The "toys" question always makes me think of how tools in these stories are less about the object and more about the embedded tension. A locked journal in 'Neon Gods' isn't inherently sexy, but the shared secret, the act of handing over the key, that's the real device. It's about transference—of power, of trust.
Wine glasses, ropes, even a simple scarf used for a blindfold. They aren't purchasable items on a shelf; they're narrative extensions of consent and exploration. The best ones feel like they couldn't exist outside that specific character dynamic. A billionaire might use expensive, cold restraints, but the farmer-next-door type uses his own worn leather belt, and that intimacy changes everything.
My benchmark is whether removing the toy collapses the scene. If it does, it was just a prop. If the scene holds because the emotional charge was in the negotiation, the hesitation, the breath against skin before the item is even used, then the toy was integrated properly. That's the stuff that sticks with me, not the brand name.