Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

2

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Copyright ©2007 by Torquere Press

First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2007

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Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

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Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

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Table of Contents

Definition and etymology—2

The White Corset by Vic Winter—3

Personal Fitting by Rob Knight—10

Secret Skin by Sean Michael—19

Contributors' Bios—28

Definition and Etymology

Definition: A corset is a garment worn to mold and shape

the torso into a desired shape for aesthetic or medical
purposes (either for the duration of wearing it, or with a more
lasting effect).

Both men and women have worn—and still wear—corsets.
Many garments sold as "corsets" during recent years are

not technically corsets in the traditional sense. While modern
"corsets" and "corset tops" often feature lacing and/or boning
and generally mimic a historical style of corsets, they have
very little if any effect on the shape of the wearer's body.

In recent years, the term "corset" has also been borrowed

by the fashion industry to refer to tops which, to varying
degrees, mimic the look of traditional corsets without actually
acting as one; such tops are frequently seen in stores which
cater to fans of Gothic fashions. Many such tops feature lacing

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or boning and are fairly tight-fitting; however, genuine
corsets are usually made by a corsetmaker and should ideally
be fitted especially for the wearer.

Source: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corset
Etymology: Middle English, bodice, from Old French,

diminutive of cors, body, from Latin corpus; see kwrep—in
Indo-European roots.

Source: www.thefreedictionary.com/corset

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

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The White Corset

By Vic Winter

Jeremiah Saunders was inspired.
He crept down the stairs from his little apartment over the

shop even though he was alone and there was no one to
disturb. He was a quiet man, though, and had spent his whole
life not being noticed, so it was a habit.

He made his way to his workshop at the back of the store

by feel, and turned the little light over his workbench on.
Before sitting, he gathered the materials he needed: the new
mother of pearl silk and the white lace, the shimmering
aquamarine ribbon and several whalebone inserts. The white
leather was already at the table, ready and waiting for him.

Then he sat, his back bent over the worktable, his fingers

gnarled and callused from years of use.

Jeremiah wasn't particularly old, but he worked hard and

always had. His father had always said—if you aren't
beautiful, you have to work hard. No one would ever accuse
Jeremiah of being beautiful. He wasn't ugly, but he was quite
plain, with hair the color of coal, and eyes nearly as dark. His
skin was dusky, almost olive, and certainly not the pale
creamy color so much in favor right now. No, he was not
beautiful, but he worked hard, and the corsets that came to
life beneath his fingertips were themselves the very definition
of beautiful.

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He worked all through night, not taking a single break—he

was, after all, inspired.

The white leather had arrived the week before; buttery

smooth, it had called to his fingers and he'd stroked it again
and again. Just before going to bed last night, he'd come back
down and smoothed it over his work bench one last time. It
was no wonder he'd dreamed of it.

In his dream, the leather had been fashioned into a corset,

not for a woman, but for a man. And the man who'd worn it
... he'd been muscled and smooth, with skin the color of dark
chocolate. The contrast with the white corset, and the way it
hugged the man's waist ... Jeremiah had woken hard and
aching, but he hadn't taken himself in hand. Instead, he'd
held the image tight in his mind so he wouldn't lose it, and
come downstairs.

He sharpened the scissors on the whetstone, the sound

loud in the darkness, and cut carefully, but without
measuring. One wrong move would have ruined the white
leather, but the vision in his mind was strong and true and he
trusted it, trusted in his hand to duplicate what he'd seen in
the dream. He did the same with the silk and the ribbon, the
whalebone insets cut down to fit the needs of the male corset.

Gnarled and callused as they were, his fingers were nimble

when it came to the creation of his corsets, magic working
between his hands and the materials, and he never seemed
to feel the passage of time when he worked, becoming so lost
in the creation that all other concerns faded away.

Jeremiah was still at it when the sun came up, shining

through the store front windows and trying to reach him in

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the back of the shop where he hunched over his workbench.
The sun made the silk and ribbon shine where it hit them,
hinting at how the light would play with the corset when it
was worn.

He finished just before the store was due to open at nine,

his fingers sliding over leather and silk, whalebone and
ribbon. It all felt amazing beneath his coarse skin: amazing
and delicate. He knew the silk and leather were far sturdier
than they felt, that his rough skin wouldn't tear them.

Running upstairs, he quickly changed into slacks and a

work shirt before coming back down to unlock the front door,
and turn on the lights: ready for customers. His hands ached
now from the night's work, and they were clumsy as he put
the new corset on a mannequin. He made them do the work,
though, hanging the corset and tightening the long ribbons
that tied it closed in the back, so that it was shown off to its
best advantage.

That done, he wrapped his hands in warm cloths, sighing

with relief when the heat penetrated his skin and warmed
muscles and bones, easing the pain. He made himself a bowl
of broth, the hot soup warming his belly and easing his
tiredness.

The bell over the door jangled around ten and Jeremiah

looked up to find Mrs. Havers, the buxom blonde one of his
best customers, accompanied today by a friend as blonde and
statuesque as she herself was.

"Jeremiah, how are you, darling? You look positively worn.

You work too hard, poor thing. But it's all worth it in the
end—he does the most exquisite work, Anna. You must see

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the pieces he's made for me." She prattled on about the ball
she was planning and how her corset would shine. Jeremiah
would have a dozen new customers after the ball, and many
orders for custom pieces. Word of mouth was his best tool.

Bowing his thank you for the compliments, he hurried to

his workroom where he kept the commissioned pieces and
came back with the two that she'd requested. They were
elaborate aquamarine shiny things, with much ribbon and
bows and glitter. And while he preferred the quieter beauty of
the white corset he'd just made, these were some of his best
work. The lady would look exquisite in them.

She and her friend both squealed and raved, making him

blush with their outrageous compliments. She went to the
little changing room, and once she'd donned the corset, she
opened the cream-colored curtain and Jeremiah tightened the
corset for her, pulling the ribbons very tight. He was careful
not to touch her pale skin with his rough fingers.

Both corsets fit, and Mrs. Havers was most delighted.

Jeremiah smiled and bobbed his head like one of those dolls,
letting the gossip slide over his head as he carefully packaged
the corsets up and put them into bags.

After money had exchanged hands and Anna had her bags

and was halfway out the door, Mrs. Havers kissed his cheek.
"Thank you, Jeremiah. I know how much work goes into
every corset you make and you truly do work magic. I'm
going to be the absolute belle of the ball and it's due mainly
to you."

"Not only due to me, Madame."
"Flatterer," she accused.

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But he shook his head. "I am honored that my work has

such a showcase. Truly." And he did mean it. She was loud
and gaudy, and quite beautiful. Much of his business had
come on her recommendation alone.

She kissed his cheek again and left, the perfumes of her

and her friend lingering in the air, and he went to the back to
open the door. The place needed airing out anyway and he far
preferred the scents of leather and tools to clinging
floweriness.

When he returned to the front of the store there was

someone standing before the mannequin displaying the new
corset and he hurried over.

"I'm sorry, that's not for..." He was stopped in his tracks

as the man, for it was a man who was making such a close
examination of the corset, turned. Skin the color of dark
chocolate, the man had a bald head, and high cheekbones.
His eyes were black coffee, hot and liquid, his lips thick,
making Jeremiah want to reach out and touch to see if they
were as soft as they appeared to be. He wore a simple linen
suit the color of a powder blue sky, his shirt white like the
clouds. A tie, slightly darker than the suit, had been loosened
around his neck.

It was the man from Jeremiah's dream, the one for whom

he'd made the corset. Not someone similar, but the very man
he'd pictured in his dream.

"Not for what?" Even the man's voice was like chocolate,

rich and smooth and Jeremiah could almost taste it.

"For sale," Jeremiah finished, rooted to the spot. He

couldn't stop staring, and the rest of the shop had faded

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away. There was only the man and the corset, both together
in front of him. It was prefect.

"It isn't? That's too bad—the workmanship is exquisite. It

would fetch a pretty penny. I myself would be willing to pay a
lot for it. Can I convince you to change your mind?" The man
flashed him a smile, teeth bright in the dark face, and if
Jeremiah hadn't lusted over the man in his dream, which he
had, he certainly would have lusted over the man in person,
which he did.

He shook his head. "No, I can't sell it. It was made for..."

His voice faded away again.

"Made for whom?" asked the man.
Jeremiah couldn't stop the word from spilling out. "You."
"Me?" The man laughed, the sound rich and deep.
It made Jeremiah shiver and he went to the mannequin,

working the ribbons to loosen the corset.

"I thought you said it wasn't for sale." The man was close,

and Jeremiah could feel the heat from the strong body. He
was thankful for the cool breeze from the back door on his
cheeks.

"Oh, it's not. It's yours though. I made it for you." That

was the simple truth of it. "I had a dream last night. And it
woke me, so I came down and made the corset. It fits you
I'm sure."

Those dark eyes looked into his own, into him, holding him

rooted to the spot. "You don't even know my name." The
words were softly spoken, almost teasing.

"What is it?" Jeremiah asked, riveted to the spot.

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"Dulcimo." Oh, that voice danced over the word, rolling it

into a song.

As if the single word released him from his spell, Jeremiah

turned back to the mannequin. "Oh, that's lovely. Just like
you." Jeremiah caught the corset once it had been loosened,
removing it from the mannequin and smoothing his fingers
along the lovely leather before handing it over. "I'm Jeremiah.
And this is yours."

"I can't..." And yet Dulcimo took the corset from him, dark

fingers exploring the workmanship.

Jeremiah watched, imagining those fingers on his skin,

imagining Dulcimo in the corset. "Of course you can."

"I have to pay you something."
"I would like to see you in it," Jeremiah admitted.
Those almost black eyes met his, and Dulcimo nodded.

"Lock the front door."

Jeremiah hurried to do as Dulcimo had asked, turning the

sign so it read closed and locking the bolts. The sound of
them clicking home was loud, so loud in his little shop. It
wasn't even noon yet and he was closing, closing in order to
see the beautiful black man wearing his corset.

Swallowing, he tried to ignore the way his cock rose,

putting a tent in his trousers. He hoped that Dulcimo would
not be insulted to have such a salute directed at him, but just
the memory of the dream would have been enough to make
him hard. Having the corset and the man together in his shop
was too much to ignore.

Dulcimo had disappeared, as had his corset, and for a

moment Jeremiah feared that they'd both disappeared out the

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back door, but movement by the change room assured him it
was not so, the curtain that closed the tiny room from the
shop moving.

"I need your help, Jeremiah." Oh, his name in those rich,

velvety tones was enough to make his balls ache.

"What can I do?" he asked.
The curtain was pushed aside, and Jeremiah gasped at the

sight that greeted him. Dulcimo was turned so Jeremiah had
the back view. Utterly naked, but for the corset, that dark
skin made the white corset shine. The ribbons had not been
pulled tight yet, and already it framed Dulcimo's ass almost
perfectly, the round globes high and beautiful.

Stepping forward, Jeremiah began the long, arduous task

of pulling the ribbons tight, working from the top and bottom
to the middle. "Is it tight enough?" he asked once he had
completed a half dozen tugs, which brought him a third of the
way down the corset.

"It's perfect, Jeremiah. It fits beautifully, as if it really was

made for me."

"But of course it was." Smiling, Jeremiah continued to pull

the ribbons tight.

His fingers slid over silk and leather and skin, the heat of

Dulcimo's body quickly warming the corset. He made it quite
tight, pulling Dulcimo's waist in so the corset flared just over
the top of the high, round buttocks. His fingers brushed the
top of that amazing ass again and again as he pulled the last
few times. Then he tied the ribbons tight, letting the excess
hang over Dulcimo's ass. White on dark brown, the contrast
shocking ... arousing.

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"Oh..." He swallowed his whimper, and pulled his reaching

hands back to his sides, curling his gnarled fingers in to keep
from touching.

"How does it look?" Dulcimo asked, head turning, trying to

look down behind himself.

"I have never seen anything so beautiful," Jeremiah

replied, voice husky, his need obvious to his own ears.

And to Dulcimo's as well it would seem. He could see it in

the smile he was given, in the way Dulcimo's eyes suddenly
blazed with heat.

"You should see it from the other side," Dulcimo told him,

turning slowly.

Jeremiah held his breath, moaning at the sight that was

before him. The corset started right below Dulcimo's dark,
dark nipples, it hugged the man's body, cinching in tight
around his waist and ending just above Dulcimo's bare pubic
area. The man was shaved and Jeremiah's fingers had a new
ache—they ached to touch the bare skin.

Dulcimo's dark cock was thick, full, rising up to leave a

single drop of pre-come on the white leather, dampening it.
Moaning, Jeremiah went to his knees—how could he not when
faced with such a vision? His dream had not done it justice, a
poor representation of the reality.

He didn't ask permission, he just wrapped his lips around

the head of Dulcimo's cock, tongue flicking out to gather the
liquid that pooled at the slit. The taste was heady, musky and
strong and Jeremiah sucked harder, wanting more. Craving it.

Long-fingered hands landed on his head, not pushing him

away, but pulling him closer, encouraging him to bob his head

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and take more of Dulcimo in. He did so, mouth sliding on the
thick flesh, his saliva making Dulcimo's cock shine. He could
feel each of Dulcimo's fingers, not callused as his own were,
just soft and sure and guiding him.

His own hands slid around to grab the round ass, each

cheek fitting into his palm. The hard muscles tightened,
Dulcimo beginning to thrust, to push the dark prick into his
throat time and again. He swallowed around the tip each time
it came deep, and Dulcimo started making noises, wanton
and desperate.

Jeremiah bobbed his head faster, and he hummed, the

vibrations of the sound tickling his own lips and travelling
along Dulcimo's prick.

With a shout, Dulcimo thrust deep and came, seed

spraying from the thick cock and rushing down Jeremiah's
throat to fill his belly. It was his favorite sustenance. He could
hear Dulcimo panting harshly above him, knew the corset was
holding the man tight, that each breath wanted to be shallow.

Jeremiah moaned softly, his mouth clinging as Dulcimo

pulled his cock free. He looked up slowly, admiring his own
craftsmanship, gasping at the stark contrast between the
white and the dark skin, dampened and shining with sweat.

Dulcimo's eyes met his warming him all the way through,

and one of the hands on his head slid around to cup his
cheek. "Did you really dream of me, lover?" Dulcimo asked.

Jeremiah nodded. "Of course. You haunt my dreams every

night."

"And the corset? It was a dream as well?"

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"Yes, last night. I saw you in it as clearly you are standing

here." Though he still maintained that the reality outshone
the dream tenfold.

"You know you could get a lot of money for this." Dulcimo

touched the corset, hands sliding over leather and silk.

His answer was immediate. "No, I made it for you."
"But—"
"No, buts. It is yours. Especially now that I have seen you

in it, I cannot bear to think of it gracing any body but yours."

Bending, Dulcimo brought their lips together and Jeremiah

was moaning again, the deep, rich flavor of his lover sweet
upon his tongue. "Come upstairs and let me love you
properly, Jerry."

"The shop..." he wanted to, so very badly, his whole body

aching to do exactly that.

"Will only be closed an hour or so. And I've been gone for

nearly two weeks."

"I know. I missed you so." He hated when his lover was

away, it reminded him too much of all the years he'd been
alone.

Dulcimo ran his hands down over the corset, tilting his hips

this way and that—such a sensual man. "I know. I like the
way you miss a body. Perhaps I should go away more often."

Jeremiah's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

Dulcimo was away often enough as it was, his lover's warm
body so often missing from their bed. "No," he said softly. "I
can hardly bear the time you are gone."

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"Nor can I and it was mean of me to tease. Come on. Let's

make new memories to keep us both warm when I'm not
here."

Dulcimo helped him up and led the way to the stairs.

Jeremiah let his lover go ahead so he could watch the lovely
body displaying his handiwork so beautifully. Dulcimo was
certainly a vision, a feast for his eyes. And for more than just
his eyes, this version of his dream was real.

The aches in his fingers and the tiredness in his bones had

disappeared, and he was only aware of the ache in his cock
and balls as Dulcimo climbed the stairs, corset hugging the
dark body.

Jeremiah Saunders was inspired.

Personal Fitting

by Rob Knight

"Sandy, you know I don't do male corsets. No, it's not a

matter of ... It's aesthetics. I don't like ... Damn it, Sandy, I
don't have time for a consultation today." Evan Tandy
growled at his assistant, who shouldn't even be worrying
about work on Sunday afternoon, and certainly not booking
him consults with some guy.

"Ev, I know you're hopeless at pop culture, but this guy is

famous. He wants to wear the corset on stage. This is
thousands of dollars of free advertising. Just measure him
and make the fucking corset."

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He bit his ragged thumbnail, thinking about it. That free

advertising thing sounded good. Too bad he thought men in
corsets were kinda ... gross.

"Come on, Ev. I know you're there. I can hear you

breathing. He'll be there at four."

Sighing, he looked at the clock, rubbing the back of his

neck. Three thirty. "Shit. Too late to beg off now. Okay, okay.
I'll give him a consultation, at least. Thanks ever so, Sandy."

"Bitch," she said, chuckling. "Have fun. I'll see you

tomorrow morning and help you finish that opera order."

"You'd better." He hung up on her, grunting as he pushed

up out of his sewing chair. Jesus, he'd been hunched for
hours. Time to clean up a little and set up his little meeting
area with tapes and books and some kind of snack that
wasn't moldy.

Half hour later he was still futzing with the Cheetos and

Ho-Hos, the little mini-bottles of wine he'd stolen from his last
plane ride tucked into a weird glass bowl his last girlfriend
had made in some art class.

At four on the dot, a short, wide little man with fluttery

hands scurried in, bright red curls thin enough that his scalp
glowed. "Mr. Tandy? I believe we have a four p.m.?"

This was his moneymaker? Shit. That was gonna be ...

Well. He could make a circus themed corset, he guessed. "Uh.
Yeah. I have a four down."

"Excellent. I'll grab Kyle." Mr. Wide and Goofy pulled out

one of those fancy phone things and tapped out a message.
"Rick drove him around the block, just in case you weren't
in."

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"Oh. Cool." The man had a driver. Maybe he ought to hide

the Cheetos.

"I'm Ollie. Kyle's assistant. He'd normally drive himself,

but he had that little accident two weeks ago with the stage
lights and he's still iffy on the whole focus on the road part."
He got a grin, a wink. "Burned retinas are just awful, aren't
they?"

"I suppose?" Ow. Jesus. Ow. But hey, that might work in

his favor if the guy was hurty and not wanting to linger.

The door opened and, if there was a polar opposite to

Ollie-the-assistant, in it walked. Tall and lean, broad
shoulders and tiny hips, dark eyes, a shock of dark hair—this
man looked like a rock star. Even in a gimme cap, t-shirt, and
jeans.

"Hey, y'all. Smells good in here—you do a lot in leather?"
"I do a great deal, yes. Would you like me to lock up so

we're not disturbed?" He poked at the Ho-Hos. "I, uh. Got
refreshments out."

"Dude. Ho-Hos." He got a grin, a nod. "How long is this

gonna take, honey?"

"Well, that depends on what you want. If you just want me

to take measurements and get the details to make you a
custom design, then about a half hour."

"What're the other options? I've done a lot of fittings and

shit for costumes, but never a corset."

"I'm afraid I don't have any blanks on hand." Damn Sandy

anyway. "Normally I would have something customizable, but
I just don't have anything in your line. Something simple like
a waist cincher I might be able to finish by tonight,"

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"Can I do both? I have a show tomorrow night and then I

have a few weeks off before the next big leg of the tour."
Long fingers grabbed a Ho-ho, unwrapped it with ease.

Evan blinked. "So you want something simple today, and

something else for the tour?" His heart kicked into high gear.
This man had the charisma to pull it off. This could be big for
him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. The stage is all done in old west

bordello, you know? Crimson and deep purple and black."

Ev looked the man over. "I think we can do that. I can do

a black leather of vinyl cincher today..." That would look
amazing with the man's hair and skin. He was actually looking
forward to it. How odd.

"Cool. Ollie, why don't you go and get all those other

errands run. I'll call when we're done and y'all can fetch me."

"Are you sure, Kyle?" Mr. Round and Fluttery looked

worried.

"Shit, he's got Ho-Hos and Cheetos. I'm set for life."
"There's little bottles of wine, too." Shaking his head at

himself, Ev moved to get his tapes and strings and shit,
wondering what Sandy had slipped him over the phone to
make him such an idiot.

"Hell, there's a six-pack of Bud in the car. Ollie, bring it in

and y'all go. I'll get fitted and measured and shit."

"If you say so." Ollie waited for him to unlock the door and

a few entourage members came and went. Then he was alone
with the rock star. Movie star. Whatever.

"So what is it you do, exactly?"

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"I sing. Play a little guitar. On tour I strut around on stage

and shake my ass. There's only so much singing you can do
in that situation, really."

"I bet you're good at it." Good Lord. Listen to him.
"It's my job." He got another grin, Kyle licking chocolate

off long fingers. "I'm better at playing guitar, but that's for
the studio."

Evan cleared his throat, which suddenly seemed very tight.

"Well. I'll need you to take your shirt off. For measurements."

"Sure." Kyle stripped down, baring a pale, pale torso

covered in spiky black tattoos that seemed to point down into
the man's jeans.

Damn. That was some pretty ink. He'd had a girlfriend

once who had a butterfly ... This was nothing like a butterfly.
His fingers twitched. Like he wanted to. Measure. Right.

"So for a cincher we need. Uh. I assume if you're singing

you don't want full compression?"

"How compressed can you possibly get, man? There's not

a bunch of fat on me."

"Oh, I could reduce your waist by at least five inches." Not

that he would want to. The man already had a nice, narrow
form.

"No shit? That'd be weird. I'm going for sexy, you know?

Hot, sensual, not kinky."

"We can do that." Might as well get to work. "Lift your

arms please."

"Aye-aye." Kyle raised and stretched, the tight jeans

seeming to slip down.

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Blinking, he put his arms around that lean waist and

stretched the tape around. The scent of the man was quite
pleasant, spicy and musky.

"Should I suck in?" That voice was huskier, this close.
"No, I need your natural waist measurement first." The

man's ribs stood out a little, and that should have been odd.
Not ... intriguing.

"So, what's the weirdest corset you've ever made?" The

little line of hair above Kyle's belly button tickled his fingers.

Ignoring it steadfastly, he made the measurement from

hip to armpit next. "Um. I guess maybe the ceremonial thing
I made for a sci-fi princess. It was a cross between those
pointy African corsets and a stainless steel cage."

"Dude. Could she bend over? Breathe?" Kyle chuckled as

he touched the man's armpit. "Sorry. Sensitive."

"No, that's fine. I'll need to take that one again, though."

He zipped the tape back up, trying not to think of sensitivity.
"She could breathe, but not bend."

"Dude. At least I don't have to worry about having tits,

huh?"

"No. Just nipples." They were kind of dark and small and

tight and very ... fucking mesmerizing.

"I do have those. Will the corset touch them? They're

sensitive, too."

"This one won't, but I imagine the custom piece I make

you will." Oh, yes. It would. The piece he had in mind would
compliment the tattoos, would touch all the sensitive spots.

"Mmm. What is it gonna look like?" Why did that sound so

damned seductive?

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"I." His fingers stuttered a little as he did the hip

measurement. "Silver, I think. I have some great black
channel material. I think a very simple style, something you
can move in, but something that plays a little hide and seek
with your, er, chest."

"Hide and seek, huh? That sounds cool. So I'll wear it

without a shirt?"

His mouth went dry when he had to lean in, all but resting

his head on that bare chest. What on earth was his problem?
"You'll be able to wear it either way. I'll put in a removable
liner that will protect it when you want to go bare."

"A corset condom, huh?" One dark nipple was hard, tight.

Right there by his lips. Jesus.

"Something like that." His breath brushed over that nipple

and it hardened even more. His mouth dropped open, and
Evan stepped back, turning to get a bolt of muslin to start the
blank. Man, he needed some air.

"So how did you get into this line of work? Did you have a

yen to see boobies all day?"

"Huh?" That snapped him right back. "No. I mean, yes, but

that wasn't really why. I used to do theater costumes, and I
made a corset for a show. I was hooked."

"Yeah? Why?" The questions would be irritating, if they

didn't sound so goddamn honest.

"I don't know." Shrugging, he kinda wrapped Kyle up like a

mummy for a minute, making marks. "I just love the way
they look, the way they change a person's body."

"Do you wear them?" Kyle wriggled. "Man, that feels

different."

Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

24

"No. I've never liked..." he trailed off, thinking it would be

bad business to say he thought men looked odd in corsets.
And he was starting to think Kyle would look just fine.

"Never liked what?" Those nipples looked almost sore they

were so hard and that ink just...

He found himself brushing one thumb over a hard point

when he unwrapped the muslin. "I never liked a corset on a
man."

"No? You think I'm going to look bad, honey? I'd hate to

be laughed at." Heat was pouring off Kyle, the man moving
with the music that was whispering from his little radio.

"No." No, he thought that body would look fucking

amazing. Hot. Goddamn. "I think you'll look great. But then
I've never seen a guy with a body like yours."

"Long and triangular, huh?" Kyle flexed, pecs tensing,

jumping a little. "I work out a lot, but the bottom end just
doesn't want to get bulky."

"That works. It really does." Wait. He was sounding like he

was giving the man a come on. And he wasn't. Really. Was
he?

"Yeah?" He turned Kyle around to measure the long back.

Oh. Those jeans were faithful.

Showed every dimple.
And the ink was back there, too.
Evan touched the ink, watching his fingers trail down it to

the low-slung waistband. "Is this for work, or for fun?"

"It's for me. Every inch of it." Oh. Oh, damn. That made

Kyle's voice go all raw, the sound scraping on his nerves like
sandpaper.

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

25

"You like getting ink, huh? Like the way it feels?" Man, he

could so relate to that. He so could.

"I do. Gets me off, you know. The buzz. The ache. The

whole thing. You got ink?"

"I do. You can put your arms down for a bit." He had ink

on his back, a huge piece that was still growing, sort of
organically.

"Yeah?" Those broad shoulders rippled as the arms came

down. "What do you have?"

"Well, it kinda started as an abstract." He'd meant for it to

look like just the hint of a corset, with the little grommets and
laces. Then the design had started to look like brocade ...
"Here."

Evan lifted his shirt, turning to show it off.
"Oh. Oh, man..." Long, callused fingers slid over his skin,

tracing the swirls and lines. "Oh, that's fucking hot, honey."

"Thanks..." Oh, God. He was getting hard. Lord knew he'd

never thought of himself as a homophobe or anything, but
he'd always been one for the ladies, not the gents.

"How far down does it go?" Kyle's fingers spanned his

waist, just for a second.

He jumped a little more, his breath stuttering in his chest.

"Just down over my hips."

"Very hot." That touch just brushed the small of his back.

"Mine goes down to my upper thighs."

"Really?" Suddenly he wanted to see that. Desperately.

"Uh. Maybe I should have a look. Just to make sure my
design matches up."

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

26

"Yeah? I can do that." He almost regretted losing the heat

against his back, then he got to get those skin-tight jeans
unbuttoned, slid down. The ink went everywhere, into the
black, black pubes, on the shaft of a mostly-hard prick and
along the heavy sacs. The design ended in heavy spikes that
looked like they were protecting Kyle's thighs. Jesus. "Guy
named Rooster did it for me. He's got an amazing hand."

"He does..." God, look at that. It was like ... well, it was

like art. Maybe that's why this man was so unaccountably
attractive to him. He was like a work of art.

Kyle shuffled around, turning, letting him see the ink on

the back that came to a sharp, undeniable point at the top of
Kyle's crease.

"That's stunning." Left him almost speechless in fact, his

cock firming right up in his pants, making him all but pant.

"Thanks." Kyle was still moving, ass just barely shifting,

that ink dancing for him.

So what did a guy do when faced with that? Beg?

Whimper? Touch? Keeping his hands to himself wasn't
helping, because Evan realized about two seconds too late
that his hand was pushing against his own zipper, trying to
ease the ache.

Kyle stepped out of those jeans, leaving the sandals

behind too and just stepped back against him, taking away
the worry about touching because they were.

Touching.
Oh. Oh, God. His hands just reached out of their own

accord, grabbing Kyle's hips, the skin warm and firm under
his fingers.

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

27

"Yeah. Wanna dance?" Kyle groaned and started moving,

rocking and rubbing against him, that ass unashamedly
sliding on his cock.

"Uh. Yes?" Hell, he didn't know what he wanted beyond

more. He was just on fire. It was bizarre. And wonderful.

"Cool. Me, too." Kyle took his hands, slid them around that

long, lean body, drew one up along a well-muscled chest,
pushed the other down that flat belly.

"You always give in to your urges?" His breath fanned

across one shoulder, his fingers sliding right along where that
ink would be. He almost expected to feel it move.

"Not always. When it's important." Apparently this was

important.

"Your skin is like fire." The man was hot. So hot. Like a

furnace. It made him moan and sway, had him dancing in no
time.

"Yeah, you. Shit, honey, you're a temptation and a half."

Kyle's cock bumped against the back of his hand, sort of
patting it.

"You think? You're like nothing I've ever seen." Nothing.

God, he could touch that skin forever.

"Yeah. You gonna let me turn around so I can touch, too?"
"Yes." That was a little scary, but hey, he'd always been

adventurous, right? Evan moved back just enough to let Kyle
turn, that smooth, inked chest fascinating his eyes and
fingers.

Kyle turned, eyes staring at him with a heated fascination,

fingers spread wide on his chest.

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

28

"Hey." Wow. Look at this man. Look at that skin. His

fingers plucked at Kyle's nipples, just pulling.

"Hey, honey. Look at you." Kyle stepped even closer, cock

hard and hot as a brand against his belly.

His palm pressed flat against it, pulling it harder against

him. Rubbing it. It was like holding his own, sort of, but not...

"Mmm. You have calluses, too." Kyle's hands slid down,

skating around his fingers, heading for his fly.

"Tailor's fingers." Evan rolled his hips up, pressing forward,

letting the man touch him.

"I approve." His pants were opened, eased down over his

hips. "Mmm. That's better."

Gasping as his cock met the air, Evan rubbed, arms going

tight around that long body. Damn. Just ... oh.

"Oh. You can dance." Kyle's fingers slid around, grabbed

his ass and tugged him closer.

"Uh-huh. I didn't know." He had no idea. Goddamn. He put

his lips to the hollow of Kyle's throat, tasting. Salty. Hot.
Fuck, yes, this was the hottest thing he'd ever fucking done.

Moaning, Evan took more, his mouth slipping and sliding,

heading right down to suck at one tiny nipple, remembering
what the man had said about sensitivity. He got a whimper,
the tiny bit of flesh going tight and hard, drawing up in his
lips. He'd been with his share of women, and none of them
had ever reacted that way. So strong. So obvious, the way
Kyle's cock pushed against his hand.

Kyle's hand joined his, catching both their cocks together.

His whole body arched, pushing him up on his tiptoes. Jesus,
that felt good. Fucking amazing. "More."

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

29

"Yeah. Yeah, honey. More." Kyle grinned at him, tongue

pushing into his lips, just like that.

Fuck him raw.
Never in a million years could he even imagine. A fucking

rock star. He wanted to laugh with it, but he couldn't. Not
with this man kissing him like that. Not with his prick about to
go off like a rocket.

Kyle smiled into his lips, free hand cupping the back of his

head and tilting it back, that kiss going deeper. He gave up
trying to get his hands to work, letting Kyle stroke them both,
letting his other arm wrap around the man's neck and hold
on. That thumb worked the tip of his cock, nail scraping just
along the slit.

Electric shocks went right up and down his spine, and Evan

cried out. "Christ! Yeah. Again."

"Uh-huh. I got you, honey. I got you right here..." That

scrape came again, sharp as all get out.

"What ... I. Damn." His balls drew up like he couldn't

remember, ever, so hard and tight that he ached. Rocking, he
pushed them together harder, more, remembering that his
hand was there, too. He could squeeze.

Heat sprayed over his cock just about the time he shot,

both of them moaning and crying out like fools.

Evan just stood there and shook, staring at Kyle like he'd

never seen him before. And he hadn't until today, had he?
Shit. His chest heaved, his cock still jerking a little. What the
fuck?

"Mmm. That was a fine dance, man." Kyle grinned against

his temple, nuzzled a bit.

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30

"It was. Thank you." That sounded trite, but what else

could he say? He was still holding the man's cock.

Kyle stilled, took a half step back, eyes searching his face.

"You okay, man?"

"I am." Grinning a little wryly, he patted the shoulder he

still held, too. "A little like, uh ... paradigm shifty. But good
like you wouldn't believe."

"Paradigm shifty." Kyle grinned, tilted his head. "I like

that. I ought to use it as the title for my next album."

"As long as you wear my corset." Oh, God, this man was

going to look fine in his corset. Black leather and a silver
brocade that had a subtle, masculine shine to it, the channels
done in black light glow...

"Anything that'll make a person look at me like you're

looking at me now, honey? Is going to be perfect."

"Oh, I imagine your fans will love it." Not like he would. He

was fucking inspired.

"Yeah? You'll have to see, first hand." One hand slid down

his spine. "Make sure it fits."

"We might need more than one fitting." Just because. At

this point Evan couldn't imagine not seeing this amazing man
again.

"Promise? I like the way you ... fit." Kyle waggled his

eyebrows and they both started laughing, hooting with it.

"Promise. One thing everyone says. You can definitely

count on my customer service."

Secret Skin

By Sean Michael

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

31

Dillon Walsh walked through the huge chrome doors of the

After Hours Club like he owned it, smiling and greeting his
fellow businessmen like he was the evening's host. He wasn't,
on this particular occasion, though he'd hosted many of these
informal get-togethers himself as head of DWH Inc. The
Hours was the perfect place for these soirees—classic and
expensive, exclusive enough to be attractive, and hip enough
to warrant a regular spot in the Society column.

Tonight's host was Tad Bremmer, President of AcTel, who,

if the scuttlebutt was accurate, were drowning and looking for
money to shore up the holes. In fact, there was Tad now,
making a beeline toward him and trying not to be obvious
about it.

Tad offered him a glass of champagne and laughed too

loudly, nerves very close to the surface, unless Dillon'd read
him wrong. Reading men wrong was not something that
Dillon did. There was a reason he was the owner and CEO of a
multi-billon dollar holding company, and his business acumen
was only part of it.

He accepted the drink from Tad, and elicited far more

information from the man than Tad had no doubt meant to
share, while managing to keep his own cards close to his
vest.

It was a typical evening. A boringly typical evening.
At least it was until James Stutton, CEO of one of his

subsidiary companies asked him if he'd met Scott Daly yet.

Dillon turned and smiled. Oh yes, he'd met Scott before.

The man was a broker—one of the best, to be honest—and

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32

they traveled in many of the same circles, often found
themselves at the same events.

Scott was a prim, proper, button-downed businessman

with short dark hair and dull brown eyes. He carried himself
very precisely, never said the wrong thing, never drank, and
made both himself and his clients a ton of money. He was
imminently forgettable.

Except that Dillon knew Scott's little secret.
Dillon knew that beneath the plain brown contacts blazed

bright blue eyes that danced with wicked, wanton thoughts.
He knew that the tight lips could open, that they were the
gateway to a mouth that knew more things about sucking a
man's cock than most men could dream of.

He also knew that the dark suit with its tight tie hid a

beautiful body. And he also knew it hid more than that. For
Dillon knew that beneath the wool and cotton blend was a
leather corset, holding Scott's waist in waspishly tight,
hugging the fine muscles like a second skin. He didn't know
what color it was, though he hoped it was the dark blood-red
one, but he knew it was there.

It was only one of the secrets that Dillon knew about the

various men who attended tonight's cocktail party, but it was
the only secret that he truly cared about.

He took Scott's hand and shook it lightly. "How do you do,

Mr. Daly?"

"Mr. Walsh." Scott offered him a half-smile, possibly the

most anyone had ever seen from the man in public. "I hear
your trip to Athens was fruitful. Congratulations."

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

33

"Yes, very, thank you. And I understand that you're

responsible for the Electrico takeover. Very impressive." His
voice stayed smooth and even, but he couldn't keep his eyes
from seeing past the outer shell to the man he knew hid
within the bland business suit.

The chatter continued on around them, James excusing

himself to go speak to another contact. Dillon shifted slightly,
bringing himself close enough that he could feel a hint of
Scott's heat. "Are you staying for dinner?" he asked casually.

"I hadn't made plans. The chef here is talented, but I was

intending to grab something small and make my excuses."
Dillon knew that perfectly tailored jacket hid the most
luxurious skin, the edges of the corset squeezing tight.

His prick began to press against his briefs, the cotton

holding it in beneath his slacks, and he had to work to keep
his arousal from his voice. "I was considering saying my
goodbyes myself. I flew in early this morning and haven't
done more than check in to my room. Business meetings and
such." Though he hadn't seen his room, he was sure the bed
was large, the walls amply sound-proof. For the money he'd
paid out, they should be.

"Well, I hope you sleep well, Mr. Walsh. It was pleasant to

see you again." He got that cold fish handshake, that odd,
empty stare, then Scott turned, let him see the hint of that
amazing ass as it sashayed toward a darkened hallway.

Oh, fuck him raw.
His cock surged in his pants and he turned toward the bar,

putting his glass carefully on the marble top and nodding as

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

34

the bartender asked if he wanted another drink. "Whiskey,
neat. No chaser."

He downed the shot, focusing on the way it burned down

his throat and set the warmth in his belly on fire. The shot
helped him get a hold of himself, and he shook off his
distraction. He had to stick around a little longer. If he left
right after Scott, someone might notice.

And this was one secret that belonged to the two of them

alone and always would.

* * * *

It was nearly an hour later before Dillon escaped the

clutches of Tad Bremmer and his cronies. He'd managed to
line himself up as first in line for the pickings though, so it
had been well worth it, business-wise.

Now though, his business interests could be put the back-

burner.

He flipped open his cell-phone as he made his way to the

elevator. There was a text message there, short and simple.
"Have a meeting at 8:15." There was no signature, but he
recognized the number as belonging to Scott Daly and, when
the elevator arrived, he pushed the button for the eighth floor
instead of the fourteenth, where his own room was located.

The elegant lift didn't make a single noise as it sped him

upward, and in moments he was at room 815, knocking
lightly on the dark wooden door. He glanced left and right,
assuring the hallway was deserted.

The door opened and ice-blue eyes met his. Dressed in

those perfectly fitted slacks and an unbuttoned dress shirt,

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

35

Scott had been getting ready for him, pink nipples caught in
tiny golden clamps, eyes lined with black, a white leather
corset bound tight around the fine body.

Dillon bit back his groan and stepped in, locking the door

as it closed behind him.

His eyes closed for a moment, his groan turning into a

growl as he let go of everything but the beautiful man in front
of him and the time they had together.

He opened his eyes, his pet name for his constant

addiction and sometimes lover sliding off his tongue. "Dal..."
Reaching out, he flicked one of the clamps and then let his
finger ride along the top edge of the corset, Dal's skin so
much finer than the soft, supple leather that clung to it.

"Hey, stranger." Dal shuddered for him, lips open and wet.

Wet and hungry and perfect to wrap around his prick, suck
him dry. "You decided to skip supper." It wasn't a question. It
never had been with them.

"I'm not hungry for food." His mouth landed on Dal's, their

teeth clicking together as they kissed, weeks of pent up need
crashing the barriers that had held it back.

His fingers slid up over Dal's shoulders, taking the open

shirt with them and pushing it off. The only thing he wanted
between him and that smooth skin was the corset, the leather
an extension of Dal, a part of him.

He wanted to see Dal bent over, ass framed with the ties,

waist squeezed impossibly tight. Those two little shiny rings
would be waiting for him, hidden behind those heavy balls,
needing to be tugged and twisted before he sank into his
favorite play toy, balls deep.

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

36

Just the thought made him groan, his cock throbbing,

straining against his briefs and slacks. He pushed his tongue
deeper into Dal's mouth, his hands sliding over Dal's back.
The leather was warm from Dal's body, and almost as soft as
the silky skin above and below it.

His fingers got tangled in those damned pants, the slick

material hiding that tight little ass from him, from his fingers.

"Take them off," he growled, stepping back to watch.
He licked his lips at the sight Dal made, lips now swollen

from their kisses, blue eyes bright with need.

"You don't like them? They're new..." Dal spun, ass

swaying in a boring, if well-fitted, pair of slacks that probably
cost the man two hundred dollars and didn't suit nearly as
well as skin.

"Take them off." He repeated the order and loosened his

tie, pulled it over his head and rolled it carefully. He put the
tie on the dresser, neat and deliberate, the motions belying
the need that coursed through his blood. "Don't make me say
it again."

Dillon could smell the excitement pouring from Dal, the

hint of danger, the pure need. All those long weeks of
repression and control and it all came down to these stolen,
accidental nights. "Or what?"

Fuck, he loved that. Dal just never rolled over and played

puppy. Not ever. It was that combination of need and
strength that really got to Dillon, that kept him coming back
again and again. "Or I'll have to take them off for you. And
then I'll bind you and not let you come until morning."

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

37

"You don't have anything with you." No, but Dal did, and

Dillon'd been fucking that sweet ass long enough to know it.

Not only that, but he needed to see Dal naked, needed to

see that fine, pale skin encased in just the white leather. He
needed to see how naked it was without any of his marks,
and then he needed to mark it up again. Only Dal would make
him wait when they both wanted so desperately.

"So I'll improvise." He wandered over to where Dal's

overnight bag sat next to the dresser. It was black and plain,
one of those little suitcases on wheels that every
businessman had as a carry-on these days. He wondered how
many of those businessmen packed theirs with corsets and
lube, nipple clamps and cock rings. Only his Dal, he'd wager.

He heard the zipper of Dal's trousers go down and he

grinned as he found a sweet, well-used plug, a white leather
cock ring to match the corset, the lube. Practical man, didn't
want to sacrifice the slacks.

He put his prizes on the dresser next to the bed, let them

sit there so Dal could see them. Then he turned and moaned,
Dal finally naked for him, only the corset left on, cock hard
and reaching up to leave a wet stain on the white leather.

"Oh, fuck." His voice was low, husky. His cock was so hard

it hurt. "One of us," he had to clear his throat to continue, "is
wearing far too many clothes."

He didn't care though, he couldn't wait to touch. He closed

the space between them and ran his hands over Dal's body,
fingers sliding on leather, on skin, and loving both. Dal's ass
filled his palms and he squeezed, brought Dal's body up tight
against his.

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

38

Dal worked his shirt open, those amazing icy eyes

dragging over his skin, making him shiver. "Need it."

"I've got what you need, Dal. I always do." He didn't think

his voice could get any huskier, but the desire coursing
through him just twisted everything up in the most delicious
ways. "Gonna fuck you raw, baby."

"Promises, promises." The kiss fucking burned him and he

squeezed harder, fingers digging into Dal's ass and bruising
that milky flesh.

He walked them over to the bed, rubbing his slacks-

covered groin against Dal's prick as they went. "I always
deliver."

"Yeah." His arms got trapped in his shirt as Dal groaned

into his lips. Fuck him, yes.

He worked haphazardly at freeing himself, more interested

in the taste of Dal's lips, in the way their bodies rubbed and
pushed together. Good thing Dal had focus. His pants fell, the
cotton briefs pushed down with a rough hand.

Then Dal took one of his hands, brought it to those

clamped nipples.

Groaning, he slid his thumb around the hard, clamped

flesh. He teased, threatened to touch the clamp, but drew
back again and again as their pricks slid together, rubbed:
skin on skin and skin on leather, it was enough to make him
shudder and groan.

At last he flicked his finger across the clamp, making it

dance.

The scream was short and sharp, Dal pulling away, then

pushing right back into his arms as if they were attached.

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

39

"Like that, baby?" He did it again, watching the heat and

need in Dal's eyes go from flaming hot to inferno.

"Evil bastard. Fucking burns." Uh-huh. He knew.
He hit the other one with his finger, making Dal gasp and

jerk against him. "I could stop." It was an idle threat and they
both knew it.

"You won't." Those nipples were red and swollen and Dillon

knew they had to be throbbing, aching.

He shook his head and bent, licked around one and then

blew against the wet flesh. "I won't."

He nibbled Dal's skin where it met the corset, humming as

flavor of salt and leather and Dal mingled in his mouth. "Oh,
fuck, baby, I need you." With a growl, he pushed Dal back
onto the bed.

Dal's long prick slapped against the leather, loud enough

to hear. Oh, that had to sting. It didn't matter though, Dal
knew what he wanted, what he needed, that fine ass offered
to him as the man got on hands and knees. His fingers went
automatically to the little rings embedded in Dal's flesh
between balls and ass, tugging and twisting them as he
rubbed his cock along Dal's crack.

"You're ready for me." It wasn't a question, and he didn't

wait for an answer as he pressed the head of his prick against
the perfect, tight heat of Dal's ass.

Slick and pink, the ring of muscles squeezed the tip of his

prick for a second before opening and letting him in deep.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words tumbled from him, and his

hands slid around Dal's waist, the leather of the corset

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

40

caressing his palms, his fingertips. He pushed in until his hips
were pressed tight against Dal's perfect ass.

They stayed there together for a moment, the muscles

around his prick rippling and teasing him, a maelstrom of
motion inside that deceptive stillness.

"Dal..." he murmured his lover's name, and then began to

move. Keeping it slow to start with, he pulled out, feeling
every motion of Dal's body as it clung to his cock, begging
wordlessly for him to stay buried. He pushed back in just as
slowly, knuckles going white as he held Dal's hips in a brutal
grip, just barely holding on to his control.

"Yeah. I need. Harder." Demanding little slut. No wonder

Dillon adored him.

"I know what you need, Dal. And I'll give it to you. I

always do." He always did. Dal was his addiction, the one who
fed his need. With a sharp cry, he let go, hips snapping as he
pushed harder, deeper, filling Dal with a hard, rough thrust.

He could see the leather pinching that smooth skin, knew

that Dal was fighting for a deep breath. He gave his lover a
moment, just another second to draw that breath as best he
could, and then Dillon pulled out again, thrusting back in with
that same strength.

"Yes!" He did it again, and then again, Dal's body hot and

grasping and welcoming.

Bruises were popping up around his fingers, the pale skin

going a deep red. Coupled with the white of the corset, the
sight made his cock throb, his balls aching with his need. He
moved faster, groaning each time his cock sank deep.

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by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

41

It was good—wonderful, amazing—he didn't have the

words for how it felt, but something was missing. Dal's
uncontrollable groans and cries.

Dillon shifted slightly, spread Dal's legs just a bit more and

angled his prick to slide it right across Dal's gland.

"Fuck!" Mmmhmm. Right there. Dal squeezed him tight,

head coming up as Dal rode him.

"Uh-huh." He nodded, even though Dal couldn't see him,

and pounded in harder, faster, giving everything he had,
wanting to make his lover scream.

The flush moved up Dal's ass, then was hidden under the

corset until it appeared on the broad shoulders. He could hear
the breathy cries getting louder, felt Dal getting closer.

He reached around, hand grabbing at Dal's prick, his

thrusts pushing the hot column of flesh along his palm. "Yes!
Dal! Mine!" Single syllable words were all he could manage,
his voice harsh as he moved. He could hardly catch his
breath, and his hips snapped over and over again, any
semblance of rhythm lost in his passion.

Spunk splashed on his fingers, as he bit down into one

shoulder, Dal's cry echoing in the room.

The scent of Dal's come, the feeling of that hot ass going

tight tight around his prick was enough to have him roaring
against Dal's skin, his own orgasm strong, making him
shudder.

He rested against Dal's back as he tried to catch his

breath, still buried deep, skin and leather fine as any silk
against his skin.

Dal groaned, squeezing him nice and easy. "Been awhile."

Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

42

He kissed Dal's spine, tongue and lips moving soft and

lazy. "Been too fucking long." He slid his hand over the
covered stomach, petting the flat belly beneath the leather
before following whalebone up to the top of the corset.

"Uh-huh." Dal tightened as his fingers moved closer and

closer to the clamped nipples. "Easy..."

He laughed softly as his fingertips circled the aureoles.

"Easy? It isn't in our vocabulary, baby."

Dillon closed his eyes as Dal's ass muscles worked his

cock, the man's entire body shuddering at his touch. So
fucking sensitive. So fucking hot. He let his finger flick out
and hit the clamp on Dal's nipple, reveled in the hiss, and the
way Dal's ass stopped fluttering and went impossibly tight
around his cock.

"I'm going to plug you," he told Dal. "And I'm going to

wrap your cock in leather. And then I'm going to make you
scream for me, again and again." Dal would be so beautiful,
plugged and clamped, the white corset offsetting the dark
blood-filled skin of Dal's bound cock and clamped nipples.

"I. I. Fuck. Lover..." That tone of voice let him know how

quick Dal was coming back, how ready his toy was to play
and be played with.

"You know it, baby." He laughed, one hand finding Dal's

cock again, the other torturing first one clamped nipple and
then the other. "I hope you cancelled your meetings
tomorrow."

Dal nodded, humping his hand, chest jerking away from

his touch.

Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

43

His own cock was still hard within Dal's body, the scent of

sex and Dal and leather combining to make his head spin. He
pulled out suddenly, and flipped Dal over onto his back,
pushing the long legs back as he sank back into that perfect
heat.

Those sensitive titties were red and swollen above the

leather, Dal's ass blazing against his thighs.

"Fucking gorgeous, baby." Bending Dal double, he brought

their mouths together, took the kiss he wanted, wild and
heated. And then took another before starting to thrust again,
the drag of Dal's flesh around his cock making him shudder.

Dal's hands stroked over his own belly, fingers rasping on

the leather, squeezing it just that much tighter. Dillon
groaned and thrust harder, his hand joining Dal's, sliding over
warm fingers and the beautiful leather. He'd never seen
anything like this man. Ever.

The little reddened nipples called to him and, bending,

Dillon took one of the clamps off with his teeth, tongue
lapping at the abused flesh as the blood came rushing back
into it.

Dal screamed, twisted, so alive and wanton as that fucking

ass squeezed his prick. Fuck, yes. Dal's ass was so hot
around him, and tight. So good. He moved slowly, thrusts
long and deep. He blew on one little red nipple, and then
sucked on it, loving the way Dal moved with each new
sensation.

"The other one. God. Do the other one." Demanding little

shit. Fuck, how he loved it.

Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

44

Dillon chuckled and blew on the other nipple. "I don't

know, it looks kind of pretty with that little gold clamp holding
it..."

"Don't make me hurt you." He could see Dal's heartbeat in

the motion of the clamp.

He chuckled again, the sound joining with needy breaths

that Dal took, each one moving the sweetly bound chest.

He made his lover wait another moment and then he

leaned in and removed the second clamp as well. Dal arched,
fingers moving to rub the poor bit of flesh, that ass working
his prick furiously.

He rode it out, hips moving with short, sharp movements

that matched Dal's frantic ones, just watching the beautiful
body move and writhe. Pale flesh, white corset like a part of
Dal...

"Please. Please, love. I. I need. You have to help me..."
"Have I ever left you wanting? For more than a few

hours..." He winked, but also wrapped his hand around Dal's
cock, stroking. The hot silk slid along his palm, the drops at
the tip spreading, slicking the way.

"A weekend once. I thought I would ... Oh. Oh." Dal's eyes

rolled back, hips pumping, cock raw and red in his grip.

He roared, the memory of that weekend suddenly sharp

and clear in his mind. His balls had ached for a full week after
that weekend. He tightened his hold on Dal's prick,
determined to bring his lover with him.

"Now, Dal. Or not until tomorrow." The words growled

from him as his fingers squeezed the red prick hard, his hips
snapping as he shot.

Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

45

"N ... now!" Dal convulsed, heat pulsing from that poor,

worked cock before Dal settled on the sheets, eyes rolling,
limbs limp as noodles.

Groaning, he pulled out and collapsed next to Dal. He

turned, rubbing the come into the leather that covered Dal's
fine skin.

"Beautiful," he murmured, nibbling at Dal's neck, nuzzling

and licking and enjoying the lassitude that filled him.

"Missed you, yeah?"
Warmth went through Dillon and he nodded, nuzzling

against Dal's neck, just breathing in the scent of skin and
leather and sex. "I know. I missed you, too." It had been
ages since they'd last seen each other, last done this. Too
long.

"Yeah, but we've got the weekend, yeah?" Dal wiggled a

little, hummed. "Room service, no phone, just us and the toy
box."

He nodded, fingers stroking Dal's leather covered belly.

"Fuck, yes. And I have such plans for that ass of yours and
the toy box. I promise you that."

"Mmmhmm." Dal nodded, eyes closed, nearly asleep, chest

just moving above the corset.

Perfect time to fill that sweet ass up and keep it ready for

him.

Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

46

Contributors' Bios

Rob Knight
Rob Knight, animal lover and avid reader of erotic fiction,

was thrilled to be able to gather the stories in the Shifting
anthology together in one book. Rob enjoys travel, pets, and
bad B movies, and hopes to edit more anthologies for
Torquere Press in the future. www.theknightwords.com/

Sean Michael
Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of

Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean
Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his
immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day
retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by
horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay
pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours
between dropping the f-bomb and persuing the kama sutra by
channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing
along with the soundtrack to "Chicago." Check out Sean's
webpage at www.seanmichaelwrites.com/

M. Rode
M. Rode loves winter, being a canuck and watching boys of

all sorts rub together. M. has edited various anthologies for
Torquere Press.

Vic Winter
Heat in real life is the bane of Vic's life, whose favorite

season is winter, and Vic's life is far more mundane than
fiction. But when it comes to fiction, the hotter the better is

Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

47

Vic's motto. Make it romantic, make it sexy, make it erotic,
but definitely make it hot. Visit Vic's in progress website at
www.stemsandfeathers.org/vwinter/index.html

Toy Box: Corsets
Edited by M. Rode
The White Corset copyright © 2007 by Vic Winter
Personal Fitting copyright © 2007 by Rob Knight
Secret Skin copyright © 2007 by Sean Michael
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: 978-1-60370-025-2
ISBN-10: 1-60370-025-0
Torquere Press, Inc.: Toy Chest electronic edition / May

2007

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press,

Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680

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