his shirt. He couldn't fucking believe
this was happening. Never in a million years did he ever think he'd be sitting in this man's office,
ready to snap clamps on his nipples -- which were already sore as hell. He opened his shirt and
picked up the clamps. With a soft hiss, he rolled his left nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
His prick throbbed, pushing against his zipper, the pain in his chest radiating throughout his
body. His eyes started to drift closed.

"Open them. Look at me."

Heart nearly stopping, Dennis opened his eyes, breath beginning to speed up when he saw the
heat in Roland's gaze. The world stopped completely as Dennis put the clamp on. Pain burst
through his chest, arcing along every nerve. He bowed up in the chair, eyes rolling back. Panting,
dazed, he fought the sheer urge to come and repeated the process on the other side, the pain twice
as intense and damn near killing him.

The world went fuzzy and Dennis barely noticed Roland standing. But he sure as fuck noticed
the bright spark of pain that shot through his body when Roland's finger flicked the left clamp.
Dennis hissed, jerking in his chair. Roland slipped a finger under the chain and then tugged.

"Fuck!" Dennis scowled, fingers digging into the leather arms of the chair.

Roland ignored the look. "Since you seem intent on pushing the limits of my good nature by
flirting with the time clock, and since you apparently have a compulsion for... alternative forms
of punishment, you are moving to the office beside mine." He played with the chain, giving it a
little tug now and then, accenting his words, never letting Dennis forget it was there. "Do I make
myself clear?"

"Y-yes, sir," Dennis gasped, prick so fucking hard, it hurt. He had no idea what he was getting
into, but every slide of that finger along the chain promised that he'd alternately enjoy and hate it.

"Get up and drop your pants."

Knowing better than to question, Dennis stood and unfastened his slacks. He prayed to every god
imaginable that Roland didn't have any sort of camera set up because the man put one big hand

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on Dennis' back and bent him forward over the desk. Dennis had no idea what to expect and his
forehead hit the lacquered wood when his briefs were peeled down, exposing his ass to his boss'
gaze.

"I've been watching you," Roland said, stroking his hand slowly over Dennis' ass cheeks. "You
think you're too far under the radar to be noticed..." His hand left and Roland bent down,
whispering in Dennis' ear, "But I see everything."

The following slap sent sharp, brilliant heat sparking through Dennis' body. He yelped and tried
to move, but Roland pressed him harder onto the desk. Another smack followed the first, harder
and louder. Dennis cried out, the sound muffled as he bit on the heel of his palm, wetness
stinging his eyes when he squeezed them shut. His nipples burned and screamed, the clamps
biting into his tender flesh every time Roland's hand connected with his bare ass. By the time
Forbes was done, Dennis was shaking, tears flowing freely. He kept his head down, shoulders
hunched.

"Mm, now what should we do about this?" Roland slipped a hand between Dennis' legs and
cupped him from beneath, hand hot on Dennis' aching prick.

Dennis groaned, voice broken as his body betrayed him, hips rocking. "Please, sir..."

"You like that, don't you, boy? Like having your ass busted? What about your asshole stretched
wide, stuffed so full you feel it for weeks?" Roland stroked as he talked, words putting more heat
and desperation into Dennis' movements. "That's it..." Roland grazed the tip of Dennis' cock,
spreading precome around the head. "You gonna come? Shoot your load on my desk so I can
smell you all day?"

Unable to stop, Dennis moaned, shuddering hard as he came in Roland's fist. Roland chuckled
and slipped his hand away. It appeared in front of Dennis' face, palm full of semen. Dennis didn't
need to be told what to do. He licked Roland's hand clean, reeling on the taste of his own come
mixed with the flavor of Roland Forbes' skin. Roland let out a low growl of appreciation before
taking his hand away.

"Get up."

Dennis stood, wincing at the way his nipples ached. Roland turned him and smirked down at the
clamps. He nodded toward the chair and Dennis sat down. Gripping the arms and gritting his
teeth, he braced himself. Roland eased the first clamp off and Dennis nearly shot out of the chair.
Then wet heat followed, Roland's tongue lapping at the abused skin. Dennis cried out, grabbing
his boss' hair as he bucked in the chair, panting and shaking. Roland looked up and licked a path
up Dennis' neck to his mouth.

"Deep breath, boy," Roland whispered.

When Dennis inhaled, Roland kissed him. So lost in the kiss, in the sensation of Roland's tongue
sweeping through his mouth, Dennis didn't realize Roland had taken off the other clamp until the

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pain shot through him. He screamed against Roland's lips, breathing heavily through his nose as
Roland eased away the ache with his palm.

"Got plans after work?"

Dazed and barely coherent, Dennis could only shake his head.

"Good. You're coming home with me."

***

It was, without a doubt, the longest day Dennis had ever endured. No amount of claims
adjustments, new policies, or endless files could override the fact that, in just ten minutes, he'd
be at his boss' mercy. Dennis bit his tongue, hoping the unpleasant pain would rid his thoughts of
a more pleasurable sort.

Jesus. Six months. Forbes had been watching him the whole time. It didn't take a genius to put
two and two together, so Dennis felt more than a bit foolish for not realizing his boss was a Dom.
And not just any Dom, but a gay one, at that. Then again, this morning's revelations also meant
their professional relationship had taken an interesting detour. As he spent the last ten minutes
saving and closing files, Dennis idly wondered what future staff meetings would be like now.

When his computer chimed, letting him know he had e-mail, Dennis knew in an instant who sent
it. His gut twisting, he opened the program, then the subjectless message from Roland Forbes.

You know where I live. I expect you at my doorstep, ready for me, by six. Do not be late.

After logging his time on his time sheet, Dennis grabbed his things and hightailed it out of the
office. Forbes was still there, but Dennis fully planned on being at the man's penthouse door by
the time Roland walked up. Dennis barely remembered the drive home, which probably wasn't a
good thing given it was during rush hour, but he didn't care. Tossing his stuff onto the couch, he
hurried to the bedroom, stripping as he went. By the time he reached the master bathroom, he
was naked. He stopped and stared in the mirror. He needed a quick shave -- maybe all over. Then
again, he didn't know if Roland liked his subs bare. Shit. Guessing a Dom's likes and dislikes
was a bitch.

While he mulled it over, Dennis started the shower, getting the water nice and hot. He stepped in
and sighed, head falling back as the water heated his skin. His nipples still hurt, though not as
badly as earlier. He had the distinct feeling that would change, though, by the time the night was
over. The brief thought to jerk off crossed his mind, but just before he touched his cock, Dennis
stopped.

Roland wouldn't allow it. Just a gut feeling, it was one Dennis wasn't inclined to ignore. This was
a meeting he didn't want to fuck up. He'd dreamed about it -- wanting and fantasizing -- for the
past six months. He wasn't about to do anything that might piss Roland off now. Letting out a
groan, Dennis grabbed the soap and washed as quickly as possible, giving his cock, balls, and ass

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 15

a good, thorough scrubbing. Confident he was clean, he finally decided to just trim the dark
blond curls around the base of his cock. His balls and ass he kept smooth anyway, loving the way
it felt. When he was done, he rinsed and turned off the water before stepping out onto the
bathmat.

As he dried off, he thought about what to wear. Something not too obvious, but easy to remove.
Jeans and a T-shirt seemed safe enough, with his loafers that he could slip on and off. He tossed
the towel into the hamper and took out a pair of jeans and a shirt. After a moment of pondering,
he also decided on a jock strap -- something to show off his package and his ass. Grinning, he
put the jock on, making sure everything was in place. His cock was only half-hard, but the more
he thought about what would happen at Roland's, the more aroused he became.

"Shit." He growled and pressed the heel of his hand on his dick. "Not now. Still gotta shave."

He finished dressing and did a quick shave, making sure his face was nice and smooth. Then he
splashed on a little aftershave and slipped on his shoes. It was five-thirty, time enough to get to
Roland's, with a few minutes to spare if traffic cooperated. Dennis was out of the house and on
the road five minutes later. He took a bit of a shortcut to get to Roland's place. He parked in the
deck across the street, and with a break in traffic ran across to the posh apartment building. The
doorman barely nodded before opening the door.

Roland Forbes' place was a penthouse suite on the sixteenth floor. Dennis sort of bounced on the
balls of his feet while he waited for the elevator. The numbers ticked off, slow as mud. When the
doors slid open, Dennis let an older woman with a dolled-up miniature poodle tucked under one
arm step in before he did. The doors closed, but not before Dennis caught sight of Forbes
walking into the entryway. Damn, just in time.

By the time the elevator stopped on the sixteenth floor, Dennis was practically shaking. His heart
pounded as he walked up to Forbes' door. Any minute now, Roland would be here and it would
begin. Speak of the devil...

"Nice to see you can be on time when it matters."

Dennis swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Roland unlocked the door and pushed it open, but he didn't go inside. Instead, he turned Dennis
to meet his gaze. "When you step over that threshold, I am Master Forbes. You will obey my
every command. If this isn't something you want, leave now."

Dennis stared at Roland, then at the sprawling, luxurious penthouse just inside. "I want this."

Roland nodded. "Inside. Then strip to your underwear and present yourself."

Taking a deep breath, Dennis went in and began undressing as Roland closed the door. By the
time Roland set his briefcase and keys down, Dennis was on his knees, wearing only his jock,
thighs spread, hands clasped behind his back. Roland circled him, not saying a word. He pushed

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 16

a foot between Dennis' legs, the toe of a black Italian oxford pressing hard against Dennis' cock
and balls. Dennis stopped the groan, barely resisting the urge to rub his crotch on Roland's foot.

"I have something of yours."

Dennis chewed his lip and watched as Roland pulled the clamps from one pocket. The sight of
them immediately brought back memories of that morning -- of him draped over Forbes' desk, of
the heavy hand that turned his ass bright red. Dennis stared at Roland's fingers as the man
caressed the silver chain connecting the clamps. He imagined those fingers thrusting inside him,
spreading him open. He wondered what Roland's cock looked like. Was the man cut or uncut?
Was his prick long and thin, or short but thick? The need to know was almost unbearable.

"Chest out, boy," Roland commanded. Dennis obeyed without question, sucking in a sharp
breath as he straightened his back, pushing his chest out. Roland caught Dennis' right nipple and
rolled it between his fingers. Dennis shuddered, cock throbbing in time to the twists and pulls.
"Mm, you like that." He tweaked the hardening nub sharply and Dennis gasped, hips jerking.

Roland was suddenly there, filling Dennis' vision until Dennis saw nothing but designer dress
pants and a leather belt he hadn't noticed before. His fingers itched to touch, to knead the hard
cock outlined against the rich fabric. The foot between his legs nudged his balls less than gently.
Dennis' head swam and he dared to look up.

"I'm waiting."

Without another second of hesitation, Dennis unbuckled Roland's belt and undid the dress pants.
He damn near moaned when he peeled them open only to find a long, thick cock trapped within a
black jock. Hands almost shaking, he eased the top band down and his mouth watered at the
sight of the foreskinned head leaking precome. He wrapped his fingers around Roland's cock and
slid his hand up, licking the head and skin around it. Roland rumbled his pleasure, hips pushing
insistently. Dennis opened and let the man in, eyes closing as velvet steel slid over his tongue.
Roland tapped his shoulder.

"Put 'em on, boy," Roland growled. "But don't you dare stop."

Whimpering, Dennis took the clamps and somehow managed to get his brain to function enough
to coordinate his movements. He plucked his right nipple, moaning around the hard flesh filling
his mouth. When he release the clamp, his back bowed, eyes flying open just as Roland thrust
down his throat. He felt the precome seeping from his cock head, soaking his jock. Roland
grabbed his head and held him still, thrusts slowing. Dennis knew why.

He pinched his left nipple, eyes rolling back into his head as Roland fucked his throat. The taste
was strong, heady -- bittersweet precome with a hint of something darker, thicker. Roland's skin
was smooth and hot, branding Dennis' tongue and lips with deep, rhythmic thrusts. Dennis
clamped his left nipple and cried out around Roland's cock, entire body going stiff. Roland's
fingers tightened in his hair and the man started fucking his mouth in earnest, strokes fast and
deep. Dennis struggled against the need to breathe and finally settled into Roland's rhythm, his

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 17

lungs burning with every breath through his nose. Black curls tickled every time Roland sank
inside, and Dennis barely had time to inhale before he was filled again.

"Fuck," Roland hissed, movements quickening. "Pull the chain, boy."

Dennis did as he was told and his eyes watered as pain shot through him, from his chest to his
fucking asshole. His cock threatened to explode, his balls tight and ready to blow any second.
Roland grunted and pulled out. One hand fisting his cock while the other grabbed his balls,
Roland let loose a loud roar, shooting his thick, hot load onto Dennis' face. The smell of sex, the
sensation of spunk splashing onto his lips and cheek set off a chain reaction. Dennis gasped and
threw his head back, barely registering a tongue on his skin before he was coming.

"Now the fun begins," Roland whispered. "Shower, boy."

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 18

A Secret Vice

By Syd McGinley

Set in the summer before Samhain and Sol Invictus.

August is more bearable here in the woods than in town, and it’s been pleasant having Tommy
stay. Well, pleasant for me. July was possibly the worst month of his life, but he’s settled down
nicely. He still has bursts of go-go-boy behavior, but more often than not, I know he’s doing it to
provoke a spanking. He’s less frenetic now than he was when we agreed to a six-month contract
in June.

He still sings a lot and I can tolerate it, so long as he stays away from anything too damn
freeform. I can’t bear improvised music. Ben claims it’s a flaw in me that I can’t appreciate jazz.
I say it’s because I have an aesthetic sensibility. We nearly had a physical fight once in college
when he played his damn Lionel Hampton twiddling around on the vibraphone one too many
times, but it was like being trapped in a hellbound elevator as far as I was concerned.

Twink insists I don’t like any music, but that’s just because I told him his techno didn’t count as
music at all. I like my Goldberg variations just fine thank you. Glenn Gould. But belted-out show
tunes and melismatic dreck make my ears itch. Twink also claims I only have a wind-up
gramophone and listen to Caruso on it, but he was just on one of his 'Dr. Fell is a Luddite' riffs.
He knows damn well I have an iPod because he and Ben gave it to me for my birthday. Pre-
loaded with some Purcell and Monteverdi, as well as a heap of Scarlatti, Bach, and Mozart. Ben
said he nearly added Charlie Parker and Miles Davis, but forbore since it was my birthday.
Twink popped his eyes innocently and said, “but Ben, you said now Dr F was thirty he was too
old to change his ways.” Twink ran off squealing into the party at that point, but I remembered it
for later and so did Ben.

Ben grins at me. “John, you’ll have to let the boys know you can sing one day.”

“No, I don’t. And if you tell them about the Renaissance music group, I will kill you,” I say
calmly.

“You have a good baritone.” Ben is completely unfazed. “And those fucking lutes, dude they
twiddle away more annoyingly than any of my jazz possibly can.”

“One semester, asshole. One semester of standing in for the usual baritone.”

“The countertenor was cute,” says Ben.

I grunt. He was, but I’d also met Rob that semester and I’d never bothered to pick up the
countertenor’s hints.

“Madrigal,” mouthed Ben later when he wanted me to back off about the boys being allowed to
go midnight skinny-dipping in the creek. And I did. I didn’t doubt he’d squeal on me, the
bastard.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 19

I sigh and stick my head back under the sink. What a time for the plumbing to start acting up.
The laundry room drains outside to a barrel so we can use the gray water in the garden, but the
kitchen is screwed. It stinks in this heat, too. Tommy is hanging the wash outside. I don’t allow
dryer use in the summer -- what’s the point of wasting power when it’s ninety outside and there
are no neighbors to be pissy about a washing line? He’s in shorts and is fighting the sheets onto
the line, but he’s happy -- I hear him singing something from Chicago.

Tommy has sworn up and down that he hasn’t let anything stupid go down the pipes and sighed
when I reminded him that we don’t have city plumbing.

“Honest, sir,” he said. “I scraped all the plates into either the trash or the compost -- nothing
down the sink.”

I believe him. He’s a pretty good little housekeeper. He didn’t need much training there at all --
just to my preferences rather than from scratch like twink. He’s needed plenty of discipline
training so he’s not really benefited from his abilities on balance. His ass is just as bruised as
twink’s ever was.

I move the cleaning supplies I store under the sink, roll onto my back and scoot under the
stainless steel. The curtain Mom made to hide the sink’s guts from view tickles my belly. Dad
never got around to the doors she wanted, and now I’m too sentimental to take it down. When it
goes to rags, I guess I’ll build the doors.

I’m just in my jeans and tool belt. It’s sweltering. I can already tell plumbing is going to be
involved, not just drain cleaner. I think my poor cabin is complaining about year-round use after
decades of just summer visits. The pipes and everything are original and I’m not sure how well
maintained the place was in Mom’s last few years. I’ve fixed the obvious problems -- like the
roof -- but there are weekly surprises. The cabin’s a funny hybrid now -- it’s half tumble-down
and half spiffed-up; it has a fine new sleeping loft that Tony designed for me as barter for
Colby’s training fees and that Luke helped me build. Poor boy -- Brin had him pay for his own
training with sweat equity. Luke’s also done some basic front yard landscaping with his yard
service business and re-built the porches with me. But that he was paid for that by the other
doms, and we actually enjoyed each other’s company. He’s a good craftsman and we both took
pride in building the porches. They’re closer to decks now and I think they have as much square
footage as the cabin.

I tap a pipe experimentally. I’m a good carpenter, a reasonable handyman, and a doubtful
plumber, but I reach for a wrench and the WD40 and start working. The pipes are all old and
metal -- no plastic -- and there’s rust as well as grunge to deal with. I put a bucket where I think
the water will first spurt.

It’s hot, dark, and smelly. And very, very boring as I get a millimeter of coupling nut to move at
a time. My thoughts start to drift. I’m too disciplined to think of Rob. Although I have to sternly
dismiss him from my mind -- there was a fleeting memory of his distress when the only washer
we ever had overflowed and flooded the basement of the house we shared with Ben. He was sure

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 20

I’d thrash him, and I would have if Ben hadn’t rescued him with a shrug and said, “It does that
every so often. Just means we need RotoRooter to get the tree roots cleared out.” Rob confessed
he thought he’d put in too much at once because he was only used to big Laundromat washers.
Ben laughed, kindly enough, but still rather annoyingly.

“You two don’t have enough between you to overload it!”

When Rob carefully took out his best jeans, my weekend jeans, and our two towels, I saw that he
didn’t overload it at all and that Ben was right. Our heavy load was nowhere near enough to
overload it. We really didn’t have much.

Aw, hell, I’ve been thinking of him anyway: his sweet, pleading face when he saw I had seen the
mess, and his diligent mopping up, followed by a cheerful whole-basement scrub down. That
boy sure liked things spick-and-span.

Fuck, I have to think of something else as I work. At least I can’t hear Tommy any more -- the
last blast I heard was as he moved on to Rent.

My mind drifts back to when Pol took me to see it. God, how we argued. He loved it; I hated it.
That didn’t play out well. I touch my chest involuntarily, and shiver in the heat as I brush my
nipple.

Whether it’s the heat, boredom, or thinking of Rob and Pol, I don’t know, but I tweak my nipple,
and my prick leaps in response. Shit -- no one has played with them for a long time. I’d forgotten
how tender they are and how damn much I like a little tit play.

My right hand keeps cranking at the pipe and my left picks up the rhythm on my nipple -- I
switch from nipple to nipple and soon the pipe is moving along and my cock is rigid.

Oh Christ it feels good -- there’s a direct line from my prick to my pecs and they twitch and jump
together. I’m almost ready to stop the repair job and jerk off when a thin trickle of water starts
pattering down.

“Shit!”

I move my face fast to get away from the skunky water and bump my head on the side of the
counter.

“Crap!” I shove the bucket into a better position so it catches the water.

Suddenly I’m really unwilling to either lose my buzz or let the sink win. Dammit -- I’m going to
fix the sink and get off. I scrabble in my shoved-aside tool box for something to help me get the
sink apart faster. What I find will help, but not with the coupling nut.

I pause and then think ‘fuck it’ -- I need both hands for the next bit. Instead of discarding the
vice grip pliers, I pull them out of my tool box and let the cold metal rest on my belly for a

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 21

second while I shimmy back into a better position. My jeans-clad ass slides across the linoleum
and I brace my bare feet flat for a second so I can rotate my tool belt so nothing pokes into the
small of my back.

I take a preparatory breath as I was taught to do, position the vice grips, and tighten the screw
until they bite onto my nipple.

Oh dear non-existent god in his imaginary fucking heaven. I pant for a few seconds. Even lying
flat, the weight of the grips tugs as my breathing makes them shift around. I give them a fraction
of a tighten and go back to working on the damn coupling nut.

Every move I make has the wicked cold grip of the pliers bounce and tug and I regret my idea
and succumb to it at the same time.

The repair job and my titillation proceed apace and by the time the nut comes loose, I’m on the
edge. The trap comes off and water sprays into the bucket. My hands are full with tools and pipe,
and every movement still sends jolts down me, and my cock is ready to burst the buttons on my
jeans -- surely they’re about to fly off. To my amazement, they do start popping open one by
one.

Then I hear Tommy’s giggle.

“Oh Sir, you look so -- ”

I stifle a curse, and remember he can’t see my top half. The curtain is draped across my navel.
All Tommy can see are my legs sticking out from under the sink. And, of course, my raging
hard-on.

I’m safe.

Tommy is dragging my jeans down -- I’m commando today -- and he’s already got his wicked
mouth on my cock.

Oh fuck -- I’m tweaking my free nipple frantically and biting my dirty knuckles not to yell out.
The vice grip slides to one side of my ribs as Tommy gives a particularly evil suck and swirl. I
groan as the metal ridges slip free. I hold my breath knowing the next few moments are going to
be intense.

Poor Tommy -- the rush of blood and sensation to my nipple as the pressure goes away makes
me buck my hips, yell, and shoot deep into his mouth. He was nowhere near ready and I hear
him still choking as my back arches back down.

I lie, drained, under the dripping sink while Tommy clutches my thighs. I’m drenched in sweat,
and my tits throb, but I think I’m safe to slide out.

“Boy! You’re just lucky I was done with this part of the job. Get me some iced tea.”

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 22

“Yes sir, Dr. Fell.”

Tommy gets off me, and I squirm out. I go to wash up in the bathroom, look anxiously at my
pink nipples, and come back for my tea.

Tommy is assiduously folding a basket of laundry -- damn I love the scent of sun-and-wind-dried
clothes -- and he pauses to hand me my tea.

He smiles shyly, and I’m suspicious. That boy is never shy. But as far as I can tell he’s done
nothing wrong. His own hard-on from blowing me is still wilting. He knows he doesn’t get to
come without earning it. He’s just in his shorts and is a little rosy from the sun. He’s a dark-
haired boy with a naturally brown skin, and, when he flushes, the pink under the brown is just
disarming. His nipples -- ahhh -- now I get it. He did get a glimpse. His nipples are peaked and
pink -- he was pinching them while he sucked me off. I reach out and brush one lightly with the
back of my finger and he drops the kitchen towel he’s folding.

“Sir,” he whimpers.

I laugh. “What, boy?”

He hangs his head and knows there’s no point lying. “You were so damn hot, sir.”

I grin, and know I can trust him not to tell twink. “And?”

He looks from side to side frantically for a moment, then sobs, and touches my pecs. “Oh, sir!
Do that to me?”

I reach into his laundry basket and hold out a clothespin in front of him. His hard-on springs
back to attention, and I have him wriggle out of his shorts.

He kneels naked in front of me, and sticks his chest out obligingly when I squeeze the pin open
and closed. His cry sounds betrayed when I put the first one on his balls, but the next two go on
his perky little pink teats. He gasps and squirms.

“Hands behind your head.”

He obeys, and then bucks as I brush my hand over all three of his pins in turn.

“Such a shame I just came. It might be awhile before I’m ready to play.”

Tommy wails and his cock jerks.

I twine my hand in his long black braid and tug gently. “Poor boy.” His back arches as I pull him
back and loop his own braid around his ankles. He’s bowed back and his chest thrusts upward. I
flip each pin. I kiss his wrists -- he’s only restrained by his obedience and the loose knot of his

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 23

hair. He could pull free in a second.

“Keep the pose.”

I walk away and Tommy stays arched and quivering.

I sip slowly at my iced tea while I rummage though the supply closet to see if I have the
replacement washers and seals I need for the sink. I come back and set the trap over the bucket to
drain. Tommy is gasping like a landed fish.

I point to his dick which is twitching and glossy at the tip with pre-come. “If you had a foreskin,
you know where the fourth clip would be?”

I hear a thin whine from him. I remove the pin from his balls and he gasps. I take his right wrist
and guide his hand to his cock, leaving his left hand still cradling the back of his head.

“Show me your stroke, boy.”

He starts off frantically and I slap his cock hard.

“I said show me your stroke, not whack off as fast as you can.”

I set the kitchen timer for ten minutes. “You come before the buzzer and I’ll thrash your ass.”

Tommy moans. He’s already oozing and jumping at the slightest touch.

I stroke his face. “It’s okay, boy -- if you want to come that badly, go ahead. I’ll thrash you as a
penalty, but not in anger.”

His hand increases its pace, but he gives me an anguished look. He wails when I flip his nipple
pins. I keep the pins in motion as he wanks. The tears are flowing down his face as he fights to
go slow, then speeds up, and slows again.

“The riding crop for failure, I think.”

He slows down a little more until I squeeze a pin so it releases for a second and re-clamps. He
squeals, his hand picks up the motion, and there’s no more sound except his breathing and the
thwap thwap of his cock and hand.

He’s made it to five minutes. I reach over and take off one spring-loaded wooden pin.

“No,” he cries. “Sir, oh no!”

His eyes widen in anticipation, and then he keens as the pain and sensation hit. His head jerks,
his braid uncoils, and he loses his pose.

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 24

I shake my head. “Well that’s a beating anyway, boy.”

His hand works harder as he gives up holding out for the ten minutes. The remaining pin bounces
and waggles at me as Tommy jerks off as fast as he can.

The boy has a pretty cock -- slender, but well-shaped, and a nice length. His balls are starting to
lift and tighten and his thighs tense. I lean in and suck on his tender naked tit and release the peg
on the other one.

He screams and blows his load all over the kitchen floor.

“Sir! Sir!” he cries as he milks the last drops out and still shivers and shudders as the cool air hits
his wet, tender nipples.

I let him have a moment leaning against me while he gathers his senses. We both gasp and jerk
when our nipples scrape as we move apart.

I point at the floor. “That needs mopping boy, but it can wait until I fix the drain. I think there
will be more mess.”

Tommy is still shaking and smiles gratefully at his brief reprieve from labors. He asks if he can
take a cool shower, and, since I’m in a good mood, I let him use the bathroom instead of the
usual boys’ summertime clean-off spot: the hose pipe outside.

I turn back to the removed trap. The metal looks fine, so I start to ream it out in the hope it can
be re-used at least for the summer and save me a trip to town. The usual nasty black gunk spirals
out into the bucket along with a few clatters. I sigh. What the hell has been cluttering up my
pipes?

I pour some water into the bucket, swirl it around, and empty it off the back porch slowly so the
heavy stuff stays behind.

Holy crap. There’s a .22 bullet -- must be from dad’s attempt at rabbit hunting one year -- a
screw, a beat-up pull tab from a beer can, and a gold loop. I laugh -- I remember poor twink
weeping over losing an earring -- how the hell it ended up in the kitchen sink has to be an “only
twink” story, I’m sure.

Tommy comes back in and asks if he may have some iced tea. I nod, and show him the reasons
the sink has been gunking up. He looks relieved to see it wasn’t veggie peelings or food scraps.

I hold the gold loop up, pinch his nipple hard, and say, “Perhaps I should sterilize this and see
how it enhances you.”

Tommy yelps and covers his nipples.

“You first, sir,” says the cheeky brat, and I remind him he’s owed a damn good beating for

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 25

losing his pose, and shooting after eight minutes.

Tommy scampers off to the whipping post, twitching his ass, and singing something by that
Madonna Spears girl: “Gimme more hanky panky...”

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 26

Contributors’ Bios

Mychael Black
Mychael has been writing gay erotica for several years. When not writing, Mychael can usually
be found researching or brainstorming. Mychael’s favorite subjects of research are: Medieval
history, Welsh history, Welsh culture, Welsh language, Swords, Castles, Archaeology, Celtic
history, Celtic mythology, Vampires and vampire mythologies, Magick, Christian mysteries,
Angels, and other such topics. Mychael welcomes feedback and will gladly answer all messages.
Mychael’s Website: http://www.mychaelblack.com

Syd McGinley
Syd McGinley is an ex-pat Brit living in Ohio. Syd also has a Sip available, Pet Sitting, and an
Arcana story, Until the End of Time: The Chariot. Syd’s writing can be found in several
Torquere anthologies such as Torqued Tales, Eternal Darkness, Men in Uniform, and Play Ball,
as well as a single author Taste Test, Put Some English on It.
Visit www.sydmcginley.com for more queer erotica.

Vic Winter
Heat in real life is the bane of Vic’s life, whose favorite season is winter. Vic’s life is far more
mundane than fiction. When it comes to fiction, the hotter the better is Vic’s motto. Make it
romantic, make it sexy, make it erotic, but definitely make it hot. Visit Vic’s in progress website
at

http://www.stemsandfeathers.org/vwinter/index.html

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 27

Toy Box: Nipple Clamps

Edited by M. Rode

Disciplinary Measures © 2008 Mychael Black
A Secret Vice © 2008 Syd McGinley
Dildos, Floggers and Nipple Clamps, Oh My © 2008 Vic Winter

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: 978-1-60370-342-0
ISBN-10: 1-60370-342-X

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

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

A Torquere Press Toy Box - 28