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There's something incredibly hot about a tight butt and the sound of a paddle hitting it. The stories in the Paddle Toy Box are all about that, exploring what guys get up to in, and out of the bedroom. In Sore Winner, by Kiernan Kelly, Morgan is the president of a company that's successful, but exhausting. A cruise seems like just the thing until he has to share the best suite on the boat with Adam Rose, billionaire playboy. Will the mistake ruin his vacation?
In Rough Edges, by Jane Davitt, Steve and Michael have a dom/sub relationship, which is great for Steve, who needs someone to keep him in line. When a series of bad days culminates in Steve acting out, he wants Michael to use the paddle he craves, but Michael won't hit Steve in anger. Can they both find a way to get what they need? Finally, in Boredom Through the Ages, by BA Tortuga, Knox and Isaac from Timeless Hunger are a little restless, and needing to remember what's important. Can Knox find a creative way to get Isaac back on track? 
Excerpt:
Rough Edges
By Jane Davitt
Against the deep blue of the bedroom wall, the dark wood of the paddle was like a patch of shadow. A few months earlier, Michael had hung the paddle on a nail hammered in with three sharp taps, after threading a loop of leather through a hole bored in the handle. The paddle swung gently back and forth and then settled into place.
Waiting.
Steve was waiting, too. He'd been told to kneel, facing the paddle, and that was what he was doing, perfectly still, the bed behind him, his naked body warm and relaxed now that he'd stopped fighting the emotions that had brought him to this place.
It had been one hell of a day. One petty annoyance after another and the speeding ticket on the way home had been the point at which he'd broken. The cop had let him rant and swear, argue and defend himself, and then written the ticket, handed it over, and murmured, "Go home, Steve. My shift ends in an hour. Get naked, kneel down. You know where. And one more word from you now and you'll spend the night gagged."
Steve closed his eyes for a moment, remembering what Michael's words had done to him. He hadn't said anything after that, his anger diverted into an arousal that each passing moment had honed to a sharp edge it would take Michael hours to blunt and smooth down.
He could feel his cock throb with each breath he took, feel his skin tingle in the breeze coming through the open window. Michael would close it when he came in, and draw the heavy curtains, so that the rush of traffic outside faded to a hum and Steve could make all the noise he needed to. If he got too loud, Michael would know -- Steve would be past caring -- and the gag would take care of that.
Freedom to scream was a gift Steve hadn't known he wanted. Michael was the only person to ever give it to him, wrapped up in an awareness of Steve's needs that left him wondering how he'd gotten so lucky. Michael didn't just love him, Michael knew him, saw him clearly, always had from that first meeting in a bar when Steve had gotten in over his head with a blind date who gave him the creeps and decided to leave. He'd walked away and caught Michael staring at him, the interest behind the speculative gaze enough to turn his steps away from the door and over to Michael's table.
Steve had come a long way since that first, cautiously hopeful conversation. Six months ago, he wouldn't have obeyed Michael to the letter; he'd have come in, grabbed a beer, taken a shower, maybe jerked off, still moody, still tense. He might have gone naked to his knees a few minutes before Michael was due home, but that was about it. Good enough.
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