Toy Box: Corsets

by Rob Knight, Sean Michael, Vic Winter

  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."

  "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."

  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."

  "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,"

  "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?"

  "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.

  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, t
hat'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?

  "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."

  "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.

  "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."

  "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.

  "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.

  "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.

  Hi
s 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."

  "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.