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Part 2

Having finished putting away all the perishable items, Hutch watched Starsky for a few minutes from the shelter of the kitchen, relishing the unguarded moment. His lover, his slave for twenty-four glorious hours. There were things he could never do to Starsky, things he'd read about, one he'd even had done to himself when he'd still been married to Vanessa, but there was still a wealth of possibilities in the category of bondage to contemplate. She'd been the instigator in that relationship, drawing him into a world he'd hardly known existed. The first time she'd cuffed his hands behind him and applied her mouth to his cock had been their wedding night. They'd enjoyed taking turns in the dominant position but Vanessa hadn't limited her activities to just their bedroom. Unfortunately, things had gone from pleasure to pain quickly after that. But that was in the distant past, tonight was for now, with Starsky.

What to do first? Starsky was nearly twitching after wearing that cock ring for so long, and besides, Hutch had wanted his hands on that long, lovely shaft since he'd snapped the ring in place.

"Don't move," Hutch commanded when Starsky took a step forward, seeing him come out of the kitchen. "Remember the rules? You have to be naked inside the house."

"Yes." Starsky started to slip off his jacket, his movements almost dreamlike, but Hutch took it off for him. Laying the suit coat to one side, Hutch then tackled each small shirt button until the two halves of striped cotton separated revealing Starsky's curly haired chest. Hutch smiled, carding his fingers through the dark growth, palpating the hills and valleys of the rib cage like a paleontologist gently excavating for buried fossils.

The feel of Hutch's hands roaming his body was hypnotic, soothing, and Starsky didn't move as his master finished undressing him by slipping off his shoes and sliding the gray wool pants down his legs to be kicked off. Of course he hadn't worn boxers. That had been a given.

"Kneel down." Hutch pushed gently, his heart aching with love when Starsky did exactly as he was told, sinking to his knees with a tiny sigh. Taking another key out of his pants pocket, Hutch inserted it into the miniature lock on the steel chain, casting the necklace to one side. Then he held out the deep brown leather slave collar, placing it around Starsky's neck and buckling it in the back.

"Who do you belong to?" Hutch asked.

"You," Starsky breathed, his whole body suffused with joy to have the collar back when it belonged. It had such an undeniable physical presence, binding his throat tightly so that he couldn't breathe without feeling its tight hold on him. Hutch's love was like a circle around his heart, capturing him exactly like the one that looped around his neck, holding him fast. He never wanted to escape.

"What's your safeword?"

"Torino," Starsky answered, but it was getting harder and harder to speak with the urgent distress calls from his cock. He needed relief fast.

Finally Hutch leaned in to kiss him, dropping down so he was level with his Bottom. He cupped Starsky's balls in one hand, squeezing gently, watching the effect that caused. It was akin to setting off a bomb in Starsky's groin, throbbing bolts of frantic need with nowhere to go assaulted his body until he was gasping for breath. He clenched his hands around his thighs, remembering he'd been expressly forbidden to touch his cock, but the urge was so strong he was trembling. Hutch grinned, knowing he'd let this go on about as long as Starsky could tolerate it and reached down to snap off the constricting ring, making as little contact as possible with the flesh it surrounded.

Starsky wailed as a rush of pain flooded his lower half, the blood flow changing so suddenly he was light headed with relief. He could feel Hutch's arms on his shoulders supporting him. "Bring yourself off, I want to watch," a voice said through the buzzing in his ears.

Wrapping his left hand around himself, Starsky needed no more invitation than that. He was way past the point of no return already. It took only a few pumps before he was gone, brain overloaded with the most basic painkiller there is, pure unadulterated pleasure. He sighed, relaxing for the first time in over an hour, his limp member hanging loosely from his fist.

"Now I get some." Hutch laughed, delighted with Starsky's finale. He liked knowing he'd done something that created that kind of satisfaction. The whole point of bondage was the pleasure pay off. Just like in life, there was delayed gratification, a little pain, a little torment before you could enjoy yourself.

He waited until Starsky was able to stand under his own power, then instructed him to hold out his arms while he buckled the wrist cuffs into place. Starsky was fascinated by the process, even though it was exactly the same as buckling on a belt. It was that Hutch was placing them around his wrists for the sole purpose of restraining him. It was powerful and scary and also incredibly exciting. That was the weirdest thing, that being restrained could possibly turn him on, but it did. He even felt calmer with the leather bands restricting his movements, his usual hyperkinicity lulled into complacency by the bonds.

"Into the bedroom," Hutch commanded, his own cock demanding attention. He couldn't keep his hands off Starsky's sexy, well-muscled body. He wanted to pet the curly hair that grew abundantly over the torso, squeeze and fondle his buttocks and genitals and kiss every inch of skin. It was almost a torment to have to do the necessary preparations to set up the next part of the scene when all he wanted to do was have instantaneous sex with his slave-god.

Walking past the living room and down a hall to a master suite, Starsky barely had time to register anything more than a cursory notice of the furnishings. The house wasn't expensively decorated, containing mostly clean simple furniture from some Scandinavian design store, but there was an atmosphere of serenity about the place that coordinated with the wind chimes outside. One thing that caught his eye as they entered the bedroom was a small bubbling fountain flowing in the corner of the room, ferns and dwarf palms clustered around it like a mini oasis inside the house. But the piece de resistance was the bed, a huge affair all intricately carved with swirls and cascades of flowering vines. Incredible artistry had created the fantasy bed, obviously the same person who had carved the front door and Starsky wished he had a few more minutes to examine the fine detail, but Hutch was already positioning him on his back, head up close to the headboard.

With the abundance of hidden rings all over the house, Hutch had no trouble connecting a short chain from Starsky's collar to the head of the bed. Afterwards he quickly fastened the ankle cuffs he'd finally remembered to buy around Starsky's ankles.

"Grab your ankles," Hutch instructed, smiling when Starsky pulled his knees up so that he was lying on his back with his legs and arms up in the air, similar to someone with their feet in a pair of stirrups on an exam table. Using a small all-purpose linking clip, he attached the left wrist cuff to the left ankle cuff and the right ankle to the right wrist.

Starsky watched with rapt attention, wondering what exactly was going on in that beautiful blond head of Hutch's. His present position was awkward, but in no way uncomfortable and he liked being able to easily see what was going on.

Still intent on finishing his project, Hutch pushed pillows up under Starsky's buttocks, angling him so that his head was slightly lower than his lower half. Then he began to slowly undress; enjoying Starsky's wide-eyed appreciation as each piece of his clothing was removed.

"You're having entirely too much fun," Hutch chastised with a slight swat of his hand to the exposed ass poised so lewdly in front of him.

Grinning wickedly, Starsky wiggled his bound limbs. "I'm all caught up in the moment."

"I could still gag you," Hutch taunted. He kept wanting to make Starsky stick to the typical slave rules--no talking, no eye contact and total subservience--but Starsky had never played by the rules in his life. Likewise, Hutch was too used to hearing his lover's constant commentary on life to get him to stay quiet for long.

"A taste of that would shut me up." Starsky stared pointedly at the prominent erection protruding between Hutch's legs. "I didn't get enough to eat at the restaurant."

"That's it, you earned yourself another demerit," Hutch snapped, unable to hold back his fury. "You forget your place, David." He knew Starsky was just pushing his buttons, egging him on, but that wasn't allowed in a dominant/submissive relationship. "I am going to punish you tomorrow, and it won't be a love tap, either."

"May I ask how?" Starsky spoke quietly, taken back at Hutch's sudden anger. "I'm sorry...master." He'd started to say Hutch, but changed at the last moment.

"Good, you should be. I'm not doing this if you make a mockery of it." Hutch's temper flared brightly, no longer in the mood for the ass reaming he'd planned on. Or maybe this was just a different sort. "No half ways, Starsky, it's either we do it right when it's happening or we don't do it at all. Decide now, and if you can't submit to me, we both just walk away from this."

"Please, no," Starsky whispered, his heart freezing in his chest. Stop now? He couldn't bear the thought. He felt very vulnerable with his arms and legs spread so obscenely wide, the strain on his chest muscles becoming noticeable the longer he stayed splayed out like this. Gravity dragged at his muscles and he longed to pull his limbs in to relieve the stretch, but was afraid that would anger Hutch even further. "I...I want this. All of it, but you have to teach me. Punish me, cause I deserve it, I know I'm not doin' everything right, Hutch,'s only the second time, give me another chance. I don't care if you punish me, j-just love me a little afterwards." The fear that Hutch would just unceremoniously dump him clutched at his belly and he wanted to turn away so he didn't have to see his master's disapproval, but there was no way he could move. He was caught like a turtle on his back, unable even to completely turn his head to the side because of the chain that secured him to the bed.

"I'll always love you, Starsk." Hutch's voice trembled, going from anger to regret in a moment. "Every minute. This is all just harder than I thought it'd be." He sat down on the edge of the bed, using his thumb to wipe away the tear spilling out of the curly haired man's eye. "It's not just tying you up and great sex--there's all this..."

"Intensity," Starsky finished. "It's like jumping off the highest diving board at the pool and not bein' able to see the water below."

"Yeah." Hutch's thumb traced the curve of Starsky's cheekbone, following the hollow of his cheek down to the jaw and below to the hard leather collar closed around his neck. "It was never like this before, y'know?" He couldn't even say Vanessa's name aloud, in this sacred moment. "It was just...a different way to fuck. There's so much more here, with you. Emotions all jumbled together." He couldn't voice some of what he wanted to say, not and keep any sort of control as the Top here, but they'd probably talk about it another day. That he felt inadequate to dominate his best friend, that it was frightening to have so much power. The fears he always had that he could go too far and really hurt Starsky. He had to be so careful, walk such a fine line to remain in control. Was it worth it in the end? "You're sure you want to keep doing this?"

"I'd a' been begging you to unchain me long before this if I weren't," Starsky replied with a hint of the devil back in his eye. His biceps and inner thighs had begun to ache with fatigue and he drew his arms in as far as they would go, bringing his knees in close together.

"I'm not going to unchain you." Hutch smiled with all his teeth, knowing he would never be able to contain Starsky's irrepressible impishness for long. "I'll teach you what I want you to know, and we'll go as slowly as we need to, but you have to follow the rules." He stroked the collar that represented his ownership. "You already had three demerits from the last time and one—no, two from today. Each demerit is one stroke."

"Yes sir," Starsky breathed. He didn't want to think about being hit right now. That was for later. "What were you going to do...before?"

"Spread your legs." Hutch gulped a breath of air, dispelling the last of his temper. It was worth it just to see the adoration in Starsky's cobalt eyes when he picked up the tube of lubricant from the pile where he'd left his clothes. He coated his fingers with the slippery jelly, then liberally anointed his reawakened cock. "Open wide and say ah," Hutch joked, drawing teasing circles with the lube on the rounded cheeks of Starsky's ass. He rimmed the puckered opening offered so lusciously up for him, pretending to dip inside, but always just missing slipping his finger in.

"Ah..." Starsky moaned, opening as widely as he could. "Please..."

"You want this inside?" Hutch held up the classic 'bird' finger with a smirk.

"Fuck me, please, master."

Gently inserting one finger into the anus, Hutch wasn't sure how much longer he could hold off sticking his whole length inside Starsky's tight canal. The urge to just forge ahead was so strong he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep going slowly. He progressed to two fingers quickly, stretching his partner with little wiggles of his forefinger and pointer. Once he lightly caressed the prostate, bringing a rough shout from Starsky.

"Liked that, did you?" He liked being able to see Starsky's expressions. This was definitely better than going in doggy style. He came up closer, kneeling between his slave's upraised knees, pushing a third finger in with a quick thrust. Starsky was still smiling without any signs of discomfort, and he didn't even flick an eyelid when Hutch spread his fingers as far apart as they would go in the narrow space. Now was time for the big guns.

Starsky grunted when the thick head pushed through his asshole, so much bigger and wider than fingers could ever be. Even though this wasn't the first or even third time he'd had anal penetration, they'd never done it in this position before. There was always that little cringe of fear that what was going in was far too big for the space. Hutch filled him to overflowing, stretching his inner walls to their extreme until he squirmed, the muscles burning. The old saying 'no pain, no gain' flitted through Starsky's mind, but Hutch had stopped his forward movement, having seen the pinched-lip expression of pain on his face.

"Take it slow." Hutch massaged Starsky's thighs. "Breathe out and relax."

Starsky obeyed, closing his eyes to focus on loosening up his tense muscles, giving a short nod of his chin when he was ready. The jolt that shot up his body when Hutch slipped his full length inside banished any discomfort. Rocking his pelvis forward, Starsky forced Hutch in deeper, rectal walls contracting sharply with his rising climax.

"Oh, yeah, Starsk," Hutch shouted when the first contractions hit, squeezing his shaft to the utmost. He rammed in hard, over and over, matching Starsky thrust for thrust, so it was a tie as to who came first, the master or the slave.

"Thank you." Starsky tried to curl one of his fingers around his ankle to touch Hutch's cheek where it rested so tantalizingly against his leg, but his reach wasn't long enough. Seeing the gesture, Hutch roused himself from his post-orgasm lethargy to unclip the ankles and wrists so that they dropped loosely onto the bed.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, kissing the hand that now stroked his blond hair.

"I'm grea..." Starsky paused, wincing, his eyes going wide.


"Hutch, I gotta go..." Starsky's face was pale, little beads of sweat popping out on his forehead as he tried to stop the increasing internal cramping. "Right now!"

Wasting no time, Hutch released the panic snap from the ring on his collar, helping a desperate Starsky to stand on unsteady legs that had gone numb from their prolonged suspension. He propelled Starsky into the bathroom just in time. Closing the door so he could have some privacy, Hutch could still hear a groan coming from the other room.

When he was done, Starsky splashed water on his sweaty face, still trembling from the vagal stimulation. He took a deep breath as he opened the door, feeling like nothing was going quite as they'd planned that evening. "Hey."

"You okay now?"

"I'm sorry, that's never happened before," Starsky apologized, ducking his head.

"It's happened to me." Hutch cupped a palm under the lowered chin, kissing him full on the mouth. "It's just a...natural side effect. No problem, but I think we're both tired. It was a little too much doing this after a whole day of work."

"I'm worn out."

"Lemme take a look though down there, though; was there any bleeding?" Hutch turned him around, but he didn't see anything that looked damaged from the outside. He probed cautiously, but Starsky squirmed away.

"No, no, know." Starsky laughed. "Kinda spoiled the mood, huh?'

"Never. Come into bed. I want to get some sleep, because we have a full day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Yeah?" Starsky snuggled into the curve of his most perfect master's arm, resting his head on a strong shoulder. "I can't wait."

Using the ring imbedded in the front of the collar, Hutch pulled his lover under the ivory sheets, a secret smile on his face. Starsky draped a still cuffed arm over that washboard stomach cuddled so closely next to him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this for the rest of his life.

The bedroom windows faced east, so sunlight broke through the slats in the blinds earlier than either man was ready for. Hutch got up at six to relieve himself and pulled heavy blackout curtains closed over the blinds before climbing back into bed to spoon up behind Starsky, his partial morning erection jutting into the crack in Starsky's buttocks as if it wanted to slid back in. Hutch dropped off to sleep with that delicious image merging into his dreams.

It was nearly ten a.m. before either stirred again. Starsky had been awake for a few minutes, but hadn't moved, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He'd already stepped out of line too many times and was determined to behave appropriately for the rest of the day. Should he take a shower and brush his teeth so that he'd be clean and ready for whatever Hutch wanted or should he wait for instructions? That seemed the safest, even though his belly was starting to signal hunger pains with grumbly rumblings.

"I dreamed I heard a bear," Hutch said sleepily, patting Starsky exactly over his noisy stomach, "looking for food."

"That would be me, then." Starsky looked over, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. "Tell me what to do."

"Shower quick and then make breakfast." Hutch reclined back onto the fluffy pillows. "There's fruit and croissants in the kitchen, and juice."

"Your wish is my command." Starsky bounded out of bed, saluting snappily, then noticing for the first time the salute from little Davey down below. "Up and ready to go."

"I'll say." Hutch changed his mind abruptly and got up to follow Starsky into the bathroom. "I'd rather we saved time and conserve water...might need to take another shower later on, after all."

"Good plan." Starsky felt hands on his neck, removing the leather collar from his neck for the duration of the shower. The cuffs and anklets followed. He felt absurdly naked without them. Shivering, he wondered what twist in his psyche made him crave what most people would describe as a perversion. His father had occasionally taken the strap to him, usually when drunk and stressed out from his job as a patrol officer, but he'd never gone in for spankings or rough sex with any of his former lovers. He'd had a girlfriend or two who asked to be tied up, but until Hutch had restrained him two weeks ago, he'd never been into bondage, either. But that first time, it had felt so right, like something he'd been waiting for without knowing for years. Was it just that everything was right with Hutch? Even being hit? Starsky's thoughts skittered away from what he knew would happen later in the day. Hutch was going to punish him, and unlike the swats he'd received last time from a wooden ruler, he was fairly certain this was going to hurt a lot more. But it wasn't like Hutch hadn't warned him, or told him what to expect. He'd broken the rules, more than once. And Hutch probably didn't even really want to hurt him, it just had to be. This was the consequence of his disobedience.

Still, to be suspended by his hands and whipped like a character in an S and M novel was just both terrifying and exhilarating in a way he could never explain to another soul. The whys and reasons he wanted it were unfathomable. It was just what he needed, deep inside.

"Where'd you just go?" Hutch asked, adjusting the heat of the cascading water.

"Thinking." Starsky bit his bottom lip. "I just want to do this right, make you proud of me."

"Starsky, I'll always be proud of you, and love you. This is just another extension of who we are right now. I know we're both a little more scared this time, for some reason. It's sinking in how scary bondage can be, but I'm in if you are."

"Yes, God knows I don't understand one bit why I want this, but I do."

"Then get in the shower, slave."

They spent a few enjoyable moments rubbing bare, wet, soapy skin together, 'accidentally' bumping each other with their cocks just for the sheer pleasure of feeling each other up, but Hutch didn't want any sex play in the shower, for now, anyway. He was just beginning to define a few plans for the morning in his mind and had to admit he was getting hungry, anyway.

After drying off, Hutch rebuckled the leather bands around Starsky's throat, wrists and ankles, stepping back to admire the overall picture. It always took his breath away to see Starsky attired like a slave. This was a completely different Starsky than the hellion he worked with on the streets. That man was strong, aggressive and fearless who'd chase after criminals at a moment's notice. This Starsky was no less powerful, but in a whole different way. His lean, hard muscled body was as beautiful as any nude in an art gallery. That he would subjugate his stubborn independence and submit to slavery for Hutch's sake was truly a remarkable gift. Hutch was awed to have such strength and aggression tamed and under his control. The sight of that sculptured body bisected with leather was his alone and he cherished it, so he'd covered the bathroom mirror to prevent Starsky from seeing himself.

"You're beautiful, Starsky." Hutch reached out to cup the pointed chin in his palm, kissing his lover full on the lips. Letting his hands slide down, he fingered the hard leather collar, the heady smell of leather mingling with Starsky's own clean scent, becoming part of him. "I could look at you all day."

Starsky responded eagerly to the kiss, trying to brush his dick against the one that pushed against his leg.

"Time to eat." Hutch laughed, patting Starsky's flat belly. "The bear in there needs to be fed."

Starsky padded into the kitchen to look for the breakfast items. While the coffee maker bubbled and whirred, he poured orange juice, warmed croissants and arranged some fruit on a plate. As an afterthought, he plucked a long stemmed rose out of a vase on the counter and laid it across the tray. He'd seen that in an old movie and always thought it romantic. Hutch had undoubtedly been the one to bring the roses, but still, it was the thought that counted.

"Your order, sir?" Starsky carried the heavy tray back into the bedroom, placing it on a small wicker table facing out towards the huge plate glass window. The view of the seashore swept out below them, as remote as the moon on a morning like this. The wintry overcast day gave the whole beach a gray tone, the sky, sea and shore all merging into one cool, foggy watercolor painting. Monochromatic, but not boring. Infinite shades of gray ranging from pearl to charcoal shifting with the wind and tides.

Immediately claiming a cup of aromatic coffee, Hutch waved the other man into a chair, pleased that Starsky'd remembered to wait to sit until allowed to. "Don't eat anything right now; just drink some juice and coffee, then lie on your back on the bed."

"Yessir." Starsky sipped the juice, adrenaline jumpstarting his system. What did Hutch have in mind? Would it be hard to endure or a blissful sexual encounter? Probably a little of both. His stomach growled again, reminding him of how hungry he was, but Hutch had forbidden him from eating any of the food he'd prepared. That croissant looked tempting, so he shifted around to the view, watching a seagull dive into the gray, roiling surf looking for food. The bird arched upwards with a small fish caught in its beak and Starsky was glad someone was getting something to eat. Hutch hadn't touched the food either, come to think of it. He watched his master out of the corner of his eye looking for a sign of what was to come.

Hutch was wearing a long, dark blue brocade robe, the sort English detectives wore in old thirties movies, and Starsky wondered where he'd gotten it. It didn't seem like the sort of thing Hutch would normally buy, but then a lot of what they did in these B/D/S/M sessions was out of their normal habits. Maybe that was the point--to become someone else, just for a short time and explore who that new being was.

Having finished the juice and swallowed a few gulps of coffee, Starsky took a calming breath and lay supine on the bed, the sheets cool and comforting against his skin.

"Cross your arms over your chest," Hutch said, grabbing the right wrist when it came over to him. He attached a short rope to the ring on the cuff and anchored it to a corresponding ring on the left side of the bed frame. He made quick work of the other wrist so that Starsky's arms crossed in an X over his body, secured tightly to the bed. Then he gently lifted Starsky's head up a few inches, slipping a sleepmask type blindfold over his eyes. This one, however, was thicker and tighter than the ones given away on airlines for sleepy passengers and Starsky couldn't even get a glimpse of light out the bottom or sides. He again found that being tied had a calming influence on him. Without the use of his hands, he could relax into the experience, able to wait without nervousness.

"Now it's time to eat," Hutch said with amusement. He brought a plate of food over to the bed, positioning himself so he straddled Starsky's narrow waist with his thighs, resting his buttocks lightly on Starsky's hips. He placed the plate next to them on the bed and selected a small wedge of orange. "Open up." Hutch teasingly traced the bound man's lower lip with the fruit, letting the juice drip enticingly into his mouth.

Starsky extended his tongue to try and catch the tempting orange, licking Hutch's thumb instead. Raising his head he tried to keep the thumb, but it moved away, just the sticky juice still dripping over his tongue.

"Not yet." Hutch laughed, inserting the orange into the waiting mouth, then taking a bite of one himself. After sharing the rest of the orange, he progressed onto the croissant, strewing flaky crumbs all over Starsky's bare chest. Leaning forward, Hutch licked off a morsel of buttery pastry, then let his tongue linger, swirling around the tempting nipple almost hidden under the curve of Starsky's arm. That would obviously have to wait until he had better access to it. He picked up the last item on the plate, handling it carefully to avoid bruises and poked the rounded end between Starsky's lips.

For one second, Starsky was fooled, but his sense of smell identified the banana, and he eagerly drew the succulent pulp into his mouth. He'd thoroughly enjoyed this new way to eat, the only draw back being the tight way his arms were bound over his chest, making it slightly more difficult to breath and swallow than under less restrictive conditions. That hadn't bothered him very much, however and he'd luxuriated in being fed. Without his sight, he'd used smell and taste to catalogue each aroma and flavor, playing a little guessing game with himself to see if he could tell what Hutch would bring forth next even before it reached his taste buds.

The banana almost dissolved in his mouth, the overly sweet taste lingering when another rounded tip pushed insistently against his lower lip. He opened up immediately, the banana forgotten as the cock filled his whole mouth, stretching his lips widely. He licked the undersurface, feeling the ridges of veins scrape against his tongue, gasping when Hutch pulled halfway out. Starsky applied suction, pulling the throbbing organ back inside like a powerful vacuum cleaner, sucking until his cheeks hollowed. The tip bumped against his hard palate and he hummed with pleasure, the vibrations resonating around the thick organ like buzzing bees.

"Oh, man, Starsk," Hutch moaned. His breath was coming in quick pants, his vision narrowing while the talented tongue and mouth worked their delicious magic on his cock. He threaded his fingers into his submissive's curls, holding on for dear life as the bottom dropped out of his world and he soared on bursts of lightening that electrified his whole body. He rose up on his knees, thrusting forward, ejecting his full load down the waiting throat. Breakfast would never be the same again.

Letting his limp organ slide out of Starsky's mouth, which left a trail of cum over his lips, Hutch picked up another item from the bed. He caressed Starsky's cheek with the silky petals, drawing it enticingly under his nose. "I liked the rose, babe," Hutch whispered, feeling his captive's erect cock pushing up between his butt cheeks. It didn't have a chance of going anywhere right yet, but at least the last half hour had kept it interested. "Most flowers are just pretty--a come on for the bees, but a rose is so much more. It's a lot like bondage--a really beautiful experience, but the thorns can hurt." He touched the stem to his bottom's lush lower lip, the tip of the rose's defense system pricking just enough to be felt but not enough to draw blood.

"Pleasure and pain. Starsky found his voice, the slight friction of his erection along Hutch's naked buttocks incredibly arousing. He tried to arch his hips upward to increase the contact, but Hutch's weight on his pelvis made it hard to move.

"I didn't say you could come, did I?" Hutch warned, his voice hard, hooking his feet around Starsky's knees so it was impossible to move an inch. "That just earned you another demerit. You'll be in the penalty box for a long time at this rate."

"I like hockey. It's a full contact sport." The words were barely out before Starsky knew he'd screwed up big time. "I'm sorry, master...I've got a big mouth."

"All the better to fit my whole cock inside." Hutch relented, claiming that mouth with his own. He could taste his own semen on his slave's lips, which only aroused him. He was part of Starsky and Starsky part of him. Like blood brothers almost. "You still get another swat for that." He kissed Starsky hard enough to bruise, then turned his attention to his favorite part of the brunet's whole body, that narrow slope of muscle where the neck and shoulder joined. The little warm spot where he could almost hear the blood pounding in the artery on its way to the heart. He left his signature, establishing a berry-colored passion mark just below the slave collar. "Tell me how you feel right now, little one?"

"Kinda tied up at the moment." Starsky wanted to squirm, move in any way. Hutch was getting very heavy with all his weight pressing him down into the mattress. He was trapped by the big, Nordic body and really didn't want to get away, just be able to draw in an unconstrained breath.

"No, describe your feelings." Hutch tweaked his nose the way a parent would tease a child. "What's the first thing that comes to your mind?"

"Anticipation." Starsky was almost as surprised as Hutch was by his response. "And hope." Those were not the words Hutch had expected. He swung his leg over the edge of the bed, finding a less dominating place to sit, intrigued by what Starsky had to say.

Struggling to elucidate, Starsky found himself in the position of a religious zealot trying to preach to the heathens. How to make them understand what they'd never experienced? "When I'm tied, I can't control anything at all, which is sorta comforting in a weird way. All there is is hope and anticipation. I don't know what's gonna happen from moment to moment." He finally took a deep, lung-filling breath, trying to keep his body relaxed in the bonds. But as always, the longer he was restrained, the more his muscles started to tighten up. " Hope that it'll be a good experience, and if it's hard..." His voice betrayed his ambivalence on the more difficult aspects of bondage. "Or painful, waiting for it to end, hoping that that I can ride it out and get some pleasure before I start to..."

"Scream?" Hutch slid the blindfold off, smiling when Starsky gazed up at him in awe. He hadn't expected to be understood so completely.

"Yah, I guess." Starsky blinked, even the dim gray midmorning light was bright on his eyes after having them covered for so long. It was embarrassing to think that Hutch could make him scream or cry out for mercy. But in a way, he was also glad that Hutch could bring out such strong emotion in him. There were times on the streets where he felt totally dehumanized by the level of detachment he had to maintain to perform his job. While some people might think of B/D/S/M as the most degrading, dehumanizing thing on Earth, he found it liberating and amazingly cathartic for his soul. "Sometimes I wanna scream when stuff gets hard."

"Was this time hard?" Fear clutched at Hutch's heart, he didn't want to hear the answer.

"No, it was fantastic," Starsky assured. "I loved being fed like that...I think it's my favorite so far." He grinned mischievously. "Can we do dinner like that?"

"You can only hope." Hutch smirked. "Time to stretch out now."

The rest of the morning was spent in mundane activities such as cleaning up the kitchen and putting new sheets on the bed. Hutch got dressed, finally and then placed Starsky's discarded wool slacks on the bed, adding a thick, dark turtleneck sweater to the pile.

"We're going for a walk; get dressed, please." Hutch hoped he sounded commanding and not just plain rude. He couldn't help but add the 'magic' word please. It just came out and besides, there was no reason the Top had to be nasty about things. As his grandmother had always said, "You catch more flies with honey." Although, now that he thought about it, why would anyone want more flies?

Starsky silently complied, admiring the handsome sweater. Just one more thing Hutch had gotten without his knowledge. Hutch must have been shopping constantly on their infrequent off time. He'd fully expected the blond man to remove the leather collar and wrist cuffs, but realized that the sweater completely covered both from view. The perfect outfit for a slave. He followed Hutch's lead and put on shoes and socks, donning his leather jacket when it was handed to him. Where were they going?

The kitchen opened up onto a deck built straight into the sheer cliff wall overlooking the desolate wintry beach and there were wooden stairs leading down to the sand. Standing on the deck, the wind pushed at backs and tugged at collars as if it wanted to command the humans and get into the bondage act too, but once down on the beach they were more protected, although the air was chill and raw. Southern California's reputation for constantly sunny weather was a myth and there were days that could be truly classed as winter just like any place else. Of course, by next week, the temperature would probably rise enough for short sleeves before it started to rain.

Hutch walked quietly, soaking in the calming solitude of the deserted beach, enjoying being out of his usual element. They'd both needed this mini-vacation. Work had been demanding of late and both were exhausted. Once they were 'off the clock' tonight after seven p.m. and the bondage gear was put away, he planned to do nothing more stressful than drink a couple beers and read some mystery novel in bed. Hopefully Starsky would curl up right beside him and do the same.

Glancing over at his lover, he forgot the landscape, admiring Starsky instead. The turtleneck framed his sharp jaw, the dark color accenting the bright red cheeks, kissed by the wind. Hutch couldn't let Mother Nature have all the fun; he leaned over and kissed the full lips, tasting salt from the sea. "This is a private beach," he said, snaking his arms around Starsky's middle in prelude to another kiss. "In warmer weather we can swim in the nude."

"What about jelly fish and seaweed?" Starsky asked when he'd come up for air. Hutch was a passionate kisser and had phenomenal lungs from all the singing he did. He could stay lip-locked a lot longer than Starsky without needing another breath, leaving the dark haired man light-headed and giddy.

"You'll be safe with me. I've got a gun."

"And it's a big one," Starsky quipped.

"Careful," Hutch warned without malice. "You're coming close to insubordination."

"Don't I always?"

Talking his hand, Hutch walked a little further along the sand, watching the sea gulls circling in the gray sky. "Starsk, this morning you said sometimes you just want to scream when things get hard--you've never used your safeword yet... What I'm saying is, there's no shame in using it."

"I haven't needed to, not really. Stuff just gets really intense." Starsky bit his lip, feeling the hidden collar seem to tighten when he swallowed or breathed heavily. "I...get ready to say it, but then I realize I can handle what's going on... I just gotta let loose and get it all out. Maybe scream or yell."

"We talked about some fantasies a couple of weeks ago. Now that you've gotten a taste of this, is there anything that scares you, stuff you really don't want to do?"

"I really like being tied up." Starsky admitted after a moment, even though saying that aloud scared him, "It's the weirdest thing, cause I've been tied up before--by people I'd just as soon forget..."

Hutch laughed, squeezing his hand. "I know, and we won't talk about the real world when we're here."

"The real world, huh?" Starsky grinned, joy in his indigo eyes. "I was beginning to think this was the real world."

"You're such a dreamer, Starsky."

"But as much as bein' tied to the bed or something kinda centers me, gets me into the scene, but it would scare the hell outta me if you went off left me like that."

"I'd never do that," Hutch assured. "I want you safe--maybe achy, but never in danger."

"Yeah." Starsky dipped his head, watching the tiny grains of sand stirred up by their footsteps, pleased that Hutch was so protective of him. It felt a little strange to be submissive sometimes and sometimes it made him feel like a precious jewel. He could totally understand why some women got off on the guy opening the door for them, holding their coats or ordering the food. "A gag would scare me."

"It kinda does me, too," Hutch agreed, feeling no less in control for saying that. "I think that's within the realm of what we'll explore in the future, except I have to figure out a way for you to be able to communicate even when gagged."

Starsky nodded absently, a quicksilver chill slithering down his spine. Just thinking about being totally restrained AND gagged, unable to move a muscle or make a sound was both terrifying and still slightly exciting. His cock stirred, pushing against his pants.

"Anything you really want to do?" Hutch asked, watching the flitting emotions on Starsky's expressive face.

"I think we've already covered a lot of them," Starsky answered, trying to be casual about it, but just thinking about future sessions got his blood racing. "You're the one in charge, what's your fantasy?"

"Have you ever heard of fisting?" Hutch asked, still focusing on that most beloved face. He'd been reading a book on bondage games and been captivated by the photo of a hand buried up to the wrist between two butt cheeks.

Starsky stopped, locking onto his gaze, his breath catching in his chest. "Yeah. It sounded painful." Really painful, to tell the truth.

"It's something that we'd have to work up to." Hutch nodded, wondering if Starsky was only being agreeable because he thought he had to be. "The muscles need to be stretched."

Not having to be told whose muscles needed to be stretched, Starsky could already feel his anus tightening up at the thought. Hutch putting his whole fist up there? In that tiny little tunnel? It was impossible, wasn't it? Looking down, Starsky examined the hand that still clasped his own. Hutch's hand was bigger than his own, broad in the palm with long tapered fingers that looked fantastic strumming a guitar or even holding his big, powerful Magnum pistol. Starsky had to admit that his favorite sight of those hands was when they were wrapped around his cock, bringing him off. But that large hand closed into a fist and stuck up inside him? Now that scared him.

"It won't be today," Hutch assured. "We've got enough to do today. Look up there." He pointed to a building perched on the cliffside above them, a cross-beamed Tudor style inn which fit its surroundings with surprising ease. Starsky had never been to England, but he'd seen pictures of the countryside and could easily imagine the little building set on one of the barren moors partially obscured by swirling fog. "It's a pub."

"Lead the way, Mr. Rochester." Starsky grinned. He could go for a beer.

"When we're there, you don't speak without being addressed, you follow my lead and keep your eyes lowered, do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Starsky gulped, the collar making its presence felt again. Hutch was making him be submissive even in public. He'd had a hard time at the restaurant the night before, could he do this now?

The pub was dim inside on such a gray-skied afternoon, dark paneled walls reinforcing the image of a small, old-fashioned country British inn.

"Can I help you lads?" a British accented voice called out. For a moment Starsky was startled, not able to locate the speaker. Then he saw an older man with a ready smile standing behind the English style bar, the kind where the bartender seemed to be framed by the glasses and bottles of his profession.

Starting to state his order, Starsky froze before the words came out of his mouth and deferred to Hutch. "Ginger beer and a root beer," Hutch ordered. Starsky had hoped for something stronger, but he knew he had no vote. "Got any food?"

"Special today, made my own daughter's fine hands, onion rings." The man answered cheerfully, drawing actual draught root beer and real British Ginger beer.

Hutch would have preferred something much less greasy, but he knew Starsky'd drool for onion rings. "One special, then."

"Coming up." The bartender pushed the two drinks across the bar, accepting the bills Hutch left.

After handing Starsky his mug, Hutch led the way to a plank table by a fire roaring in a hearth big enough to roast boars for Henry the Eighth. The heat was welcoming after the cold beach, roasting the side of the body closest to the fireplace, leaving the other side exposed to the draft coming in from the constantly opening door. Starsky waited until Hutch had indicated he could sit, then perched on the edge like he couldn't get comfortable.

"Starsk." Hutch smiled at him, the lowered eyes and tentative manner what he'd ordered, but not Starsky. "It's okay, you're doing great. Relax." He took a swallow of the spicy Ginger beer, feeling the sharp burning sweetness tingle in the back of his throat. Starsky followed suit, smiling in return, his dark blue eyes almost black in the dim light. "No beer right now; we have a heavy duty session after we get back to the house."

"Oh." Starsky nearly choked on the fluid just going down. He swallowed painfully, then took another sip of the pungent root beer. He'd almost convinced himself that Hutch had forgotten about his promise of a real punishment. Something not meant to be enjoyed, but to remind the slave of his place in the hierarchy.

"I can't let my judgment or reflexes be clouded with booze at a time like that," Hutch answered, his face serious. This still really scared him. He didn't want to hurt Starsky intentionally, but if they were continue on with a real bondage relationship, he had to divorce himself from his role as Starsky's best buddy and only focus on the role of dominant. Luckily, it didn't last forever, and the loving that Starsky had asked for would follow the punishment as surely as day followed night. And he wanted the whole package, the good and the bad.

Suddenly, he wanted to get back to the beach side house and finish what they had started. It almost felt like the beginning all over again. Each time they both pushed the envelope of what they could handle, it opened up new vistas of their new world, to explore side by side. They were in this together, dominant and submissive, lover and loved, partners. Sometimes it was fifty/fifty when they were on the streets, sometimes it was unequal, but no less a partnership.

"Here you are, fried onion rings." A pert redhead dimpled at Starsky, placing the platter more on his side of the table than Hutch's.

"Thanks, schweetheart," Starsky drawled, flirting with the interest apparent in her apple green eyes. It was his normal response to a pretty girl, and way too late he realized it was wrong.

"Can I get you refills?"

"No, thanks." Hutch's voice was cold, remotely polite, but he was staring straight at Starsky with fire in his eyes.

Starsky caught his breath, adrenaline slamming into his belly. Ohdamn.

Hutch felt the flash of irrational anger burn through him like an out of control wildfire, the muscles in his jaw jumping from the sudden stress. The red-haired waitress, confused at her abrupt dismissal and Starsky's total change of attitude, turned away to welcome a new couple coming in the front door.

Downing the rest of the ginger beer, Hutch let the fiery aftertaste battle his internal flames. Should he be angry with Starsky for acting so totally consistent with his normal behavior? Yes and no. He was supposed to be acting the submissive, to be controlled only by his master, not like his everyday self. Yet, to completely subjugate that unpredictable spirit would drain away the Starsky he loved wholeheartedly.

To be truthful, it was no different than the conflicts of any other couple. One person always wanted the other to change into the person they imagined them to be. The trouble was, if that person did change, they were no longer the same one to whom you'd been attracted in the first place. It was a dichotomy that stuck right at the heart of the problem.

How exactly did he expect Starsky to act? Quiet, submissive and meek, which was not in Starsky's nature or wild, unpredictable and impulsive as he was on the street?

Hutch knew there was a man in between those two. He'd seen him. A Starsky willing to be dominated and restrained, knowing that he did so without losing his true identity.

Hutch tried banking his anger, knowing emotions could cloud his judgment during the punishment just as badly as alcohol. He reached for a greasy onion ring with a steadying breath, studying the bowed head across the table. What to say?

"I'm sorry," Starsky whispered, thinking he sounded like a broken record. All he ever did lately was apologize for his behavior. He tried so hard to be what Hutch expected but so far he hadn't been very successful. He raised his eyes to meet Hutch's, expecting a tongue lashing at the very least, if not the real lash when they got back to the beach house. He didn't expect the enigmatic expression on the blond man's classic features. "Are you mad at me?"

"I should be; you disobeyed a direct order." Hutch wiped his fingers on a napkin before eating another fried tidbit. How did he voice what was inside him? "But, no, I'm not mad at you, exactly." And he realized it was true, the flash had faded as quickly as it had come. "More disappointed. Starsk, you've been undercover and maintained a cover for weeks without losing it, because you know you'd be in danger if you did, but you drop out of this like it's nothing more than a masquerade."

"Undercover, huh?" Starsky couldn't help the smirk that twisted his grin, much relieved by Hutch's attitude. The word had such a multiple of meanings. "I'm going undercover... hadn't thought of it that way, but it is the same."

"Don't think we're going under the covers when we get back, either." Hutch passed him one of the onion rings as a peace gesture. "Or at least not until much later."

Starsky munched the first one, then ate several more in rapid succession. The crunchy treat hadn't looked very appetizing when he'd been fearful of his master's wrath, but now his appetite reappeared with gusto. "I know what comes first. H-how many demerits did I get, all total?'"

Hutch glanced around them, aware that they were treading on dangerous ground, discussing this in public, but none of the other patrons were paying them the least bit of attention and music from a hidden jute box was blaring a vintage British invasion tune loudly enough to cover their conversation. "All I will say is, eight. Let's go."

"Eight," Starsky echoed, the collar and cuffs he wore under the sweater suddenly very restrictive around his throat and wrists. Could other people see them? Did they have a clue that he was about to go back to a rented beach house to let his lover beat him with a whip or something equally painful?

How would he be able to handle eight strokes? Last time it had been only been five. Following behind Hutch, Starsky imagined every person in the room could see the mark Hutch had left on his skin and it wasn't the new pierce hole that twinged slightly in his ear lobe. It felt as visible as the brand on the rump of a horse--Hutch's ownership.


Stepping inside the house, Starsky could still hear the echo of Hutch's voice in his head, commanding him to be "Naked and on your knees the minute you get inside." He undressed as quickly as possible while Hutch watched silently, dropping to his bare knees on the chilly tile floor.

Starsky wanted to please, wanted so much for Hutch to know he was committed to this relationship, but to be open and exposed like this in front of his fully dressed master was particularly difficult. It so firmly drove home the reality of his part in this game. He was the slave, to be used however Hutch wanted. He was only a vessel to serve, give his master pleasure first. If Starsky found pleasure in what was done to him, that was a gift bestowed from Hutch. If he found pain, that was what his master had chosen to give him as well. It was so scary he couldn't prevent the tiny tremors that shook his frame.

"Cold, lover?" Hutch hooked a finger though the ring in the collar, pulling him to a stand.

"The floor was cold," Starsky admitted. Hutch's hands now clasping his biceps were like hot pads against his chilled skin. He was still trembling, but now it was from the anticipation of what was to come.

"This will be a real test of your endurance." Hutch inclined his head, nuzzling Starsky's nipple. He bared his teeth, skimming the hard edge over the tight nubbin, then raking his teeth across to take a love bite from the opposite breast. Starsky hardly dared breathe, already half dazed by the attention Hutch was giving his chest. It hurt so good, sending jolts of stimuli straight to his cock. Hutch's hands skimmed down the outside of his arms until they captured his wrists, wrenching them behind him so he was nearly immobilized simply by the position. With a quick snick of a clip, Hutch had the cuffed hands locked together so he could use his own hands to paw through the dark curls covering Starsky's torso.

As he often did, Hutch backed him up until Starsky was against the kitchen wall. Starsky couldn't count the times Hutch had started a seduction this way. In this he was impatient, demanding, wanting access to his lover's body as soon as possible. He was always slightly rough at the beginning, forcing his knee in between Starsky's legs to widen the stance, keep him steady while he ravaged his prisoner's chest, even before they'd ever discovered bondage.

"Ow...yeah." Starsky tried to arch away from the sharp teeth toying with his bruised nipples, but the wall prevented any movement. He moaned as the pressure increased on his abused skin, knowing he'd be peppered with teeth marks afterwards. A tongue slithered over one of the throbbing marks, leaving cooling heat behind, before it dipped further south, down to the groin area. Hutch rimmed the small indent of the belly button, kissing it briefly before he encountered the swelling male organ. Already rock hard, it stood straight out as if at parade rest, ready for action. Unfortunately, it was going to be disappointed. He avoided any really erogenous areas, kneading and stroking the firm belly and buttocks with hard fingers. Starsky was trembling again, Hutch could feel the fine shudders under his palms and let up his assault for a moment, looking up at his Bottom's slack face to see those eyes sleepy with desire. Was he on the edge yet? Maybe just a few moments more.

Drawing his fingernails lightly over Starsky's buttocks and down the backs of his legs, Hutch lightly pressed his tongue to the head of the erection only inches from his nose. Starsky just about raised up on his toes, pre-cum starting to leak out the tip. That was it, the preparation was over.

Straightening up, Hutch released the clip from Starsky's wrist cuffs, using it as a pointer to indicate a location in the front room where he wanted his slave to stand. Starsky walked over to where he was directed, looking up at the ceiling. Rings, screwed to the ceiling in two neat lines, allowed for an infinite number of positions to securing the submissive.

Still not saying a word, Hutch unbuckled the leather wrist cuffs and replaced them with a slightly different pair. The cuff part was exactly the same, but the new set had a leather loop attached on one side that crossed the palm, extending out past Starsky's fingers.

"Put your arms up, palms together," Hutch ordered, once again securing the cuffs together and then using another clip to link them to a chain that attached to the ring bolt above his head. The reason for the loop became immediately clear; in this position, Starsky automatically closed his fingers around the leather instead of grasping the chain.

Walking around his suspended lover, Hutch took in the sight with awe. With his hands above his head, Starsky's rib cage was lifted, creating a sharply defined line between his chest and the flat abs below. Starsky took a shuddery breath, rippling the tight muscles of his belly.

Shifting his feet, Starsky felt the world drop out below him, his bound hands the only thing keeping him upright. Above him loomed old cement caves and abandoned cages. He was surrounded by black robed figures chanting "Si-mon, Si-mon..." while a girl with a knife hovered hypnotically in front of him. Fear welled up in a suffocating wave and he moaned, eyes squeezed shut against horror.

Hutch had turned away to get his equipment, but the frightened sound alerted him that something was very wrong. That was not a moan of sex, but of all consuming fear.

"Starsky!" he cried, seeing the pale face and closed eyes. "Starsky, look at me!" With care he cupped the chin, lifting his face so that when the eyes opened they would be focused on him. "What's the matter?"

"Oh, god." If he could have, Starsky would have sagged in relief, it had been a flashback. "I thought I was at the old zoo..."

Hutch didn't need any more clue than that. He gathered Starsky into his arms, rubbing his back. "I'm so sorry, little one, I'll get you down now." How could he have been so stupid to put Starsky into a position so eerily similar to the one where he'd almost been stabbed to death?

"No!" Starsky spoke abruptly. There were a few tears on his face, but he looked calmer now. "I don't want that to spoil this. You said we had to do it all or nothing. Maybe this will...uh...cancel out that other memory."

"Starsk, we can do it in a different position." Hutch tilted Starsky's head back a fraction more so he could kiss the parted lips.

"No, you're the master. You wanted it this way," Starsky answered when the kiss ended. He could taste Hutch on his lips and flicked his tongue along the bottom one. His arms already ached from the strain of being suspended, but he supposed that was part of the experience. It was supposed to be uncomfortable. Why was he objecting to a different position, then? Maybe the next one would pull less on shoulders and neck? Did he seriously want pain? A tiny measure of fear remained in his belly no matter how hard he tried to get rid of it.

Hutch was going to hit him with something hard, intending to hurt. But then, afterwards, it would get better. The hard part would only last a short while and then they'd get onto the best part, the sex. No matter how forceful Hutch was, he was never cruel. It wasn't in his make-up. In fact, Starsky knew deep down how hard punishing him would be for the big blond he'd always accused of being a softy. But, he'd disobeyed and if they were playing by the BDSM rules, this was nothing more than what he deserved.

"All right, are you still with me?" Hutch searched his face for any signs that Starsky still heard the specter of Simon Marcus' followers chanting.

"I'm here, in Malibu, waiting for my punishment," Starsky said so bravely it tore at Hutch's heart.

Touched by his best friend's resolve, Hutch knew he'd better get going or he'd loose the momentum and be unable to start himself. Again he turned back to the locked closet directly across from where Starsky hung. Opening the hinged door revealed a veritable cornucopia of bondage gear. Hoping his apprehension didn't show on his face or in his manner, Hutch selected two items before closing the closet once again.

Taking up a stance behind Starsky, Hutch rotated his shoulders, loosening up his arm to prepare his swing. He couldn't hit too roughly or too softly. There was a definite art to this, one that he wasn't yet completely comfortable with. Running a palm along the smooth, unmarked curve of the buttocks, Hutch tried to visualize his target exactly. He knew in his heart that they would both feel like cheaters if he didn't go through with this, as if they were playing the game with a made up set of rules, but he still had such a hard time getting past the fact that he was going to beat Starsky's backside, possibly leaving welts.

His one comfort was that both had enjoyed the mini whipping he'd given Starsky the last time. It had been an unexpected overflow of his anger due to his partner's outrageous behavior from the evening before and he'd just walloped him before he could really think too much about it. It had stunned the both of them by being surprisingly arousing. Like all those old English porn novels claimed, a good spanking could really get a guy in the mood.

"The first eight are the punishment strokes." Hutch flexed the broad leather strap in his hands. He suspected it had started life as an old fashioned strop for sharpening straight razors, but it had an excellent heft in his hand. Wide at the business end, it shouldn't leave much of a mark, but it was still heavy enough to be deeply felt. "The ones after that will be for you. Concentrate on getting past the pain to the pleasure."

Starsky tried to relax the tension in his body, but the anticipation was like a giant weight trapping him. He just wanted Hutch to begin so that the end would come that much quicker. The feel of Hutch's hands on his backside was amazingly soothing, and coupled with the gentle sway of his body whenever Starsky shifted his feet, his mind began to drift into a calming place. This would be all right. He'd survived lots worse than this.

That ended with the first whack of the leather strap. Dark, deep pain flared across his buttocks, stunning with its lasting intensity. Starsky strained to keep quiet, ride out the hurt, but the second one came too quickly, layering the pain until he felt it to his bones. He flinched away unconsciously, wanting to avoid any more, even though he knew that wasn't allowed. Subsequently, the third stroke slammed into his hipbone, the end of the strap flicking over the top of his thigh. This was too much to bear, and he let out a howl of protest, pulling uselessly at the chain that bound him to the ceiling.

"Get back in your place," Hutch ordered in his sternest voice. Hurting Starsky was very difficult for him on a fundamental level. After all, this was the person he'd vowed to keep safe after bullets had pierced his chest only a few short years ago. But if they wanted the full range of kinky sex, this was part and parcel with it. The power and domination were an important aspect that he was only beginning to understand. A frighteningly easy thing to exploit, unfortunately, which was why this realm of sexual play had such a nasty reputation. There were some dominants who used this power to humiliate and demean their subs. That was just cruel and unnecessary. Hutch loved and respected Starsky, even while he was whaling the tar out of him. It filled him with pride to see how stalwartly Starsky took his strokes. Degradation had no place in his version of this world. Love would always follow the pain when he had control of the session.

The rest of the eight came so fast and furious Starsky was barely aware of Hutch's count down. He was wrapped in a cocoon of pain, writhing with the inferno that burned along the nerve endings in his ass. Crying almost silently, Starsky tried to remain still and unbowed but couldn't endure the torment without some outward show of emotion.

Then abruptly, the strokes changed completely. Hutch hadn't said a word when he'd changed to a small, leather covered paddle, but this one gave a broad diffuse smack, harder and more unyielding than the flat of a hand, with nowhere near the intensity of the leather strap. His butt already aflame, Starsky was overly sensitive to the first few, but as Hutch's swing improved he began to feel the individual strokes separately. Still distinctly uncomfortable with his butt cheeks throbbing in pain Starsky gradually caught a different sensation. Accompanying the pain came not joy exactly, but a strange lightheaded sense of euphoria, almost mania. When the endorphins kicked in he was caught by surprise, the natural high free floating him upwards, taking the stinging pain partially away. The heavy thump of the strap had hurt badly, but now he welcomed the throbbing ache of the paddle, each subsequent stroke taking him closer to bliss. He hovered over a void, suspended in a place where pain and pleasure co-existed, not as diametric opposites but partners in a dance for his neuroreceptors. Both vied for acceptance; one taking precedence for a second, then the other getting the upper hand until he truly couldn't distinguish agony from bliss.

Hutch had gotten into a rhythm that felt strangely right, and he had to admit there was a weird sense of sexual excitement now that the punishment portion of the pain play was finished. After only a few smacks of the paddle his cock had hardened, blood engorging the long shaft, his breath coming faster when he saw the leather covered wood contacting with Starsky's pliant flesh. The paddle was an extension of his hand, and he was surprised to find that he enjoyed seeing Starsky's buttocks glowing red. He let loose with a particularly fast volley of smacks, hearing his lover's tiny yelps, mixed in with cries that sounded like arousal. So Starsky was enjoying this, too?

Marking those rounded butt cheeks to a rosy red was like painting a target back there and Hutch wanted nothing more than to hit the bullseye. It winked at him as Starsky clenched his buttocks, trying to pull away from the continuing rain of blows. Hutch stopped, dropping the paddle with a clatter, reaching out to touch his creation.

"Aie...!" Starsky let out a startled exclamation, his whole backside burning like a giant barbecue briquette. "S-sore."

"I'm going in deep," Hutch murmured, pressing a gentle kiss on the angled muscle between the neck and shoulder. "But I don't think it'll work in this position. When I let you down, bend over the dining table."

Not sure his legs would entirely support him, Starsky tried to remain steady, glad of Hutch's arm around his chest, even though the close proximity of the other man's erection inside corduroy pants was like sandpaper against his abraded butt. Released from their suspension, his hands dropped heavily, fingers tingly with the return of circulation. He half walked, was half propelled by Hutch's insistent need over to the table, bending down to clutch either side with hands that still didn't grip too firmly.

Hutch had the tube of KY jelly at the ready and smeared a big glob onto Starsky's inflamed skin, swirling it around the asshole and then plunging inside with a forefinger.

The lube both cooled the fire and ignited a flame inside him. Starsky pushed urgently against the probing finger, wanting the release as quickly as Hutch did. With his finger still inside his slave's anus, Hutch attacked his fly one handed, letting his cords drop down to his ankles. He kicked off his loafers and then the pants as quickly as possible.

Hutch wasted no time, giving Starsky only the minimum of stretching, using his thumbs to widen the hole before he thrust forward, his cock nearly a matching hue to Starsky's abused skin. It was tight, hot and moist inside, like one of those childhood Chinese finger torture toys that gets even tighter after you put your fingers inside and then try to pull them back out. Starsky arched upwards, his neck stretched backwards until the collar nearly choked him. His fingers clutched desperately at the sides of the table, barely able to hang on as Hutch ground down on him, as relentless as a rutting boar. This was no gentle lovemaking, but a brutal fucking. Hutch kept up a steady rhythm, pounding his cock into Starsky's prostate like a battering ram.

Starsky thought for a moment he'd be split asunder by the huge rod divining his center. It tore into him, feeling somehow twice the size of Hutch's normal dimensions. Once inside, the battering cock seemed to swell even more until Starsky had to let out little nonverbal shrieks, gasping from the cramps that clamped down his belly momentarily then evaporated.

It hurt, but it was so good, that insidious pleasure and pain conundrum back again, trying to get Starsky to choose which team he was on. He didn't want the pain, but it shifted so subtly back and forth to pleasure, it was hard to decide whose side he was on. Especially when Hutch kept nailing that delicious spot. Every stroke over the prostate made up double for the pain of the punishment strapping. It was every incredible sensation he'd ever had all covered in chocolate with sex as the secret surprise inside.

Wrapping his arms around Starsky's waist to hold on in the tumultuous dance they'd begun, Hutch encountered the other man's steel hard erection and grabbed hold. He slid his hand rapidly up and down, creating a furious friction on the velvety skin.

No matter how forcefully Hutch pushed in, Starsky thrust back to accept it, wanting every exquisite second to last forever. Starsky's orgasm blasted them both, contracting around Hutch's cock, squeezing it until he thought his blood supply was being cut off. He shouted Starsky's name, his voice mingling with Starsky's screams until there was no distinguishing between them. They were one.

Starsky collapsed onto the table, the blond man's weight lying heavily on top of him until Hutch finally roused himself to stand. Immediately, the self-recriminations started up, heaping abuse on his soul. No matter what the justifications had been, BDSM rules be damned, what he had just done was inhumanely cruel.

"Thank you, master." Starsky's voice was rough from screaming and he didn't have the strength to raise his head off the table.

"You been reading up?" Hutch almost wanted to cry from the sweet way Starsky had said it, so properly. Exactly how a submissive was supposed to behave after his punishment.

"Yah." Despite his exhaustion, Starsky's dark blue eyes gleamed merrily. "It's amazing what you can find at your local Waldenbooks. Anonymous wrote a lot of books."

"There's lots better literature than that." Hutch curled his arms once again around the smaller body. Starsky was dripping with sweat, his curls matted wetly to his forehead as they had been after the dash through the car wash. This time Hutch was able to push that errant curl off the flushed forehead. But when he pulled his beloved closer, Starsky winced at the contact on his bruised backside. Without a word, Hutch swept him up into his arms, holding the surprised man like a bride going over the threshold.

"Hutch, your back!" Starsky protested, linking his arms around the blond's neck to keep from falling. It felt good to be carried though. He didn't have an ounce of energy left anywhere.

"I'm not taking you far." Hutch nearly dumped his load on the bed quite unceremoniously, but managed to remain dignified and upright as he tenderly placed Starsky on his side. "A shower first, then some dinner."

His heart contracted as he surveyed the damage he'd caused. Starsky was indeed reddened and possibly bruised from his thighs to his lower back, but there were no actual welts. His puckered opening had a tiny trickle of blood running down the crack in his buttocks. Hutch placed a gentle kiss there, but even that was more pressure than Starsky could abide at the moment. He flinched away, then looked abashed at having revealed how much it hurt.

"Gonna hurt for a couple days, baby." Hutch didn't feel much like the all mighty dominant right then.

"Hutch, don't." Starsky turned awkwardly so he was now facing his love, reaching up to run his knuckles over Hutch's cheek. So soft, even hours after he'd shaved. Starsky already had visible five o'clock shadow, but Hutch's blond beard hair hardly showed. He raised up on one elbow, still touching that smooth skin, caught in the ocean blue depths of Hutch's eyes. "Don't start piling on the guilt. This is what it was supposed to be. Everything is okay between us. What happens when we're 'on the clock' during these twenty-four hours, you never have to apologize to me. Ever."

"God, I love you." Hutch kissed him on the lips, twirling his tongue around Starsky's in a wet, luscious embrace.

"The feeling is mutual." Starsky grinned. He'd rather just sleep than anything else, but getting cleaned up and some food inside him would work, too. He realized with some surprise that it was late afternoon and he'd eaten hardly anything since the unorthodox breakfast hours before.

Hutch got the shower started, getting the temperature of the spray just perfect before helping Starsky in. He'd considered just drawing a bath, but Starsky was disinclined to do anything that involved sitting. Working up a nice handful of lather, Hutch began a languid washing of Starsky's torso, pausing over each old surgical scar and bullet wound to give them extra loving before he went on to the four limbs.

For his part, Starsky just let himself be washed, his butt up against the smooth tile. That felt almost sensual, the hot water splashing over his front to wash away the bubbles left by Hutch's ministrations and the tile soothingly cool on his back. Afterwards, Hutch wrapped him in a big fluffy towel, leading him into the living room.

Once a fire was going, bringing needed warmth into the cozy house, Hutch took the towel back to the bathroom, then started dinner. Starsky lay on a soft white fur spread in front of the fireplace, drowsy in the heat, listening to the domestic sounds in the kitchen. This was perfection. He didn't want to move even so far as the nearby table to eat.

"Something to start with." Hutch joined his lover, sitting cross-legged on the fur rug, holding out a bowl of raw vegetables and dip.

"No chips?" Starsky asked hopefully.

"We may be done for the day, but I'm the one who brought the food." Hutch grinned, crunching on a carrot stick. Starsky chose a stalk of celery, swirling it in the ranch dressing before taking a bite. He was ravenous.

"How you doing?" Hutch stroked Starsky's upper back with a barely-there hand, afraid to inflict more pain than he'd already done.

"Great, this really hits the spot." Starsky reached for another crudités, propping himself up on his elbows so he could see the blond man. "But that's not what you meant."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Starsky finished off the carrot stick before he spoke. "You've...been on the receiving end, haven't you?"

"A long time ago, yes." Hutch admitted. He'd revealed as little as possible about his times with Vanessa and her friends, not wanting to influence any of Starsky's experiences. He could remember the slash of a whip across his bare skin as if it were yesterday. Strangely enough, that hadn't been why he'd been reluctant to do it to Starsky. It had been more that he'd been afraid of wielding so much power over his best friend and partner. What if their relationship on the street changed now? He'd deliberately caused pain to another person, someone he held dear. How hard would it be to just cavalierly smash in the face of a total stranger? He'd been in countless fights before, shot his pistol in self-defense or to protect Starsky. Had he crossed any sort of moral line here that made him more prone to violence? If he could take a strap to Starsky what would stop him from hurting him worse?

"How was it for you?"

"I never liked it." Hutch pushed back the fearsome thoughts to really listen to the curly haired man beside him. "I did get off more on the power." He felt dirty for saying it aloud. "But back then, there were no absolute doms and subs, everybody did each other, sometimes on top, sometimes on the bottom. Vanessa loved the whip. She could take it better than anyone I knew and really loved giving it." He stroked Starsky's back again, "What about you?"

"I didn't like the pain." Starsky turned his head, looking into the crackling flames. He could almost feel the smack of the hard leather strap across his buttocks again, how it seemed to go on and on, searing right through him with every subsequent smack. "But it wasn't like anything else I'd ever felt. Nothin' like being beat up by some perp on the streets. Beyond the pain, it was...liberating."

Caught by surprise, Hutch moved around where he could see Starsky's face again. Reflected in those sapphire irises twin fires danced. "In what way?"

"I went inside myself and like...flew away for awhile. Not like bein' on drugs, but I almost felt like I was someplace else entirely. I could still feel every time you hit me, but after a while it wasn't so much pain anymore." Starsky squirmed, obviously feeling it now. Never having been penetrated twice in such a short period of time, he ached down deep, and didn't even want to think about using the toilet. "I think I'll remember this for a while."

"Would you do this again?" Hutch asked seriously.

"I thought I didn't get to plan any of it. Your department."

"You put in your suggestions, I take 'em or leave 'em." Hutch grinned, scooping up dip on a celery stick. He waved it tauntingly in front of Starsky's nose, getting some on the end of the pointed protuberance. Starsky raised his chin enough to catch the celery in his teeth, tearing off a bite. Hutch ate the rest, then leaning in close to lick the creamy dip off his lover's nose.

"I'd rather not be punished again." Starsky's tongue joined Hutch's, curling around it and pulling it inside until their lips met. Time passed, satisfying a moist hunger. "But I know it's going to happen anyway," he continued after a moment. "But the other part...wasn't so bad after a while."

"And the sex in the end was great." Hutch hadn't intended the pun, but he laughed at his own joke anyway. He was thrilled beyond measure that Starsky had just given his consent for further sessions.

"That goes without sayin'," Starsky agreed. "Hutch, whatever you do to me, I love it because you do it outta love."

"You fill me with awe, the way you take everything I throw at you and still bounce back for more."

"Like one a' those clowns with sand in their bottoms?" Starsky giggled. "You get off on the power, huh?"

"Never should have told you."

"You've been the dominant one since the day I met you," Starsky said quietly. He laid his hand over Hutch's resting on the rug, threading his fingers between the longer ones. "I never thought much about it before, but I got used to listening to you first...going by what you said."

"You've argued with me every step of the way." Hutch captured Starsky's thumb with his own, then turning his hand over to fit the two palms close together. He did boss Starsky around, In fact, sometimes he wasn't even nice about it, he realized with sudden insight. Whenever things got too rough on the job, he heaped abuse on the closest target: Starsky. The one person who was a steady constant in his life, who was always forgiving, supportive and totally annoying in the morning before he'd had his first donut. Starsky could bring Hutch back from the edge of anger's abyss faster than anyone else, and with much less effort. He rode out Hutch's storms with a sunny smile for an umbrella, never flinching from the barrage. No wonder they'd slipped so easily into their roles. "Stubborn, opinionated, aggressive. Not exactly what I'd call submissive."

"You're the only one I would ever have done it for." Starsky's still raspy voice oozed sex, as much a surprise to him as it was to Hutch. How he could think of another go round was a shock, there it was, the need rising up with undeniable force. Starsky raised up on his knees, his erection growing too large to lie comfortably on. "I get off on you."

"Yeah? You think I'll let you take me?" Hutch leaned back on his elbows as Starsky crawled up the long body, looking as lean and predatory as a jungle cat.

"Once in a while I get my own way." Starsky bent down, his cock bumping the other one half concealed by a blue silk robe. There was no way he could even tolerate kneeling with his buttocks resting on his legs, but as long as he stayed on all fours, he could take the moment whereever he wanted it to go.

"Starsk, there's stew simmering on the stove," the other man reminded, completely enthralled by the action going on between his legs. Little Ken seemed to have a mind of its own, perking up and coming out to greet Little Davey without so much as a by your leave from him. And it felt so good when they met up, skin to skin. He pulled his thighs together, capturing the two pulsing shafts so that they ground against each other in a rising heat that had nothing to do with the blazing fire.

"You're trying to get the upper hand." Starsky gritted his teeth, holding out against the need rising in his blood. He thrust into that narrow space, slipping and sliding against warm velvet steel, lost in the desire. It was so perfect, so right to be here, now, like all the planets had aligned and his biorhythms were at an all time high. "It's my turn."

"Go first," Hutch panted, Starsky's arms wrapped around his legs, preventing him from freeing the two dancers trapped between. He pulled his beloved closer. "I'll follow."

With total abandon Starsky's climax crested, pulling him in its wake. Hutch, as he'd promised, trailed a second behind, content then because he was with Starsky.

The clamoring sound of the stove timer roused them both from their post coital stupor, causing gales of laughter. "Saved by the bell," Starsky giggled. "I worked up an appetite."

"Your appetite is insatiable." Hutch untangled his limbs, tying the robe around his middle. He was sticky with cum where it had spurted over his thighs and belly and he made a detour to the bathroom for a washrag.

Starsky lay curled on his side on the white fur rug, looking ravaged and wanton, yet somehow vulnerable; a gypsy prince posing for Playgirl. The new diamond in his ear sparkled every time he moved his head to follow his master's movements. Hutch wouldn't take his eyes off him either; Starsky looked so startlingly beautiful there, his skin glowing in the firelight and his eyelids half mast as he watched Hutch clean off.

"I'm still hungry for some of that Scandinavian sausage you brought."

"That's not what's on the menu anymore, hot shot." Hutch dropped the washrag onto Starsky's genitals, scrutinizing the bite marks and small reddened areas scattered across his lover's chest and neck, testimony to his passion. He hadn't realized how voracious he'd been.

Wiping himself clean, Starsky thought with surprise that he wasn't the least bit uncomfortable being nude while Hutch was dressed, however scantily. In such a short time it had become second nature, like the collar girding his neck. Was he truly that submissive or just at ease with Hutch and unashamed of his own body? For the longest time the scars from all his numerous surgeries had disgusted him, but Hutch's love had changed how he viewed himself.

"You look great, baby." Hutch smiled at him from the kitchen almost as if he were reading Starsky's mind. "You're going to have to wear a turtleneck for a day or two. I got kind of enthusiastic there."

"I thought so." Starsky laughed wolfishly. He could have gotten dressed now that the session was over, but he was too relaxed. The fire was just a tad too warm on his skin but that wasn't enough to make him move off the rug.

Bringing over two bowls of stew and soft slices of Italian bread, Hutch stretched out next to his amour. It was slightly messy eating stew in a prone position but that made it all the more a challenge and more than a little landed on chins and chests to be licked off. When the bowls were empty Starsky spooned up against the big blond body, drowsily rubbing his inner thigh against the silky texture of Hutch's blue robe.

"Too tired to get up to go t'bed," Starsky murmured, his head tucked up against the broad back.

"Party pooper. It's barely six o'clock." Hutch lay with his head on a pillow of purple princess silk, and reached behind him to pull Starsky's arm around his waist.

"Had a hard day..." Starsky began then came up on one elbow when the phone rang shrilly. "Who's that?"

"I gave Dobey the number in case we had to go to court for Romano." Hutch scrambled to his feet, pulling the robe closer around him in an effort to look presentable. As if that mattered on the phone.

"What'd you tell him?" Starsky asked with alarm.

"Starsk! We've gone away for the weekend his cabin, even. He doesn't think anything of it." Hutch searched the room, realizing he didn't remember where the phone was. He'd never expected to have to use it. He finally spied the instrument in a small alcove off the hall, crossing the room in two strides while it continued to ring persistently.

"Hutchinson," he answered formally. "What?!" After listening a few moments, he nodded, the crease between his eyebrows deepening to a canyon. "It'll take us nearly an hour to get there. We're leaving ASAP." He listened again, looking angry and then upset. "Thanks, Captain, we're on our way."

His interest peaked, Starsky stood, wincing at the pull on his aching body. "What?"

"We need to head up a murder investigation." Hutch hung up with an unreadable expression. "Carlysle is dead."

This is the second in a series of stories. The next installment is: Bound to the Law III: Working Out the Kinks