This story is the second in a series. The first story is Bound to the Law, which is in the Classics section. Comments on this story can be sent to:

Part 1

Taking the stairs two at a time to make up for missing his usual morning jog, Hutch drew in deep appreciative lungfuls of the chilly 6:30am air. It promised to be a gorgeous, if probably cold, day. The sun was just beginning to gild the eastern sky, and he was ready to get to work. The first objective was hauling his recalcitrant partner out of bed.

"Starsk!" Hutch let himself in with his spare key, flipping on lights to brighten the dark house. As he'd expected, there was still a blanket-covered lump in the bed, but one indigo eye regarded him indignantly from the edge of the quilt.

"What'r you doin' here?" asked a voice muffled by the blankets.

"We'll be late even if you don't shower and shave." Hutch had already resigned himself to a confrontation with Dobey over their tardiness, but after ten straight days without a break, who could blame Starsky for wanting to sleep in. "The sooner we get through the shift, the sooner our long weekend begins."

"Oh, in that case..." Starsky's tousled curls emerged from the tangle of bedsheets, followed by the rest of him. He was, in the British slang Hutch had recently heard and added to his lexicon, starkers.

"You jump out of bed looking like that..." Hutch admired the rounded rump and thick cock dangling freely between his partner's muscled thighs, "I can't be held responsible for my actions."

"I gotta pee." Starsky skipped nimbly out of Hutch's reach, gaining the sanctity of the bathroom. The sounds of toilet and shower signaled he was performing his morning ablutions, so Hutch decided to hurry things along even more by finding some decent clothes for him to wear. That alone was a Herculean task, but Hutch didn't mind having to rummage through his friend's drawers. Each shirt represented a different memory of their times together, both good and bad. He selected a shirt to suit the weather, then went off to raid the kitchen for anything remotely edible for breakfast. Otherwise they'd need to stop for coffee and toast at some diner near the precinct.

Starsky emerged remarkably soon, hair sparkling with water droplets, wearing a dark blue T-shirt under the checked shirt Hutch had picked out and his usual tight jeans. He hopped on one foot, trying to put on his shoes and socks while he walked.

"Fast enough for you?" Starsky boasted finally succeeding in shoeing both feet.

"Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive." Hutch pulled his favorite partner into a clinch, kissing him possessively on the lips. "Able to leap tall..."

"Don't finish, I'm not leapin' OVER anything." Starsky snuggled into the embrace with a grin, "ONTO you would be an entirely different thing." He thrust his tongue into Hutch's willing mouth with a hunger that had nothing to do with his belly. By that evening, Hutch would no longer allow him to be so forceful or demanding, so he had to seize the opportunity while he had the chance. Liplocking Hutch, Starsky ground his pelvis against his partner's, his cock swelling with need. Oh, to have a few more minutes in the morning! He hooked an Adidas around Hutch's ankle to keep him from pulling away, licking the warm, moist interior of Hutch's mouth with tiny flicks of his tongue. It was so good, a wakeup call better than any alarm clock.

"You think I'm Superman?" Starsky breathed, his lips still touching his lover's.

"You can be Superman, but I'm Zorro." Hutch gave him a last kiss, moving away to pour two glasses of orange juice

"Why Zorro? He didn't have any really good powers." Starsky gulped the glass of OJ he was handed.

"Ah, but he wore a black leather mask, had a sword," Hutch emphasized his words with a thrust of his evident erection in Starsky's direction. "And a whip."

"Oh." Starsky saw where that was going. "Aren't we late?"

"We were just a little late, now we'll be a lot late." Hutch fished a small box out of his leather jacket pocket, "I have something for you." He was suddenly uncertain of his gift. It had seemed so perfect when he'd purchased it but now...what would Starsky think? Would he be willing to wear it in public?

"Lemme see." Starsky reached for the box as eagerly as any six year old receiving a birthday present. He opened the lid, staring awestruck at what lay inside.

"Starsky?" Hutch asked with his heart in his throat.

"Is this what I think it is?" Starsky whispered, his own heart rate having gone instantly into triple digits at the sight of the coiled chain.

"You were so upset when I took the...collar off," Hutch began hesitantly. His collar, the one he had placed on Starsky as a symbol of his domination. He wanted that collar back in place as much as Starsky.

Starsky had, in fact, felt rent in two when Hutch had unbuckled the heavy leather slave collar from around his neck, like a just discovered vital organ had been ripped from his body. It was such an indelible link to Hutch and even clothed, he'd felt naked ever since without it. In the two weeks since their first bondage encounter, he'd dreamed of the band snug against his skin. He'd even once asked to have it placed around his neck when they'd been in the midst of passionate lovemaking, but Hutch had refused. That collar was only for their special bondage sessions, which he did not take lightly. They required planning and preparation. He would never just begin a session on the spur of the moment, or just because Starsky wanted to.

"You could wear this...instead, as a substitute, when you can't wear the other." Hutch tried to read the emotions on Starsky's face. Was he appalled or enthralled?

"Put it on me?" Starsky held out the box with trembling hands, the happiness pressing in on his chest making it hard to breathe.

It was heavy, made of thick links of silvery steel, larger than any necklace a girl would wear, but hardly distinguishable from something the tougher male element sported. Starsky had seen bikers or punks wearing the same sort of chain. He'd blend easily with the rough crowd he and Hutch usually associated with in their undercover detective roles.

Lifting the chain out of the box, Hutch could feel the weight of it on his hand, letting the smooth metal slide between his fingers. He looped it around Starsky's neck, inserting a long straight piece on one end through the circular link on the other and locking both together with a real lock that could only be opened or shut with a tiny key.

"I keep this." Hutch held up the key.

"Yes," Starsky agreed, slightly dazed. It was as if some element in the universe had been righted and he could breathe once again. Trotting back into the bathroom, he wiped the still fogged mirror, gazing at himself collared for the first time. Hutch had never let him see the brown leather one on his neck. That one was sacred, part of a ritual, but this one was for everyday, more a necklace than a collar, but Starsky knew its real meaning.

He didn't look any different. He'd worn necklaces on and off all of his life. Most recently a Chinese coin on a rawhide thong which had broken in two after years of normal wear and tear. Steel was unbreakable, or nearly so. The metal had felt cold at first lying on top of his collarbone, but now the warmth of his skin was taking the chill off. It looked right on him.

"Looks good." Hutch complimented, "I like it."

"I do, too." Starsky smiled, reaching up to run a finger under the edge of it. It fit perfectly, not restrictive or tight, just as Hutch did.

"If you don't want to wear it..." Hutch let the sentence trail off, mesmerized by the sight of his beloved. He opened his fist to reveal the key.

"No, you can keep that." Starsky shook his head, taking one last look at the gleaming links around his neck. "Dobey'll have our hides for bein' this late."

Walking with a disgruntled sigh around the beater Ford parked behind his own bright red Gran Torino, Starsky yanked on the finicky passenger door. "Do we have to ride in this dump?"

"I had to sit in the striped Tomato for a solid week on a stake-out," Hutch groused. "God knows why the perps didn't notice a parade float parked outside their warehouse..."

"Hey, she's listening." Starsky pointed out, glancing over at the long sleek red car as Hutch pulled the Ford onto the street. "And we caught 'em, didn't we?"

"Yes. That's beside the point. We've always shared equal time in each car, so you'll be riding in this baby for another five days."

"After our three days off?" Starsky clarified.

"Then and after." Hutch grinned triumphantly, since starting tonight at six PM he controlled Starsky's every breathing moment for twenty-four hours. Not that he'd planned on it, but they could even make out in the back seat of the LTD, if he so chose and Starsky had to live with it.

He found being the dominant person in their BDSM relationship both exhilarating and challenging. While in their everyday partnership, both as detectives and lovers, he and Starsky had nearly equal roles, with the necessary give and take that entailed. When he was in charge, he was constantly second-guessing and restructuring his plans. What would Starsky enjoy? What did he want out of the session? Hutch had been planning their second time together ever since the first successful evening.

This one would be different than the last time partially because they'd both agreed to start the clock only a few hours after they got off their dayshift. The last time they'd just come off of an exhaustive stretch of late night shifts, which had necessitated giving both the morning to prepare for the bondage time. But because of their stakeout assignment, they now were on the other end of the spectrum, starting early and getting off by mid afternoon most days. When he'd suggested that they start the session by early evening, Starsky had been most enthusiastic. Actually, he had a feeling that Starsky would have agreed to just about anything he'd come up with at that point. Starsky was well and truly hooked into the BDSM mindset and eager to participate again.

As suspected, Dobey lit into them about their late arrival, but other than that one blip on the screen, the rest of the morning went smoothly. With the stakeout case all finished, they had no outstanding cases that demanded their time and spent most of the morning cruising their beat, trading hellos with their regular informants and the few daytime prostitutes who lounged sleepily in front of an hourly rate hotel.

Just past eleven, Hutch maneuvered the LTD into the alley behind the Pits and logged them out for lunch.

"Hey, hey, hey, my cop brothers." Huggy Bear, the flamboyant proprietor of the bar greeted his friends with a wave of his long slender hand all the while pouring a draught beer for a waiting customer. "Long time no see."

"How was Detroit, Hug?" Starsky asked.

"A cornucopia of relatives and good food, I haven't eaten so much since I stayed with my Granny Beulah when I was a child." Huggy rubbed his flat belly with satisfaction, "Thanks for keepin' an eye on the place while I was gone."

"Our pleasure," Hutch smirked, since they'd used the upstairs bedroom as a bordello one night.

"What'll it be? The Huggy Bear special?"

"Is that still a regular hamburger?" Starsky settled on a barstool.

"Nothin' regular about my hamburgers, Starsky." Huggy defended his fare huffily.

"I'll say," Hutch agreed under his breath. "I'll have whatever soup the cook has today."


"Okay, make that a turkey sandwich," Hutch sighed. Why couldn't he ever get just plain, tasty food that wasn't overly spicy or full of beans and fat? Unfortunately, that was exactly what Starsky did like.

"The Huggy Bear special," Starsky ordered. "With chili on it."

"Starsk, then it's not the special," Huggy argued. "That's the Deluxe."

"Grr." Starsky dramatically clutched at his neck as if he were being strangled, pushing his fingers up under the heavy chain he wore. "The Deluxe, then."

"Like the new jewelry, Starsky," Huggy complimented after he'd informed the cook of their orders. "Suits you better than that old coin on a thong you used to wear."

Starsky exchanged a swift, startled glance with Hutch, "Thanks, Hug, it was something I'd wanted for a while."

"Whoops, customers, gotta go act like I own the place." Huggy swooped off to greet a couple just entering the front door.

"He suspects something," Starsky hissed, following Hutch to a back table.

"He does not."

"You're the one who said Huggy could be very perceptive," Starsky pointed out.

"Starsky, are you afraid he will find out about our latest activities or that he won't?" Hutch laid a feather light hand on his friend's arm, just enough to secure their bond without looking the least unprofessional in public.

"I...don't know." The dark haired man sat down with a frown, surprised at how his stomach was suddenly knotted up. "I'm not embarrassed, exactly, but..."

"It's just between the two of us," Hutch finished for him, "Not for public discussion."

"Yeah." Starsky agreed, relieved. He'd found himself touching the necklace all morning, very aware of it. "But do you think he knows something?"

"Starsky!" The blond threw up his hands in exasperation. "Here comes your hamburger."

Huggy whisked the sandwich plates onto the table, but didn't have time to linger because the lunch crowd had arrived with a bang, filling the place with hungry people. Starsky and Hutch applied themselves to their meals, both lost in thought about the coming evening.

What could happen if any of their friends or acquaintances found out? This was more than just the fact that they, two male police officers, were sleeping together. Bondage and all the associated kinks were looked down upon by probably ninety percent of society. Certainly, if their superiors at the department found out about it, they could be endangering their careers. So, what made it so special that they both wanted to continue such risky sex play? As with most things that truly satisfied the inner being, the reasoning was a mystery. It just suited the two of them at this time, and unless anything changed, both Starsky and Hutch planned to continue their current pleasures.

Not long after they'd logged back in after lunch, they were called out on a 2-11 at a car wash. An armed man was holding an unknown number of people there on the corner of 65th and Trainer, motive not known.

Approaching with caution, Hutch parked the LTD so that it blocked the exit driveway from the carwash, alerting the black and white that had responded initially to block the entrance as well.

Sudsy Car Wash had the typical design for the sort of service it provided. A long shed like building stretched horizontally to Trainer Street, with an opening at each end. Large roller brushes and hoses could be seen inside the shed, all still churning water and soap on a single car stalled inside. The business portion of the building was a long narrow series of rooms that housed a waiting area for customers, the cashier desk, and a closed office behind the counter. A man of approximately mid twenties with thick dark hair and glasses, a permanent scowl on his face, was holding a small group of people at gunpoint in the glass walled waiting area. There was no way for the police to approach without being seen.

Striding over to a short, blue-uniformed patrol officer with flaming red hair, Hutch asked, "You called this in?"

"Yessir, Danny Sullivan, sir." The boy responded, making Hutch feel way older than his 38 years. "The manager flagged us down. He was out on a lunch run when the gunman broke in--not broke in exactly, forced his way in."

"Where's the manager?" Starsky followed behind his partner, partially so he could admire the way Hutch's butt moved in his khakis.

"My partner, Reynolds, is talking to him." Sullivan pointed over to where an older officer was deep in conversation with a hugely fat man with a radish red face. When Sullivan gave a sharp whistle, Reynolds escorted the manager over, looking glum.

"This is Vic Stillman, manager of Sudsy Car Wash," Reynolds introduced. "He says he knows the gunman."

"That's Manny Romano." Stillman stabbed a fleshy finger at the gunman inside the building. The five hostages were sitting in molded plastic chairs, their hands tucked under their legs. Romano stalked back and forth in front of them, waving his pistol menacingly.

"Have any idea why he'd want to hold up a car wash?" Starsky asked. "How much money do you take in in one morning?"

"He WAS the manager of the Sudsy on Hawthorne," Stillman explained with a grimace. "He doesn't want money, he wants my job. The owner tossed him out on his ear because Manny was skimming the till."

"Great-so we have a disgruntled ex-employee holdin' five people hostage," Starsky grunted, tucking his hands into his leather bombardier jacket pockets. The temperature had been dropping all morning, signaling bad weather from up north--probably Alaska.

"How many of those are customers and which work for you?" Hutch squinted over at the five people. Four men and one woman, all in serious danger if Romano pulled the trigger of the pistol he was waving so cavalierly.

"Those two." Stillman indicated a black man and a small, thick-shouldered man with blond hair. "They work the carwash and dry the windows, stuff like that...Steven has Down's syndrome. He's my nephew."

"Terrific," Starsky groaned.

"The woman is Mrs. Peterson. She comes in like clockwork every week to have her car washed. One of our best customers. That's her car inside, now." Pointing to the Buick being repeatedly washed and rinsed. "The other two guys I don't know, must have come in to wait for a wash after I went to get my sandwich."

"Awfully good luck you're being out when Romano arrived," Starsky commented, ducking his head to look over the top of his sunglasses at Stillman.

The fat man bristled, his face going past red to a nasty shade of purple. "What are you implying?"

"He wasn't implying anything," Hutch soothed shooting his partner a 'can it' glance. "You know Romano; can you think of anything that would calm him down so we can get those people out of there?"

"Short of giving him my job, no." Stillman glared at the gunman, who was now watching them with deadly intent. Hutch wasn't happy with the situation in the least. This could drag on all afternoon, ruining all the plans he'd made for Starsky.

"He's getting real antsy," Reynolds observed, watching Romano pace like a caged beast. "If we're going to do something, it had better be soon."

"More officers on the way," Sullivan reported, having been on the police band radio with dispatch.

"Is there anyway to get into the building without him seeing me?" Starsky piped up, after examining the carwash for a few moments.

"There's a cut off switch just inside the other end of the unit," Stillman explained. "And a door that leads into my office just past the washing brushes."

"So I could get into your office and come out behind him?" Starsky asked with a grin.

"In theory," Stillman agreed, "You'd be all wet."

"That can't be helped." Starsky shrugged.

"Starsky, no way..." Hutch had a knot in his belly the size of a small state. He was not going to allow Starsky to walk unprotected into a building with a crazed gunman loose.

"Can you get him on the phone?" Starsky asked, ignoring the blond man. "Distract him while I go in?"

"Use the pay telephone here." Reynolds picked up the handset on the corner public phone. "What's the number?" he asked, dialing when Stillman recited the seven digits.

"Starsky, can I talk to you?" Hutch asked sharply, knowing exactly how this would turn out. He never had any control over Starsky's actions in the field, which was exactly why he needed to be the one in control on their bondage nights. It gave him a measure of power back. Starsky was fearless to the point that he rarely thought of himself being in danger. It had nearly gotten him killed, and Hutch wouldn't let that happen again. "This is insane and you know it. You can't go inside there!"

"You got any better ideas, Hutch?" Starsky grinned in that lopsided, endearing way that caught Hutch in the heart every time. "He can see us through that plate glass like we're his own private cop show." Starsky inclined his head at the gunman. "All I need is some distraction so's he doesn't notice me walking back to the car wash." He noticed that Reynolds and Stillman had obviously gotten Romero on the phone and were gesturing for them to come over. "You're better at hostage negotiations than I am; you're needed right now!"

Torn between continuing the argument and doing all that was in his power as a police officer to protect the hostages, Hutch raised a finger and said, "You be careful."

"Hey, I'm Superman, remember?" Starsky waited until Hutch had gone over to pick up the phone. When he could see that Romano was talking on the phone with his handsome blond partner, Starsky began to casually move off the sidewalk. He circled his car as if planning to get in on the driver's side and then crouched down, gauging the distance he had to cover. There was one car parked to the side of the washing shed that would provide cover but there was also more than one hundred feet he had to cross before he'd be inside the building.

No time like the present to do it. He'd either get there without incident or get shot for his troubles. It was all a gamble, like anything else in life. With a deep breath, Starsky made it to relative security in one burst of speed. He shivered as the spray of cold water hit him. The weather was way too wintry for going swimming but he had no choice in the matter. Taking the plunge, he dove past the jet sprays still valiantly trying to clean Mrs. Peterson's Buick. He was completely soaked through with icy water, but his adrenaline surge helped to combat the cold. The large scrubbing brushes swung back in forth in a menacing manner so Starsky had to wait until they were at the furthest point in their arcs before he slipped past them. Praying that Stillman hadn't locked the connecting door, he turned the knob, elated when it opened silently.

Starsky stood dripping in a tiny office, getting his breathing under control before he made his assault. He could hear Romano swearing, but it was fairly obvious that he was no longer talking to Hutch on the phone.


"He hung up." Hutch said flatly, keeping his emotions packed down very tightly. Romano hadn't exactly been in a negotiating mood, either, ranting about being fired without cause and wanting revenge. He hadn't threatened to shoot any of the hostages, which was a positive sign.

"Try again!" Stillman urged. This was not going to look good to the owner.

"We don't want him to think we're badgering him." Hutch stared across the sidewalk at Romano who chose that moment to raise an obscene finger in his direction. "Sullivan, did you find the owner?"

"Dispatch couldn't reach him at any of the phone numbers Mr. Stillman provided, sir!" Danny reported. This was his first hostage case since his graduation from the academy only two months before and he wanted to prove his worth in every way.

Hutch almost wanted to pat the boy on the head and send him off for ice cream. Had he ever been that young or gung ho? Maybe not, but Starsky had been, and all his anxiety and concern were focused on his curly-haired lover. Please God, don't let this turn out badly. Hutch hadn't seen Starsky slip inside the car wash while he'd been on the phone, so he could only wait until Starsky made his reappearance inside the building.


Opening the door to the main cashier area just a crack, Starsky could see a portion of Romano's back as he paced back and forth with agitation. He also realized he had caught the eye of one of the two unidentified men sitting in the chairs. The guy raised his eyebrows, then turned his head.

"You can't hold us here any longer!" the man announced belligerently. "This is...against the Geneva Convention."

Good! Starsky silently applauded this unexpected help. It took Romano's attention, however briefly, away from the police outside and gave him precious seconds to get into position to take Romano down.

"Shut your trap," Romano growled. "I gotta gun."

"What'da want this job for anyways?" the man continued. "I run a mechanic shop down the street; we need hard workers."

Starsky burst through the back door, vaulting the dividing counter like an Olympic gold medal winner, and jamming his gun into Manny Romano's back. "You're under arrest, turkey, place the gun down nice and slowly and put your hands on your head."

It didn't take Hutch a minute to get inside the building to assist his partner; his whole being surged with joy that it had all turned out all right.

Romano was quickly Mirandized and arrested, the hostages all eager to give their statements and get on with the rest of their day. Giving the job of interviewing all five people to the patrol officers, Hutch pulled Starsky aside, caught between wanting to throttle him or hug him.

"You're freezing." Hutch longed to push back the lank, dripping hair plastered to his partner's forehead and kiss away the cold.

"That I am," Starsky agreed shivering. He had goosebumps on his goosebumps. It would be so easy to melt into Hutch's embrace and ignore the rest of the world but that would have to wait 'til later. "What say we go back to the precinct and I take a hot shower before we question that turkey?"

After ensuring that Romano was booked, Hutch followed the still dripping Starsky back into the locker room. It was midway between any shift change, so there was no one else around and he took the opportunity to help his lover off with his wet clothes, just to be able to momentarily touch his skin.

"Gettin' frisky," Starsky said, shivering a little from the warmth of Hutch's big hand on his still icy skin. Hutch's fingers softly caressed the side of his waist before pulling down his soaked jeans.

"That's all I'm getting." Hutch rolled his eyes. They had to be so careful while inside police headquarters.

"I dunno," Starsky bent to retrieve a towel from the bench, noticing an erection tenting the front of the blond's Khakis. "Looks like you're getting a boner." He brushed a brazen hand over the hardening bulge with a grin. Looking up at Hutch, he caught the desire in those sky blue eyes and his grin widened. Never breaking eye contact, Starsky eased the zipper of Hutch's fly all the way down, slipping his fingers inside. The eager, swelling cock practically leaped into his hand. In contrast to Hutch's thick, red member, Starsky's was shriveled and shrunken from the cold. Closing his fist around the throbbing cock, Starsky could feel his own start to stir. "It wants to come out and play."

"Starsky." Hutch's voice was hoarse with need. Starsky's clasp was cold on his warm flesh, but it felt so good. "Not here." It was so amazingly risky, but he no longer cared.

"Won't take any time at all," Starsky teased, his cobalt eyes glowing. Luckily they were sheltered between two rows of lockers on the far side of the room. If anyone should come in, they'd hear footsteps before anyone saw them in the act.

"Shh," Hutch laughed. "Quick, then." He bit down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning with the incredible feel of Starsky pumping his cock. Leaning his hands back on the narrow bench he was straddling, he thrust in rhythm to the throbbing beat Starsky had started. The little death caught him in its thrall, spiraling up from his groin to the rest of his body, leaving him breathless, spurting against Starsky's naked leg.

Exuberant with guilty, stolen pleasure, Starsky leaned close to his beautiful, blond partner, capturing a kiss while he was still panting in the coital aftermath.

"You're freezing. Go take a shower, Popsicle boy," Hutch whispered, lip to lip with Starsky.

"I love Popsicles," Starsky teased, licking Hutch's lip. He jumped up, scooping up a towel from the pile on the bench to tie around his waist, his cock no longer a victim of the cold, but vibrant and alive.

Rolling up another towel, Hutch flicked him lightly on back of the leg. "Go shower! I'll get Romano into an interrogation room so we can get out of here pronto."

"Can't wait." Starsky turned on the shower full blast, waiting for the water to heat up completely before ducking under. He was glad he kept a set of clothes in his locker for such emergencies. The thought of putting those sodden jeans back on was enough to droop his half-erection. Time to get back to work, anyway, so they could play later.

Interrogation of the prisoner went swiftly, since he was still ranting about his lost job and was more than ready to tell his whole story to anyone who would listen. He claimed he'd never stolen from Sudsy car wash, had been an upstanding employee and a fine manager, that the owner just didn't like him. Luckily, for the police, but not for Manny Romano, the owner had reported the theft, and there was a rap sheet with priors on file for one Emmanuel Jesus Romano. This made leaving him in jail over night a no-brainer, since he'd violated his parole by having a gun, much less all his other crimes. Both Starsky and Hutch knew that they'd be required to come back, probably for a court appearance, in the next few days, spoiling their plans for a long weekend. But with any luck, they'd at least be able to squeeze one twenty-four hour stretch off, and decided to make the most of it. Hutch told Dobey that he'd rented a small house on the beach in Malibu, if they had to be reached and left the phone number. With any more luck, the courts would be full until Monday morning, and they wouldn't need to be called back until then. One could only hope.

On his way back to the squadroom to locate his partner, Hutch found he was still having irrational flashes of temper over Starsky's risky behavior at the car wash. Letting his imagination run wild, he pictured Starsky clad only in thin bands of leather, kneeling at his feet, head bowed in penitence for his behavior. He waited for the lash of a whip, knowing he deserved the stripes for disobeying... No, Hutch shook his head, that would be a blatant abuse of his power, such as it was, which he wanted to avoid at all cost.

Starsky had only been doing his appointed job, serving the public. He'd done so courageously and swiftly, delivering the hostages from their captor without a single injury. What else could Hutch expect of him?

That it frightened him half to death to see Starsky pull such outrageous stunts was beside the point. Just because Hutch didn't want him to put himself in danger wasn't a valid reason to punish Starsky. It wasn't fair to bring old baggage, such as Hutch's ongoing nightmares from Starsky's shooting two years ago, into the bondage arena. That was a charmed circle, and only what went on inside of it mattered. The rest of the world and its problems fell by the wayside for that twenty-four hours, and that was how Hutch wanted it to stay.

"Ready to go?" he asked, waiting until Starsky had flipped the last page of his report out of the typewriter and folded it inside of a file folder.

"Am now." Starsky smiled, his stomach suddenly in knots. They were really going to do it again. He was going to change from an independent, free thinking police detective into a slave, ready to fulfill his dominant's every whim. It was one of the most terrifying and yet exhilarating experiences he'd ever had, and the thought of doing it again gave him tremors. Added to that, the first order of the evening was having Starsky's ear pierced, on Hutch's orders. He felt lightheaded and wobbly-kneed with excitement.

Having anticipated some resistance about the earring, Hutch had actually done a bit of below-the-radar investigation into whether pierced ears were even allowed on male detectives. It was, after all, an increasingly popular accessory on the male population at large and no longer connotated that the wearer was gay, only fashionably up-to-date. In fact, while no other detective under Dobey's command was so adorned, he'd discovered a number of fellow officers at other stations who were.

"Is it safe?" Starsky had queried earlier in the week, bringing the subject up at the most unlikely times to get his erstwhile master to divulge any clues to what was going to happen at their next bondage session.

It was such an absurd question, especially in respect to what he'd done to Starsky before and planned to again, that Hutch just had to laugh. "Starsk, some girls just ice the front of their ears, put a potato behind and poke a needle through the lobe."

Starsky's horrified expression had just made him laugh harder. "That's barbaric! How do you know?" Starsky had demanded.

"My sister had a piercing slumber party when she was thirteen." Hutch explained, wiping tears from his eyes. "But I'm taking you to an experienced professional, so don't get all in a panic before next Friday."

"I don't panic."

As it was, he'd seen Starsky studying anyone and everyone they met with pierced ears. When they'd had to interview a Spanish-speaking woman balancing an earring-wearing infant on her hip, Hutch thought Starsky's eyes were going to bulge out of his head.

Hutch had ruminated long and hard on the pros and cons of taking Starsky straight to the piercing place versus having him drive himself. He'd finally decided that Starsky should go by himself, eliminating any hint of force or coercion. If, at the last minute, Starsky had reservations, he didn't have to show up. Hutch didn't want Starsky to feel like he was maneuvered into anything he hadn't agreed on, however tacitly. Ironically, kind of like how he'd felt at the car wash. With a rueful laugh, Hutch pulled open the driver's side door of his battered car.

"What?" Starsky paused in the midst of the same action.

"Starsky, sometimes you scare the life out of me." Hutch sighed, waiting until he was seated before backing the car out of the parking place.

"It's never planned, honest."

"I realize that, I just wish...we could come to some sort of agreement ahead of time."

"We discussed my going in there!" Starsky protested, turning to face Hutch as much as he could in a car.

"We didn't discuss anything. You said you were going and gave me no choice in the matter." Hutch's anger rose to the surface too quickly and he knew he'd said the last too emotionally for a rational conversation. He took a calming breath. "How do you think that makes me feel?"

There was a long silence in the car punctuated only by the rattles and clunks of the LTD's engine before Starsky spoke. "I wouldn't like it if you went in there without backup," Starsky conceded.

"Exactly." Hutch nodded, glancing over at the dark haired man. "Especially when every part of me wants to put you over my knee and spank the cockiness out of you."

"Oh." Starsky gulped, half-aroused and half-fearful because he knew Hutch could and would do it.

"But I've made a conscious decision that what goes on in the streets should not have any bearing on what we do behind closed doors." Hutch braked at a stoplight, trying to organize his thoughts so he used the correct words to explain himself. "I can't let anger color my actions as a Top...and, I shouldn't have done it last time." He'd used a ruler on Starsky's bare butt, taking out his frustration after Starsky had pulled another fearless stunt to bring down a gunman.

"Thank you," Starsky said meekly, twisting the steel linked chain on his neck around his finger.

"That could lead to dangerous situations that I want to avoid. These sessions have to be safe and carefully planned or I won't continue." Hutch felt his dominant persona filling him up, taking control. It was a subtle shift, but a powerful one.

"I know."

"So saying, you still earned three demerits from the last time."

"What's the..." Starsky wasn't sure of the proper term to use in this context. Was it punishment? His heart beat faster, his skin suddenly tingly and flushed as if Hutch had already smacked him.

"You'll find out." Hutch smiled smoothly, parking the car behind Starsky's Torino for the second time that day. "Go upstairs, and put on something nice; we're going out after the piercing."

"A real restaurant? Not some burger joint?" Starsky blurted in astonishment.

"I want a decent meal before my dessert." Hutch gave him a leer, indicating just exactly what he wanted for dessert.

"Lobster and steak?" Starsky suggested, harking back to a bet he'd won but never collected on. Because he'd been shot, but that was a memory for another time.

"I'll do the ordering, but you'll like what's on the menu."

"I always do." Starsky matched his leer.

"Stop that," Hutch ordered, a hint of the master coming through.

Starsky folded his hands in his lap, becoming more submissive with every breath. "What am I s'posed to wear?" he asked carefully.

"Something appropriate."

"You're actually gonna let me choose?"

"My choice would be nothing, but the restaurant requires a suit jacket and tie," Hutch answered, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

"I'll remember that," Starsky said cheekily getting out the car.

"Meet me at this address by seven thirty sharp. Tardiness will not be tolerated tonight." Hutch handed him the paper just before he drove away.


No, it wasn't the sort of place any self respecting high school girl looking to get her ears pierced would be caught dead in, Hutch mused, waiting just inside the door, which corresponded to the address he'd given Starsky. The store, darkly named Leather Jungle, provided everything the initiate or experienced practitioner of BDSM needed to set up a scene. It was the first place Hutch had gone when he'd first started looking for comfortable cuffs to bind Starsky with and he'd returned again and again. The shelves were loaded with leather goods of every sort: from mundane leashes that could have been used on a pampered dog, to tiny straps for binding cock and balls tightly. There was no nice use for those; they were expressly for the exquisite torture that typified bondage practices. Long tailed whips and short, thick, multicolored rubber dildos had been arranged into an artistic presentation around a mannequin bedecked with enough fetish wear for two. In the back there were rooms for trying on the larger items like rubber suits and heavily boned leather corsets, along side a room for piercing any part of the body and another for tattooing. It was one stop shopping for the bondage crowd.

Driving through early evening traffic, every nerve cell in Starsky's entire body was on high alert. This was it; he was on, if only he could make it to the place on time. Hutch was having him pierce his ear.

It wasn't so much that the idea totally freaked him, despite all the hoopla he'd raised all week waiting for the actual operation. It was that this seemed such a permanent, visible sign of their relationship. Sure, no one but the two of them would know its significance. Just that he would be physically changed.

This second go round was scarier than the first time, in a way, because now he knew exactly what Hutch might do to him. It had hurt, but it had also transported him to an incredible other dimension, where he'd been pure physical sensation without a corporal body, for a few moments. He'd been on a trip no hallucinogen could have ever have created. It made regular sex seem as ordinary as old white socks.

Drumming his fingers ceaselessly on the steering wheel, Starsky decided to funnel his nervous energy into some music and switched on the radio. He broke into gales of laughter that threatened his ability to drive when the first song he tuned in was particularly apropos.

"Gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure, cruel to be kind, it's a very fine line..." Starsky sang along with gusto, going for his appointment with destiny.

Hutch caught sight of the flashy red Torino turning into the parking lot and went out to intercept his sub. A thrill swept through him every time he thought about the sacrifice Starsky was making to do this for him and he loved the curly haired man all the more.

Starsky was wearing an unstructured dove gray silk jacket over a pinstriped shirt and pleated gray wool pants. A purple tie streaked with gray completed the ensemble. Hutch thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life and itched to peel those clothes off to reveal the perfect package underneath. That would certainly be his after dinner treat. But first things first.

"Where'd you get the suit, lover?" Hutch asked, trying to hide his desire.

"R'member when Nicky came out in September?" Starsky couldn't take his eyes off Hutch, either. The blond was handsomely attired in a conservatively cut black suit with a dark blue tie. The dark colors only dramatized his very blond hair and sky blue eyes. "He tol' me I was stuck in the '70's and took me shopping for some more stylish duds."

"Remind me to thank your brother," Hutch said faintly, suddenly feeling overly warm in his wool jacket. "Your appointment is in a few minutes. C'mon."

Following Hutch into Leather Jungle, Starsky was struck dumb, unable to take the whole place in in one glance. So many things to cuff, restrain, and cause pain. So many things that could be used on him. He didn't know whether to examine each item or let the whole place wash over him in a sensual sadistic tsunami.

"C'mon, Starsky," Hutch said with more authority. "We're waiting."

Taking a deep breath, Starsky crossed the length of the shop into a small area adorned with large color pictures of pierced body parts. Never in his life had he seen so much flesh adorned with so much metal. There were hoops through ears, noses, nipples and... his own manhood recoiling in terror and tucking up close to his balls, Starsky averted his eyes from the last photo. No way would he ever allow anyone to stab a sharpened metal shaft there, ever.

"Siddown, let's get this goin'." A gruff hand pushed Starsky into a small chair, the hand's owner, Rex, eyeing him critically. "Ever had this done before?"

"No," Hutch answered when he saw that Starsky was beyond replying.

"Which ear y'want?" the giant demanded.

"Left," Hutch responded, resting a hand on Starsky's shoulder. Whether it to restrain or comfort, he wasn't sure. Probably a little of each.

At six four or five, Rex must have weighed in excess of three hundred pounds; most of it straining outward like a pregnant woman's belly. He sported piercings in both ears and the nose, and his arms and chest were covered with tattoos of naked women. Starsky had a good view of one enormous-breasted vixen when the man leaned in close to swab his ear with cold, acrid smelling alcohol. Rex was wearing the bare minimum of clothes acceptable in respectable or even raunchy society, a leather vest and slacks. No shirt, no socks or shoes.

"Close your eyes," Hutch said softly, his breath warm on Starsky's right ear. Obediently, Starsky did so, a perception of fluttering wings in his stomach. Rex's thick fingers grasped his ear lobe, then there was a sharp, sudden flash of pain like when he'd had his fingers poked for blood tests. Something cool and hard threaded through his flesh, and it was over.

"I love you," Hutch whispered. "You're mine." Thrills of liquid silver shivered down Starsky's spine. When he opened his eyes, he was staring directly into clear light blue ones.

"I love you, too."

"Ya wanna look at it?" Rex asked gruffly, handing over a mirror.

Starsky stared at his altered self, pleased at the result. He'd been wearing his hair slightly shorter on the top recently, letting the back grow longer, so tendrils of curls fell past the collar of his jacket. His dark hair curled around his left ear, framing the diamond embedded there. It caught the overhead light, refracting rainbow sparkles. "Oh my god, Hutch, is that real?"

"No cubic zirconium for my sla...Starsky." Hutch amended his words in front of Rex, who shrugged, going out to find his next customer. "You like it?"

"It blows me away." Starsky looked up, seeing the diamond reflected in Hutch's eyes like an entire galaxy.

Starsky had to fight the urge to sulk on the way to the restaurant because Hutch took over driving the Torino, leaving his own car behind Leather Jungle. Knowing Starsky would never leave his beloved car parked for two days in an unfamiliar area, Hutch still insisted on keeping the upper hand, which meant he got to drive.

Having made reservations, they were seated almost immediately in an elegantly appointed room redolent in dark wood, burgundy brocade chairs and white linen tablecloths. Candles flickered at each table, their flames magnified by glass globes. Waiters brought over glasses of water and baskets of crusty French bread within seconds of their sitting down, and Hutch ordered one glass of red wine for each of them from the sommelier. That would be the first and last glass of alcohol for the evening. He didn't want to enter into any bondage sessions with less than a clear head.

"Look who's here." Starsky dipped his chin, indicating a stunningly beautiful blond woman dressed in a black velvet dress that so perfectly hugged her curves it must have been sewn directly onto her sharply body. She had the kind of hourglass figure that indicated a heavily boned corset underneath, and arch-killing spike-heeled shoes on her feet. Without saying a word, her presence commanded attention, every man in the room turning to watch her walk by. She was followed by a prosperous-looking barrel-chested gentleman who called to mind the profession of banker or lawyer. He pulled out the woman's chair for her even before the Maitre d' could do it and then hesitated before sitting as if waiting for permission.

The woman dismissed the bemused Maitre d' with a wave of one pale hand, every gesture demanding ultimate respect and obedience.

"Carlysle," Hutch murmured, amazed that she could arouse him from across the room. He'd first met her when he and Starsky had gone to her house to question her on her business practices. A dominatrix by trade, she'd been insulted by their innuendo that she was a common whore and sent them on their way. But he owed her a debt of gratitude; the meeting had sparked Starsky's interest in bondage and changed the course of their sex lives.

Without even being told, Starsky knew the banker was Carlysle's slave for the evening. His whole deportment bespoke submission, although he doubted most uninitiated into BDSM would pick up on the subtle clues he was beginning to recognize.

"This must be where all the doms bring their slaves, huh?" he snarked, sotto voce, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"You're in big trouble for that remark, buster." Hutch's voice cut hard and cold as a knife into Starsky's gut.

The tiny ache in his ear lobe suddenly flared, as if Hutch had actually pinched him. "Yes, sir," Starsky answered. He was finding it especially hard to don the submissive role so soon after dropping his detective self. He perched on the edge of his chair, not quite able to relax into the moment. He'd gotten himself into trouble so soon into their time together, but then that was the story of his life. Getting into trouble and then trying to wiggle out of it later.

"Have an oyster." Hutch held out a mollusk on the end of his fork. "To keep up your strength."

Tipping his head up, Starsky caught his love's eyes and smiled at the warmth there, closing his lips over the tines of the fork to swallow the succulent morsel. He'd never really liked oysters before but suddenly he understood why they were an aphrodisiac. He was suffused with amorous desire just watching Hutch eat his own portion of the appetizer, watching each glistening mound slip past the blond man's lips and slide down his throat, the Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. Oh, to put his own lips over those sweet, ripe looking lips and suck hard, to taste the lingering flavor of the oyster mingled with Hutch's own.

"You have the last one." This time Hutch passed him the fork, watching greedily as Starsky speared the oyster, then flicked out his tongue to briefly touch the food before swallowing it whole.

Just as the waiter came to clear away the empty plate and replace it with Caesar salads, Carlysle passed by their table, pausing to look both of them over.

"Carlysle, ma'am," Hutch murmured, standing politely. His glance at Starsky instantly pulled the other to his feet.

"I thought I recognized you two," she purred, her throaty voice like whiskeyed silk. "You're the detectives who came by my house. Hutchinson..." She gave him a look that once again left him feeling boorish and clumsy compared to her flawless perfection. "And..."

"Starsky, ma'am," Starsky prompted, then froze at her glacier disapproval. How could such a woman be cold as ice and yet send off waves of heat that drew every man to her like moths to a flame? She turned her head, totally dismissing him.

"I can see that there's been a change in your relationship." She addressed Hutch, lightly rubbing the steel chain around Starsky's neck with a tapered digit tipped by a blood red fingernail. He didn't dare move with her hands on him. "I totally approve of your choice, but you have to have a much firmer hand with discipline or they try to get away with murder." She bent her forefinger over the edge of the chain, giving a tiny jerk, never once acknowledging Starsky again.

"I-I'll remember that," Hutch faltered, any ounce of dominance fleeing in front of her indomitable power.

"Come by and see me some time, after work, of course and I'll give you some pointers." Carlysle smiled a thoroughly nasty smile. "Maybe I could whip something up for you."

"It would hurt like hell to miss an opportunity to get together with you," Hutch replied, proud to have any ability with the English language at all when she tugged at every hormone he had.

"Glad to hear it." Carlysle raised one perfect eyebrow. "I see my companion is chaffing at being left alone for so long, but do come by...just call first so I can slap something on my face first."

"No need on my account." Hutch had warmed to the repartee and begun to enjoy himself. "I prefer au natural, myself."

"I don't keep accounts." She took a breast-heaving breath. "No credit allowed, everything off the cuff. I have nothing to hide. Everything out in the open."

"Open and accessible." Hutch nodded formally. Switching his attention to Starsky's face he was fascinated by the play of emotions in the indigo eyes. Starsky was in turns jealous, turned on, and angered by Carlysle's blatant ignoring him, but he was trying to stay within the confines of his chosen role and not risk further censure. "I will be busy for the foreseeable future, however."

"Pity." She shrugged, looking over her shoulder at him. "I don't wait long."

"Neither do I, lady." Hutch matched her icy blond smile, then turned back to his eating companion. Starsky's deep blue eyes were wide in disbelief but he'd uncharacteristically never said a word. Hutch smiled triumphantly at him, proud of himself. Carlysle may be the dominatrix extraordinaire, but he'd come out on top in their latest encounter. The waiter took that moment to serve the filet mignon.

"Thank you," Hutch murmured, never taking his eyes off Starsky. He couldn't quite read his lover's expression as the curly haired man ducked his head over his food. There were times in the line of duty when he felt like he could read Starsky's mind, but somehow, tonight wasn't one of them. He wasn't sure if Starsky was uncomfortable and angered by the situation with Carlysle or unhappy in his submissive role. What if that was it? What if Starsky no longer wanted to do this? Hutch cut off a tiny piece of the perfectly cooked meat, almost unable to take a bite.

"Hutch?" Starsky asked hesitantly. He'd been blown away by Hutch's reaction to the woman. Especially, since after their first meeting at her home, it had been Starsky who had been interested in going to see her, after work, so to speak. Did it mean that Hutch would rather be with her? "Do you...?" Starsky could hardly put into words what he didn't want to know.

"Want to be with her?" Hutch asked softly, captivated by the way the candle flame sparked prisms of light in the diamond glinting in Starsky's ear. "Not if she were the last woman on Earth."

"Really?" Starsky's naturally buoyant personality rose up once more, a grin transforming his face.

"Honestly," Hutch promised. He ate a few bites of the meat, speared three stalks of asparagus into his mouth and washed it down with the last swallow of wine. Seeing that Starsky had eaten about the same amount, he signaled the waiter over. "We'd like the bill, immediately." They'd spent far too much time in public. It was time to get down to the best part of the evening and they still had a bit of a drive ahead of them.

It was nearly full dark when they left. Once outside the restaurant, Hutch maneuvered Starsky around the back, anxious to get his hands on him finally. He had a few plans in mind, some of which were a little bit on the evil side, but wasn't that what his job was? To sweetly torture Starsky with sexual arousal?

"C'mere," Hutch whispered, pulling Starsky into a small park just past the parking lot. There was a traditional gazebo on a grassy knoll, only steps away, unused due to the darkness and increasingly cold weather. Starsky followed eagerly, wondering what games his master had planned up there. He certainly hoped he wouldn't lose too many of his clothes in the process, because even in a suit jacket, he was getting chilly.

Hutch soon warmed him up, forcing the smaller man up against the wall inside the lacy white Victorian structure. He unbuttoned Starsky's collar button, threading a finger through the Windsor knot in the tie, loosening it until it slid out from under the steel chain and baring the vulnerable throat. With hungry lips that hadn't been satisfied with filet mignon, Hutch kissed the naked skin over Starsky's jugular, sucking hard there as if he were a vampire.

Starsky groaned with the immediate hit to his cock Hutch's actions caused. He went from limp to semi-erect in seconds. His pulse seemed to pound like the surf in a heavy storm when Hutch left his neck and trailed kisses down to his collarbone. Starsky tried to reach up, encircle his lover's body with his arms, but Hutch pushed them down, holding them behind him with his left hand, never stopping his pattern of kisses and love bites. Starsky could have easily broken free of the grasp, but he didn't want to. It seemed forever since Hutch had lavished him with attention like this, he was loath to have it end.

When Hutch changed direction, Starsky begged him to continue, until the hot lips moved back up to his chin and jaw. Nipping and nuzzling at the tender flesh of the throat, Hutch always managed to avoid the actual lips, to Starsky's frustration. Hutch's last target was that tempting piece of ice nestled in lobe of his lover's ear. He lapped at the ticklish center to the ear, earning a giggle from the recipient, then centered on the newest appendage, swirling a long tongue around the diamond, then sucking on it as it were a pit he could extract from a cherry.

Struggling to keep his breathing even, Starsky couldn't stop a sharp hiss of pain. The wound may have been tiny, but it was fresh and stung with a fury. Hutch's warm tongue both soothed and exacerbated the pain.

"This is my mark on you," Hutch whispered in his ear, letting go of his prize. "You're mine forever."

"Forever," Starsky agreed, ready to do anything he asked as long as he kept his arms around him.

After releasing Starsky's hands, Hutch bent slightly, unzipping his partner's fly to release the erection tenting his pants.

"Naughty, naughty," Hutch teased, "I didn't say you could come out and play." With a movement quicker than Starsky could catch in the dark, Hutch had pulled something out of his pocket and slipped it up the thick rod. Starsky stiffened as it was snapped into place, the sensation indescribable. The cock ring fit snugly around the base of his penis, pooling the blood there so it throbbed with powerful need.

"Leave that there until we get to the beach house I rented," Hutch instructed, his dominant voice fully in place. "Don't touch it in any way." He smiled lasciviously, stroking the head, causing Starsky to grit his teeth from the waves of consuming desire that surged through his body.

"H-how far is it?" he managed to ask.

"About an hour." Hutch finally placed a kiss right on Starsky's lips, but it was just a chaste, closed mouth tease, promising more where that came from.

"Only an hour?" Starsky echoed, following him back to the car. Hutch hadn't zipped him up and his cock stuck out, bouncing along absurdly. Luckily, there wasn't a soul in the parking lot and they arrived back at the Torino without notice. Starsky had to slide way down in the seat to be remotely comfortable with his hard on sticking up between his legs, turgid and dark red. He ached to put his hands around it, relieve the insistent throbbing that directed every ounce of his energy and thought to his groin. God, an hour like this? In a moving car...

Sitting on his hands was the only way Starsky could manage not to touch the obvious target he couldn't take his eyes off. He kept hoping Hutch would drive faster, or maybe take advantage of a turn-off for a little recreation in the car. He'd never had to endure a cock ring for so long.

For his part, Hutch found it hard to keep his eyes on the road with that huge cock so close, so easily accessible. He was glad there weren't any stoplights on the freeway, or he would have had his hands all over Starsky in a moment.

Taking the off ramp for Malibu, Hutch was soon driving down a narrow street lined with mostly wooden houses set up on stilts against the cliffs, overlooking beachfront property. The kind of houses that were distinctly unsafe in a rainstorm, what with the tendency in So. California for mudslides and soil erosion. Luckily, though the night was cold, there was a clear sky sparkling with stars and a moon one day shy of full and no hint of rain.

"We're here," Hutch announced, pulling up in front of a house weathered by the sea winds to a soft gray color. Wind chimes made from long cylindrical pipes hung from the eaves, giving off musical tones in the rising wind.

"Where'd you find this place?" Starsky asked in awe, getting out awkwardly. The ache in his groin had gotten painful, and he hoped Hutch took care of it soon, in any way possible. He hadn't touched himself once, his submissive headspace settling securely on the drive over. They'd only talked a little, each thinking of what the next twenty-four hours held.

Hutch unloaded a cooler and a suitcase from the trunk, giving Starsky the suitcase to carry inside. As always, he had been up the day before to prepare, but there were last minute things that couldn't be brought ahead of time. "That shop where you got your ear pierced does a little of everything. " Hutch explained, fishing the key out of his pocket and unlocking the front door, which was carved with strange spirals and swirls that looked vaguely mystical to Starsky. "Just set that inside the door and stay there," Hutch instructed, indicating where to leave the suitcase, while he carried the cooler into the kitchen. "They even rent houses that have had a few modifications to suit their clientele." He smiled, pointing to a ring bolted in the doorframe above his head and two more on each side. "User friendly."

Starsky shivered at the thought of being suspended by his wrists there, defenseless against whatever Hutch had in mind. He felt powerless to move, all his energy sapped by the overpowering need in his cock. If something didn't happen soon, he'd start begging for mercy. This submission was such a scary thing. He had so little say in what was happening, except the fact that he'd agreed to allow Hutch to have total control. That was something he could hold onto, wasn't it? That and his safeword. He hadn't used it the last time, but this cock ring was driving his perilously close to blurting the word out.

Please Hutch. Take care of me.

Part 2