This story is the third in a series. The first story is Bound to the Law, which is in the Classics section. The second story is Bound to the Law II: Pierced by Circumstance in Late Models. Comments on this story can be sent to: Dawnrca@earthlink.net
Starsky's prediction that the lunch crowd would be gone by two p.m. had been dead on target Hutch noted wryly. Denny's was nearly deserted, all but one of the waitresses tucked into a back booth nursing their feet and sipping afternoon cups of coffee while a bus boy lazily wiped the counter.
Standing next to the podium with its imposing sign that stated 'wait to be seated', Hutch stared at the colorful display of pies all decorated with heaping mounds of pseudo whipped cream. They looked fake, like those Japanese restaurants that put out plastic food to tempt the customers. For him, it had the opposite effect. He vowed not to taste one of the cholesterol-laden confections for any reason.
Looking out the plate window of the restaurant, he could just see the driveway of Merl's mechanic shop. The splashy red and white Torino had pulled up moments before and he watched Starsky gesture at the car's back end with one hand, obviously talking a mile a minute to the nodding Merl. Some kind of agreement must have been reached because Starsky loped across the busy thoroughfare, narrowly avoiding a fast moving Pontiac and gaining the curb on the Denny's side of the street by the skin of his teeth.
Hutch grit his own teeth at Starsky's blatant disregard for traffic laws and not the least for his cavalier lack of concern for his personal safety. That, if nothing else, was why Hutch wanted to dominate him, to take control of that gorgeous, hyperactive soul. Starsky needed someone to keep him in line before he leaped into some situation that he couldn't charm his way out of. He seemed to live in a perpetually chaotic world where bad things didn't just happen, they happened to Starsky. Hutch's existence in that same universe didn't quite seem so dangerous, strangely enough. He yearned to have Starsky safe and under his dominion, where what he said held sway, but was realistic enough to know that Starsky would never give up total autonomy. And to be truthful, Hutch didn't want him to when they were in the field--just in the bedroom and in private. Even there, he was willing to allow a little give and take, as long as he could be with the person he treasured more than diamonds.
Starsky decorated Hutch's life with color. He had pushed Hutch into more wild situations and crazy stunts than Hutch might have ever gotten to on his own. That Starsky had survived his difficult childhood, Viet Nam, and the life of a cop was testimony to his adaptive nature, spontaneity, and eagerness for new adventures. Which was exactly why Hutch wanted to continue with the BDSM. Vanessa had tarnished his memories of the sex games and fantasy role-playing with her condescending, cruel disposition, but Starsky had brought back the play in sex play and the 'bon' in bondage. His enthusiasm spurred Hutch on to create new and more elaborate sessions. Hutch saw the whole BDSM world through his partner's bright eyes, which had lured him back into its seductive folds. The question was: did Starsky still want to follow him down that path?
He'd said Hutch could still use the handcuffs on him, but had his anger over the beating been just post-bondage let down and the result of a long and difficult night investigating a murder or had it been something else? One of the most important parts of a relationship like this one was the give and take. Talking honestly was vitally important to both the master and slave to ensure that signals weren't crossed and both parties were deriving pleasure from the admittedly kinky scene. Something hadn't worked for Starsky, and Hutch was determined to find out what it was and rectify the situation.
Clutching the enormous plastic menu the hostess handed him, Hutch waited for his partner to join him before heading for their table.
"Want anything to eat?" Hutch asked when Starsky flipped through the menu for the second time. "Or you just stalling?"
"Would you get a load of this stuff?" Starsky leaned his cheek on one hand, indicating the brightly colored photos of food with his left forefinger. "When it comes to the table, it never looks like this."
"It's the come on that sells, Starsk." Hutch smiled indulgently.
"Like flowers for the bees?" Starsky quirked a smile, looking over at the blond god sitting next to him. Sometimes he couldn't believe such a beautiful man loved him with such devotion. It totally mystified him why Hutch didn't have a string of woman--or men--hanging off him at all times. Instead, he'd committed himself to a guy covered with bullet scars. "I'd pollinate you anytime, Hutch."
"Just name the day, honey."
"Hot fudge sundae," Starsky decided abruptly and beckoned over the waitress. He ordered the delectable dessert, adding, "And bring over two spoons." The waitress gave him a cheeky wink, tucking her pencil back into her ruffled apron pocket.
"I wasn't going to have any." Hutch deferred, holding up a half drunk cup of coffee.
"Hutch, it's hot fudge--you gotta eat some." Starsky adopted a Jewish grandmother accent. "It's good for you."
"And you're still stalling." Hutch sipped the strong brew, raising his eyebrows.
"Just jump in feet first, huh?"
"That's generally your approach to life from where I'm sitting."
Starsky fiddled with the spoon and fork wrapped neatly in a napkin, unrolling the paper square and carefully smoothing out the corners. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to talk to Hutch about the subject at hand, it was more a case of not knowing where to start.
"Hutch?" Starsky began but was interrupted by the arrival of a monstrous serving of ice cream smothered in gooey hot fudge and whipped cream then sprinkled with nuts and topped with a cherry. This was not the time to start a serious conversation. He handed one spoon to his best friend and both eagerly dug in. The coldness of the ice cream balanced the hot indulgent fudge perfectly, and Hutch had no trouble managing to eat his half of the sinfully rich confection. "I like chocolate," Starsky confessed, licking the last off his spoon.
"I hadn't noticed." Hutch laughed, wetting a napkin in his water glass to wash a chocolaty smudge off Starsky's nose.
"Y'know when we saw Carlysle in L'Etoile?" Starsky absently rubbed the end of his nose where the napkin had tickled him. Hutch nodded. "That was the first time I really knew where I ranked in her world." Starsky tapped the spoon on the sundae glass before dropping it down on the plate. "She made me feel like I was a slave."
"God, Starsk, I'm sorry."
"No. I'm not lookin' for sympathy." He laughed, glancing around the room, but there were only a couple of teenagers giggling over Cokes at the counter; nobody was paying the least attention to him besides Hutch. The waitresses were still gossiping across the room with their feet up on the pleather-upholstered booth. "I just mean I was put in my place, by an expert. Even though I kinda...lusted after her, she made me feel lower'n shit." He longed to reach out and stroke that beautiful blond hair and kiss Hutch's sweet lips, but that was exactly why they were having this conversation in a public place, so emotions and sex wouldn't get in the way. "You never make me feel that way. Even when you say slave. Even when you're whalin' on me with a strap, I feel cared for, not humiliated."
"Starsky, I will never demean you, and if I do, tell me immediately."
"You can be mean when you tease sometimes and say stuff, but I know you don't really mean it." Starsky grinned, trying to soften the harsh words a little. "But when you got me trussed up like some Butterball at Thanksgiving I can tell you're treatin' me like something precious. I'm not gonna break."
"Starsky, after the shooting, my inclination was to treat you like fine china," Hutch admitted. "I knew you wouldn't have appreciated it but I had to fight not to hover protectively. In a strange way the whole bondage thing helped. I already knew how strong you were, but this really lets me see it."
"You did hover," Starsky said, trying to keep a straight face, but he didn't quite manage it which brought a smile to Hutch's face, too. "You've given me such an amazing gift here, Hutch. Sure, I was interested in findin' out what Carlysle had to offer, but I'm not sure I would have ever gone through with it--really done it--you hadn't...showed me the way. It's like you took me to a different planet."
"Oh, I know that place." Hutch nodded, naming the movie Starsky had once described. "Planet of the Bondage Babes in Chains."
"It's a much better planet than that one," Starsky said. "Cause it's where you live."
"Just the two of us."
"Yeah, and therein lies the whole problem."
"Cause there's just the two of us?" Hutch asked perplexed.
"Cause I want there just to be the two of us," Starsky clarified. "The last coupla days just hit me square between the eyes that no matter how much we pretend we're alone--on the bondage planet--the real world is right outside the door and the wolf's comin' in to eat us."
"And the world really intruded this time," Hutch said solemnly.
"Big time." Starsky grimaced, remembering how much pain he'd been in on the drive back from Malibu. Even today, Monday afternoon, he was still slightly sore, especially after sitting for a long period. Like now. "I'm not sure what to do about it. I do want to go back there."
"But there's no going back, is there?"
"I don't think so."
"We can go forward."
"It's all different now," Starsky said slowly, letting his hand rest on Hutch's under the edge of the table. He ran his thumb along the silky skin of Hutch's wrist, caressing the underside just below the palm where the pulse thrummed strongly in counterpoint to his own. "I know what can happen now. The first time was incredibly scary and exciting at the same time. I can't tell you how many times I almost pulled over at a public phone to call it off."
"But you didn't."
"I'm so glad I didn't." Starsky grinned wolfishly, remembering how tense he'd been kneeling naked at Hutch's feet waiting for the collar to be buckled onto his neck. Now he wished that could happen every morning of his life. In the same instant he shied away from that thought of permanent slavery. Caress and Lisa made it work, but they had completely different lives than he and Hutch. There was no way he could be subservient to his partner while they were doing their job. It wouldn't work and yet the idea kept impinging on his consciousness at the strangest times, trying to beguile him. "The second time was exhilarating...until the world intruded."
"Do you want a third time?" Hutch asked after a long pause. Starsky laced his fingers between Hutch's like he was weaving a living basket, intertwining their very skin.
"I want it forever, but somethin' needs t'change. I can't get up with my ass all blistered and go stand around talkin' to the lab crew pretendin' my butt doesn't hurt like hell." Starsky sighed. "We gotta have...ground rules."
"No more cases right after punishment is the biggest one of all," Starsky declared firmly.
"Should I write these down?"
"I need at least two days after major stuff and a day after less intense stuff."
"Agreed," Hutch nodded. "I thought Dobey'd be calling us about Romano," he said, referring to their hostage crisis case from Friday afternoon. "I should not have answered the phone."
"As close to an apology as I'm likely t'get," Starsky observed dryly. "No answering the phone."
"I can always think of something when you're about to truss me up, but not this second."
"Then I need you to agree on total submission. I said it Friday--this doesn't work if you can't give me total autonomy over you. You like to joke around and that's okay--this is supposed to be fun, but I'm the master, right?"
"You're the one with the whips and cuffs." Starsky pretended to look cowed but he still got aroused thinking of Hutch taking command like that. "How often d'you plan on usin' that strap anyways?"
"As often as necessary." Hutch pushed his empty coffee cup across the table, signaling the passing busboy to pour a refill. Starsky flipped his cup over to get some of the heavenly smelling coffee as well, and both waited until the busboy had traversed half the room before continuing their conversation. "You gave me that right when we're together."
"Which brings up the issue of making it more formal."
"In what way?"
"There are contracts that can be made up--quasi legal forms that spell out exactly what we've agreed between us." He held up one long finger with a thought. "I'm sure Lisa would know the correct ones."
"They wouldn't stand up in court," Starsky admonished.
"No, but they are a binding contract in the BDSM world--a permanent record of our agreement so that there's no misunderstandings."
"Is that necessary?" Starsky's heart was pounding in his chest. This was all closer than he'd expected to that annoyingly persistent idea that kept buzzing around in his brain. "To make it permanent?"
"No; we trust each other enough that I know stuff can get talked out. I just wondered if you'd like to take it to the next level?"
"I'm just getting my balance on this one." Starsky blew on the coffee before taking a drink; his mind flashing back to Carlysle hanging by her hands with a sword through her leather encased breasts. Domi-trex must have come over; perhaps with a peace offering or a suggestion that they talk things over and then started a macabre parody of bondage play. No matter that her behavior was an aberration, he couldn't quite shake the image of Carlysle suspended. Would he keep flashing back on that horrible sight every time Hutch pulled his wrists together to tie them above his head? He needed another picture to paste over that one, of himself being pleasured by a beautiful blond man. "But I could see...maybe in the future?"
"Yeah?" Hutch beamed.
"Here we go again; you always have to check out the property from every angle."
"Huh." Starsky took the snub good-naturedly. "What if we did decide to do this much more often, like all the time, just for an example..."
"Just an example."
"How'd it work when we were chasin' down criminals an' stuff?"
"We'd have to figure it out as we go, I guess. You'd be your own person when we were on the job..."
"And naked the rest of the time." Starsky rolled his eyes, but the insistent idea was becoming alarmingly more substantial by the minute.
"You heard Lisa; I don't think they have constant bondage and sex every hour of the day and night."
"She'd have t'have more stamina than I have..."
"The details get worked out through trial and error."
"I just don't wanna be on the wrong end of a whip when there's an error."
"Have I used a whip on you yet?"
"Maybe not, but there's always next time."
"Or the time after that." Hutch laughed.
"I got one other thing on my mind..." Starsky rubbed his backside, shifting his weight on the healing bruises. "What if I get shot again or something?"
"God forbid." Hutch shuddered. "Why bring that up?"
"If I had t'go to the ER? The docs would take one look and...maybe they could see some...evidence of what we'd been doin'. Not to mention just going to my regular doc. He still likes me t'drop in once in a while for a 100,000 dollar check up on the patched up lung."
"You mean 100,000 mile check up?"
"Both. C'mon, Hutch, I'm serious. Right now I still got some pretty obvious bruises. It wouldn't take no brain surgeon to figure out what's been going on."
"Okay," Hutch soothed. "Believe it or not, there are doctors sympathetic to the cause. I've already gotten a list."
"Remember Lisa mentioning MAST?"
"Masters and Slaves Together."
"I called 'em up this morning. They're a really good reference and even have support groups and seminars."
"Oh, I don't know if I could go to some encounter group and talk about being in four point restraints. Way too much like bein' in Cabrillo Hospital."
"The thing is, it might help with all this real world intruding on us."
"Hutch, I admit that meeting all these people.... Well, Buchanan kinda creeped me out, but meeting Caress and Lisa in particular showed me that there are normal people out there doing this kinda stuff, but I'm not sure I'm ready to go talking about it in public."
"I'm certainly not forcing you on that one. Just think about it. I'd be there, too."
"Hey, that's the only reason any of this works at all." Starsky knocked his knee against Hutch's. "Can we get outta here? My butt's killin' me."
"What'd you have in mind?"
"Well, Merl's got the Torino until tomorrow, so I'm kinda stranded here."
"Oh, you need a ride?" Hutch tossed the correct amount of cash onto the table, rising out of the booth with surprising ease considering he'd been wedged into the back of the curved bank.
"Goin' anywhere I wanna go?"
"Thought I'd pick up some roast chicken and a salad from the grocery and drive back t'Venice Place," Hutch proposed with an elaborate shrug. "Didn't have any real plans."
"I could go for some chicken," Starsky agreed, his mind already planning an after dinner surprise for his host. "Maybe I'd get the wishbone, y'think? I like to get hold of it real tight and give a good pull."
"You might get lucky at that." Hutch stopped in the parking lot behind his battered car patting down his pockets for the keys.
"If I recall, you said just about those same words yesterday just before Buchanan showed up," Starsky reminded with a leer. "So far, zip."
"Then tonight must be your lucky night." Hutch opened the door for him, bowing like a supercilious doorman. "I read your horoscope this morning. It said something about you scoring big with a blond."
"I heard blonds have more fun." Starsky climbed in, tossing a stray soda can behind the seat. "But I need more proof. Gonna have t'conduct a long, real scientific study to see if blonds really have more fun than brunets."
"Sounds like a landmark experiment, requiring hours of intense, close work."
"Lots of field study," Starsky agreed with a twinkle in his eye. "You're my lab rat and I'm gonna put you through a maze like you've never seen."
"As long as I get it in the end."
"Don't worry, you will." Starsky laughed, laying out his plans as the car headed towards the ocean. He was in charge tonight. He'd never be completely dominant to his long-legged, willful lover, but he knew what to do to make the blond sing like an angel, and he wanted to hear the entire 'Alleluia chorus' in one night.
There would be other nights, lots of other nights where he would once again kneel down before his master and pledge his body into Hutch's care, but tonight was his and he was ready to take charge.
The voice on the phone had been deep, gruff and sensual, a commanding presence that was not to be denied. At once both familiar and not quite a friend. The voice had told him to be at Whip's Tavern by one thirty, to order a coke and sit on the third stool at the bar. He was told what to wear and to bring nothing with him. When Starsky had tried to get more information the connection was abruptly cut. He knew better than to refuse an order.
Starsky perched on his barstool impatiently, drumming his fingers on the shiny black bar. He'd been waiting for nearly twenty minutes and anxiousness was beginning to overtake his original curiosity. Why had the caller wanted to meet here? It was a dingy bar far from Starsky's usual haunts. Nobody knew him in this area, even though Starsky was quite used to fending for himself in rough environs, the disassociation with the familiar put him at a disadvantage. What if something happened while he was out here, without a weapon or back up? The voice had said to come unarmed and while Starsky didn't often do what he was told without reason, this time he obeyed. The meeting seemed that important. Still, he felt acutely naked without his Baretta strapped under his right arm.
But now the designated time had passed and the man behind the voice was late. Starsky wanted to get up, stretch his legs, maybe play a tune on the jukebox, but he had been told to sit and wait. Those were his orders. He didn't want to screw anything up. The electric hum of anticipation vibrated through his core, jacking up his adrenaline. He couldn't wait much longer without needing to move, though, and took a sip of his drink to moisten his dry throat. It would be in the next few minutes, he could feel it. Something major was about to happen.
"You want anything else?" the bartender asked. He was a barrel-chested man with the look of someone who'd been around the world more than once, and had fistfights in every port. He eyed Starsky's barely touched cola. "Want me t'add something stronger to that? Or maybe some food? Peanuts? Chips?"
Ignoring the rumbling in his belly, Starsky shook his head. A splash of rum in the coke, or something stronger even, sounded like the thing to calm his nerves and he was really hungry, but there was always the chance of doing something he wasn't supposed to do. It was probably best just to stick with the soda, to be on the safe side. So much depended on today's meeting. "I'll pass, thanks."
"Suit yourself." The man shrugged beefy shoulders; he swiped a rag over the bar, his arm decorated with a skull and crossbones above an anchor. "Date stood you up?"
"Meeting somebody, probably stuck in traffic," Starsky fibbed only slightly. After all, that could be the reason. He picked up his Coke to make a show of drinking it while the bartender moved down to the far end, responding to a signal from another customer.
Starsky watched absently as three bikers wearing leather jackets with the words "Satan's Henchmen on Hogs" embroidered on the back passed by, arguing amiably over what to play on the jukebox. They deposited half a dozen quarters, selecting several tunes. "Can't Get No Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones suddenly blared out of the neon-accented machine, tripling the decibel level in the room. The song suited his mood perfectly and he drummed his fingers on the bar, this time with the beat of the music.
"Don't turn around." The Voice growled in Starsky's ear. He could feel the hard nose of a pistol sticking into his ribs and resisted the urge to shift his weight on the barstool. One buttock was still only halfway on and he felt unsteady, a little tremble running down his torso.
"Both hands flat on the bar." The Voice commanded, the gun no longer poking Starsky's flank. Instead, a big hand clasped the back of his neck so he couldn't turn his head. "Climb down nice and easy and don't turn around."
Starsky did as he was told, glancing up to see the bartender and the trio of bikers watching him from the relative safety of the jukebox. None of them moved to give him any assistance; no doubt all of them had records themselves and didn't wish to court further trouble with their parole officers.
Rough hands patted Starsky down, starting just under his armpits and moving slower than necessary down his body, feeling every inch as if they had a possessive right to claim him. The hands slid under the edge of his scruffed leather jacket, moving languidly across the thin cotton of his dark blue shirt, then caressed his hips, warm palms searing his skin through the denim. Starsky didn't move an inch; his breath coming in hitches as the inspection became more intimate. Sweat broke out under his arms once the hands had moved on and he stifled a sound in his throat, wishing for a long cool drink of the coke so tantalizingly close on the bar.
Abruptly, the right hand dropped down over Starsky's jutting groin, cupping his erection and then squeezing tightly. Starsky's breath caught in his throat, and he glanced over at the bikers again, but they were studiously ignoring the spectacle, nursing their beers at a table as far away from the bar as possible. Even the bartender hadn't approached Starsky's end of the bar again. Since they weren't paying any attention to this overly thorough frisking, he risked thrusting into the hot grasp, but the hand just clamped hard over his balls again with a muttered negative and then let go.
With brusque familiarity the hands quickly continued their passage down his body, leaving an invisible mark on every cell. "What 'er ya going to do to me, Officer?" Starsky asked, his breath rate increasing when the hands left off their exploration and jerked his arms behind him, securing him with a pair of cold, steel cuffs.
"I think you know," his captor purred in his ear. "You're coming with me."
Yanking Starsky away from the bar by his cuffed hands, Hutch marched him towards the door. The other patrons in the establishment stared after them with grim expressions, not knowing what they had just witnessed was no ordinary arrest.
After the dim interior of the bar, the bright sun was almost blinding and Starsky found himself blinking madly, his sight blurry. He ducked his head, trying to restore his outdoor vision.
"Here, I got you a new pair of shades." Hutch produced a pair of sunglasses, pushing them up his friend's nose and hooking the earpieces behind his ears.
Starsky got a brief glimpse of expensive looking eyewear before Hutch put them on him. They were stylish looking frames, the type with leather sideguards that skiers used to reduce the glare from snow. But once they were on, Starsky noticed the big difference. The lenses had been painted black on the inside. With the leather covering the peripheral vision the wearer was effectively blindfolded. He turned his unseeing eyes to Hutch, putting all his faith and trust in the capable hands of his master. "How do I look?"
"Incredible." Hutch was standing close up against his lover to hide the handcuffs from passersby and his warm breath tickled Starsky's ear. "You took my breath away in there, you know, leaning over the bar with your ass up in the air. I wanted to take you right there, in front of all those bikers..."
"Great minds think alike." Starsky grinned.
Hutch didn't comment further, instead guiding him over to the red and white car parked at the curb and gently bending his head down to prevent him from braining himself on the doorframe. Starsky slid into the back seat awkwardly with Hutch's assistance.
"I left my car around back; we'll take this one," Hutch announced, having transferred everything he'd brought with him from his beater to the Torino before going into the bar.
Starsky settled into the seat, trying to find a comfortable position with his hands still cuffed behind him. He recognized the Torino even without sight but it felt distinctly odd to be a prisoner in his own car. Even though the metal cuffs weren't overly tight, they were considerably more unpleasant than the chamois-lined leather cuffs Hutch usually buckled on him. The hard metal dug into his wrists, but Hutch had to use the police issue equipment to give veracity to the mock arrest.
He could hear Hutch climb into the driver's seat and the jingle of the keys as he started up the motor. The vibration of the car's engine only added to the throb in Starsky's groin and he pressed his thighs together to get some relief. He wished he'd been able to look just once into the luminous blue eyes of his blond lover, but Hutch had managed to stay behind him, just out of sight, until Starsky had donned the sunglasses. Nonetheless, it took little imagination to conjure up a vision of his tall Nordic master in his mind's eye and pressing his legs together again; he groaned with arousal.
"Spread your legs apart," Hutch commanded dryly, a smile in his tone. "You aren't allowed to come unless I say so, remember?"
"Yes, sir." Starsky did as instructed, biting his bottom lip in frustration. He slouched back into the seat, gingerly shifting his arms so the sharp edge of the steel cuffs didn't dig into his spine. Wondering how long he would have to suffer with these miserable things, Starsky started to speak, but the words of complaint died in his mouth. That would undoubtedly be the wrong way to start the session out. Speaking without being spoken to was the rule he broke most often and he was certain asking whiny questions would get him into trouble. The last thing he wanted was to earn a demerit so quickly.
"We don't have far to go," Hutch assured as though reading his mind. Starsky could feel the powerful car driving through Saturday afternoon traffic, the noise and honks from the other cars somehow reassuring. "But you'll feel like you're on a whole different planet."
"I already do," Starsky replied softly, that perfect sensation of existing only for Hutch descending on him. He could feel his submissive headspace sliding into place and welcomed the calmness that always came with it. The cuffs even pinched less when he accepted being restrained as a natural part of his life.
No more than twenty minutes or so had passed when the car came to a halt and Starsky heard Hutch roll down the window. Although Starsky couldn't see it, Hutch pulled a small blue plastic credit card-type card out of his wallet and inserted it into a slot in the reader beside a huge iron gate. A green light lit up on the reader and Hutch pulled the card free, waiting for the gates to open up.
"Is this it?" Starsky asked cautiously, his shoulders and back seriously aching from his awkward position. He now had much more sympathy for anyone he'd ever arrested with this pair of cuffs.
"We're here." Hutch drove past the huge portals, the big car moving like a dream over a smoothly paved road. Starsky could smell eucalyptus trees through the open window and hear the appalling screech of a bird.
"What was that?" he asked in alarm.
"A peacock." Hutch laughed. He slowed the car enough to reach back and pull the sunglasses off his love's face. "They're wild around here."
Gazing out onto a lush growth of trees, Starsky was nearly struck dumb. It was obvious they weren't really out in the wilderness; he could see the top of the fence to the right of the car past a copse of trees. However, some gardener had gone to a maximum of effort to reproduce a wild but accessible forest, complete with colorful fauna. "There are peacocks here!" he exclaimed, seeing one of the majestic birds raise its amazing tail in a vivid display of blue, aqua and green. Overhead, there was a splash of red and blue as a flock of parrots flew from one branch to another calling raucously to each other.
"Where are we?" Starsky asked in awe.
"Near Bay City."
"But these peacocks and parrots...they're not native to Southern California."
"They may not be native," Hutch agreed, driving on down the road. A wide green lawn edging the curving shore of a lake awaited them next. Several white swans floated serenely on the water, their graceful necks curved as if in greeting. "But back in the 20's and 30's when movie stars lived around here, they brought in peacocks and parrots and let them loose. They may not be indigenous to California, but they are wild around here."
"Swans are nasty," Starsky commented. "But how come you know all this?"
"Read the brochure," was Hutch's smug answer. "Starsky, that's all you're going to know. You wanted our own little world; this is it."
"Wow, is it ever." Forgetting his sore wrists he lapsed into silence, enjoying the scenery as much as any nature program he'd ever watched. They passed areas that were meticulously landscaped into perfect symmetry with hedges trimmed like a giant maze; gorgeous rose gardens and other spots where the more common flora of the dry Mediterranean terrain flourished. Scrub oak, olive trees, and cypress grew riotous on the side of one hill which looked so ordinary Starsky wondered why the phantom gardener had included such common greenery. But it was all a paradise, just a different slice for every different taste. So far there hadn't been any buildings but he finally saw a sign up ahead with a series of numbers printed on it.
"There we are." Hutch grinned. "We're number seven, to the left."
After another mile, he stopped the car in front of a small two-story bungalow. As Starsky had noticed with the last two places they'd had their assignations, the houses rarely looked any different from any other places. It was what went on inside that distinguished them. That and certain structural modifications.
"Is this one...?" he asked.
"Designed for our needs?" Hutch laughed with an evil smirk. "Yes."
"Can I ask something else?"
"Where does...? How much does all this cost?" Starsky had been pondering this for some time. Hutch obviously paid large expenditures for each of these sessions. Maybe he should be helping out with expenses.
"That in no way concerns you." Hutch climbed out of the car, stretching his long legs. "The money is available. That's all you need to know, and I finally found a reason to use it."
"Yes, sir," Starsky answered uncertainly. Did that mean Hutch had huge sums of money squirreled away somewhere? He'd always known Hutch's family had given him a rarely touched account, but there must be beaucoup bucks to pay for all of this.
"Get out and get over here," Hutch commanded, opening the door for him and giving Starsky a hand in standing up. "You must be sore after wearing these for so long." He unlocked the cuffs, giving kisses and sweet attention to the red marks on Starsky's wrists.
The weather had turned warm in the last week in the capricious way of late winter in Southern California and the breeze was a soft caress on Starsky's cheek as Hutch latched onto his mouth. Full lips pressed against Starsky's, Hutch's tongue darting out to penetrate the moist interior of his captive's mouth like a snake hunting for prey. Not protesting in the least, Starsky curved his arms up around his lover, locking their bodies together. Hutch continued his assault on Starsky's oral cavity, questing deeper and deeper, as if attempting to climb inside. His lungs bursting, Starsky tried to pull back but Hutch had pushed him up against the Torino and there was nowhere else to go. He slid his hands up to Hutch's chest as if to push away, trying to fight the dizziness brought on by the avalanche of kisses. He didn't want them to stop; he just needed some air.
"You have too many clothes on." Hutch pulled back just enough to put a millimeter of space between them. As both men took great gulps of sweet, pine scented air, he stripped off Starsky's leather jacket and shirt, then went to work on his fly.
"H-hutch," Starsky protested. "We're outside still."
"The weather's great." Hutch slid a hand into the opening he'd made with the loosened zipper and claimed the turgid cock trapped in the skintight jeans.
"What if someone sees us?"
"There's just us here," Hutch insisted, playing teasing games with the head of Starsky's cock. "We've got the whole place to ourselves."
"Aren't there--uh--at least six other bungalows?" Starsky was finding it harder and harder to speak coherently with those magic fingers playing his flute like a soloist.
"Actually, there's ten all total." Hutch lay off his music practice, working the stonewashed denim over Starsky's butt and halfway down his legs, effectively hobbling him with his own jeans. "But even so, nobody strays far from their cabins. Everything you need is right there." He massaged the strong muscled thighs under his palms, applying just a hint of fingernail to the sensitive skin up near the join of the leg to the groin. Starsky quivered, moaning, his breath quickening. What was Hutch's plan and why wouldn't he hurry up with it?
"This whole estate was made just for us, little one, and people like us. You could do it right smack in the middle of the road if it turned you on and nobody around here would look twice." As Hutch spoke he continued rubbing and patting, digging his thumbs into the curve of Starsky's ass before coming back around to gather up the soft velvety scrotum in his hand, rolling the testicles around like worry balls in his big palm.
Starsky was melting and unable to think of a persuasive argument over taking the remainder of the seduction inside. Instead he leaned his hands back against the cooling metal of the car, tilting his head back to bask in the warmth of the sun and his master's fantastic ministrations. Tall evergreens swayed overhead in the slight wind and two falcons wheeled and played in the jet streams.
He jerked out of his reverie when Hutch squeezed down tightly on his balls as he had done back in the bar, only this time he didn't let go. "You're not paying much attention there."
"You got me so relaxed," Starsky apologized, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out from the pressure on his most sensitive area. "Sorry."
"No sorry about it." Hutch used his other hand to give a sharp, cracking smack on Starsky's bare butt before he let go of the abused sack. "Now you have to work harder for it. Turn around."
His backside stinging, Starsky shuffled around until he was leaning over the hood of his bright red car. He felt very exposed, nearly nude in the sunshine, with his ass up in the air. But Hutch had ordered him to do this and he obeyed. Why wasn't an issue at this point. Starsky didn't have much experience in the submissive role, but he was finding it easier and easier to just go with the flow and not protest so much. It was almost frightening that the sound of Hutch's voice on the phone had reduced him to instantaneous servitude, ready to do his master's bidding without question. He had gone out to the bar, waiting for his master to come with a mounting excitement. Whatever Hutch wanted, he would oblige. Because he knew that obedience brought exquisite torture and intense sexual pleasure, but disobedience only brought pain and lots of it. The memory of the first true punishment with a leather strap was one he wouldn't forget in a hurry. Pain play, with a ruler or paddle slapping his butt had been exciting, even enjoyable, but true punishment stokes were something he'd rather not have again so soon.
"I've been wanting to get inside your lovely ass since we were back in the bar." Hutch applied his wet tongue in a long sweep down Starsky's curved nether cheeks, concentrating his licks close to the puckered anus. He swirled his tongue lovingly around the opening, kneading and pinching the pliant skin with his fingers before plunging his slick tongue into Starsky's center. Saliva dripped down the crack of Starsky's butt, tickling the back of his thighs and he shifted his weight, trying to reach back to relieve the irritant.
"Don't move," Hutch warned in his dominant voice, tightening his grip on Starsky's hipbones. "Or this will go much harder on you."
Starsky twisted enough to wiggle out of Hutch's grasp for a moment, but was rewarded with a hard slap on his right buttock. A hand grasped the heavy silver chain he wore around his neck, pulling back on it like the reins of a restive horse. The tension around his neck wasn't tight enough to strangle, but Starsky stopped, his chest heaving.
"You want this, don't you?" Hutch whispered huskily.
"Yes," Starsky answered. When the hold on his neck loosened, he bucked, almost toppling the blond man. He did want it hard. He wanted Hutch to push in fast and ride him like a bronco.
"You like it rough, huh?" Hutch straddled Starsky's body with his long legs, one hand on his slave's neck pushing him down onto the fire engine red car. He kept a firm hold on the chain this time, sucking on his long forefinger to cover it with saliva before plunging it into Starsky's hole.
"Noooo," Starsky wailed, trying to buck off his rider again. "I want your cock up my ass!"
"Not so fast. We do it my way, always." Hutch turned his finger around, sliding it in and out in time to Starsky's low non-verbal utterances.
Closing his eyes Starsky hummed when the one finger was replaced by two. His cheek lay against the still heated hood of the Torino, but the fire that really burned was inside him, mounting with every downward thrust of Hutch's hand. He wanted more, much more than two measly digits, and he wanted them now. "God, Hutch...ram it in, now!"
"You NEVER top from the bottom," Hutch hissed, removing his fingers to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pale brown leather pants. His cock sprung out, fully engorged and ready for action. "Turn your head and suck me." He pulled Starsky's head around so they were both in a better position for the operation. "Get it really good and wet."
Now Starsky understood that Hutch wanted him to coat the full length with saliva, to use his own spit as lubrication. With this in mind, he applied himself studiously to the task, wanting that giant cock as slippery as possible. He dropped down to his knees, feeling the dirt soft and crumbly under his kneecaps and continued to lavish the steel rod with so much moisture his tongue began to feel rough and dry. Hutch must have realized this because he motioned for Starsky to assume his original position over the car, his face an amazing mixture of sexual bliss and determination. Starsky had begun to notice that even when Hutch was being dominant there got to a point where he had a hard time expressing his desires; when the urges got so strong there were no words to describe them and all he could do was gesture. Starsky bent down again, resting his elbows on the hood this time, propping his face in his hands.
Wasting no time now, Hutch leaned over his target, his pulsing cock like a live thing in his hand. The head burst through Starsky's hard inner ring of muscle with terrific force, arching Starsky up off his elbows in surprise. He didn't mean to, but his inner walls clenched, trying to repel the invader, no matter how much he really wanted that cock inside him. "Huu-uutch," Starsky gasped, "take me all the way." He was practically kneeling on the car now, to widen the entrance for Hutch's bigness to fit in. But his jeans were so tightly bunched just below his knees he couldn't get his feet that far apart, and he started to slip.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Hutch panted, hanging on. He pushed past the now minimal resistance, filling the tight passageway to the over flowing.
Rocking backward to gain his balance, Starsky forced the issue, impaling himself until his buttocks slapped Hutch's balls. Then, with Starsky straight-armed against the car, Hutch simply lifted Starsky's lower body up until his feet were no longer on the ground. They swayed in perfect coordination, combining their bodily fluids as Hutch emptied his testes in a blasting burst of seed, pushing Starsky up and over into a quaking, shimmying orgasm.
"Damn," Hutch whispered shakily, lowering his lover with arms that trembled from the weight. Starsky could barely stand with his pants bunched below his knees, so he sat down abruptly on the Torino's bumper.
Hutch pulled his clothes into some semblance of order, looking over at the gorgeous dark haired man. "You're heavier than I expected. Been eating candy bars behind my back?"
"Just this one." Starsky reached up to grab at the limp cock that hung so temptingly in front of his nose from where he sat. Hutch moved just far away to get out of range. "We gonna go in any time soon?" Starsky asked finally, his teeth starting to chatter. He was cold, amazingly so for the fact that he'd felt so incredibly hot only moments before. It might be warm for the first week of February but it was still slightly too chilly to be naked and covered in cooling sweat out of doors.
"Soon as I find the keys." Hutch laughed, frisking his own pockets for the ring. "You can take your pants the rest of the way down, I was kind of in a hurry there."
Starsky laughed as he slipped off his shoes, then the crumpled jeans. The problem was, although that made it easier to walk, now he was really cold. His toes curled, seeking the sun-warmed wood of the steps up to the porch, and he slipped his hands under his armpits. He didn't find his nudity to be in the least strange when his master was completely clothed; he just wanted to be inside out of the wind.
Finally locating the keys in his jacket, which had been left in the car, Hutch unlocked the door and led his shivering partner inside. He left Starsky to warm up on the couch with a blanket out of the hall closet and unloaded the car, transferring perishables to the refrigerator before digging a few necessities out of his overnight bag.
"Warmed up yet?" Hutch ruffled the dark curls.
Starsky laughed, Hutch never could keep his hand off Starsky's hair, and the truth was he liked it. He leaned into the caress, all the while admiring the dark red, jewel-like purple and indigo that decorated the room. It was like being in some sort of modern Arabian palace.
"Yes." Starsky glanced up, wishing they could both just cuddle under this blanket and let the rest slide for an hour or two, but first things first. Besides, he was pretty sure he could persuade Hutch to get under the blankets of the bed in the not too distant future. For now he let the warm, scratchy wool drop onto the couch and knelt down at Hutch's feet with his head lowered, eyes on Hutch's dark brown cowboy boots and his hands resting lightly on his thighs. He was the perfect picture of a slave, ready and waiting for his master's call.
"Do you have any idea how incredibly, overwhelmingly beautiful you look to me right now?" Hutch cupped Starsky's chin in his hand, tilting his face up so he looked up at his master. "You're so fucking gorgeous I can't tear my eyes off you."
"The same back at you," Starsky whispered, his eyes filling with tears. Because of his watery vision, Hutch's blond hair glowed like a halo. Starsky blinked away the moisture, knowing what was coming next. This was his favorite part. If they continued to join together in bondage sessions until he was old and gray, he wanted this ritual to stay exactly the same forever.
Using a tiny key on a keyring with a silver letter 'S' hanging off of it, Hutch unlocked the heavy steel chain from around Starsky's neck and placed it on the high mantel of the fireplace where it would remain until they left the little bungalow. The 'S' stood for more than Starsky's name.
"Who do you belong to?" Hutch solemnly held a brown leather collar at Starsky's eye level, waiting for his reply.
"You, always and forever," Starsky vowed, his throat still so dry after having slobbered over Hutch's cock he could hardly swallow. Or maybe it was just from the prospect of being collared. He really should have taken the opportunity to drink the cola when he'd had it.
For the third time Hutch banded his slave with a thick leather collar, securing it tightly in the back. Starsky was never allowed to touch the buckles or see himself with the collar around his neck. That was sacrosanct. He was now Hutch's possession, stripped of free will and all rights. Here in their own world he was the lowest one, and Hutch was the almighty. But even so, Starsky had a few shreds of power left to him.
"What is your safeword?"
"Torino." Starsky almost laughed, thinking of the sexual baptism they'd given his car only a short time before. His safe word was like a magical wand that could immediately stop the action if it was getting too much for him to handle. He'd never yet had reason to use it, but always felt safe knowing it was there, ready to be evoked if the session warranted.
"I am honored to hold your trust in my hands, you know that, don't you?" Hutch pulled him to his feet, letting Starsky rest his head on his master's shoulder. "Sometimes what I do may hurt or be hard to handle but I will never, ever abuse the power you gave me."
"I know." Starsky nodded, kissing Hutch's collarbone through his shirt, the raw silk soft and yet slightly rough on his lips.
"You must be starving by now." Hutch repaid the kiss in kind, then broke free.
"I could even eat one of your sprout sandwiches if I had to." Starsky rubbed his flat belly. The call to go over to the bar had come just after he'd finished a cup of coffee that morning. He'd awakened late and then been too excited to eat any breakfast, waiting impatiently for the right time to leave in order to arrive precisely at one thirty. And then Hutch had been late. It had been a good eighteen hours since he'd eaten dinner the night before, he realized in surprise. "Whatcha got?"
"The estate supplied us with hors d'oerves and I brought something to warm up for dinner later," Hutch explained, pulling a large plate covered with several kinds of cheese, shrimp, and caviar out of the fridge. He handed Starsky a serrated knife and a long, phallic French baguette. "Make yourself useful."
Starsky sliced the tiny rounds of bread then piled them into a woven basket and carried them into the living room where Hutch was opening a bottle of Chardonnay. He poured two glasses of white wine, admiring the glow of the pale yellow liquid. Once Starsky had settled down on a plump red pillow next to the low coffee table, Hutch handed him a long-stemmed glass.
"Bottoms up," Starsky toasted, clinking with Hutch.
"You're crude," Hutch chastised. "Salute." They made short work of the food, since in truth, both were hungry and Starsky got his wish of a little cuddle under the tartan blanket after all. Choosing one of the rich-hued pillows that were piled in a heap next to the couch, they lay with their heads close together on a blue velvet one, facing the window. The afternoon was already waning, a big golden sun dipping low behind the abundant vegetation on the estate. The natural beauty of a newly budding cherry tree with a cluster of crocus and other emerging spring flowers growing just outside the house was enough to occupy their attention while they held each other close.
"What's the name of this place?" Starsky questioned. Being a detective used to having at least some control over a situation, he was uneasy not knowing where he was. The vague answer Hutch had given 'near Bay City' wasn't enough to satisfy his curiosity.
"You can call it the Estate."
"What if I wanted to look it up in the phone book?"
"I don't think it's listed."
"What if Dobey needs to call us again?" Starsky asked shrewdly turning to ferret out the truth in Hutch's clear blue eyes.
"I thought you made a rule about not answering the phone, but I did leave him the private number. He won't call."
"I didn't see a phone in here."
"You planning to call out for pizza?" Hutch commented sarcastically. "Starsky, you're courting insubordination."
"No, I'm not, I'm courtin' you." He kissed the blond on the lips, forgetting his argument for some long moments as Hutch covered his face and neck with kisses for just that reason.
"Had enough?" Hutch traced feather light fingertips along the other man's jaw.
"What...what if we want to come back here some day?" Starsky finally managed despite the distractions.
"I know where it is, and that's the end of this discussion." Hutch raised up on one arm, pushing the blanket back. "Any more and you earn a demerit. Time to get up."
"I don' wanna move." Starsky curled up closer to Hutch; one hand still curved around his master's leather clad thigh.
"Too bad, I have plans." Hutch laughed with slightly evil intent.
"You always do," Starsky sighed, but he was still very interested to find out what was to come. That was the amazing mystery and excitement of bondage. It was never the same twice, and since he'd only had two sessions, there was so much to discover. It could be so scary, though. The pain that accompanied many aspects of BDSM was a little off putting; not that Starsky minded most of the time. It was just that the fear factor was always there, niggling in the back of his mind. Would it hurt? Would he cry? Or would Hutch launch him into spectacular heights of sexual bliss, opening up unexplored vistas too fantastical to be imagined? All of the above and more was probably the answer.
"The question is, where would be the best place to begin." Hutch rubbed his chin thoughtfully, surveying the room. The bungalow was rectangular, the living room taking up most of the front of the house with a long narrow kitchen across the end. A small bathroom was tucked up against the wall on one side, cozied up next to a locked cupboard. The stairs curved up away from the wall, like a twisted sculpture in the middle of the room, steel girders providing the support needed to keep it from swaying. "Go stand under the stairs." Hutch pointed to the exact place he wanted Starsky to stand; indicating a 'D' ring imbedded on the underside of the structure.
Starsky held out his arms without being told, still fascinated by the process of being buckled into leather wrist cuffs. The soft chamois didn't chafe or bind like the metal cuffs had done, but they felt stiff and unwieldy when in place, reminding him of his servitude, just as the collar did every time he moved his head or swallowed. A pair of ankle cuffs followed, but these had a difference. Once they were on, Hutch inserted a heavy metal rod into a small bracket in the back of each, forcing Starsky's legs to remain about 20 inches apart.
Connecting the wrist cuffs to a short length of chain, Hutch hoisted Starsky's arms up above his head, hooking the chain to the 'D' ring. The weight of the metal rod helped stabilize his body so there wasn't much sway when he moved. "You okay?" Hutch asked, looking him squarely in the eye.
"I'm fine," Starsky assured, licking his lips. Truth be told, he always had a tiny flutter of fear in his belly when they got to the real nuts and bolts bondage. He had grown to really enjoy being bound. It gave him such a peaceful place to drop into, to let his usual aggressive self take a back seat and relax, but he'd never been restrained without some kind of pain following close behind. The anticipation of that sent adrenaline surging through his veins.
"I saw ones like these at Carlysle's," Hutch chatted casually, rummaging in his gym bag full of toys, "and knew immediately I had to get some for you." He brought out what appeared to be a tiny black sack with several chains attached on one end. The black sack fit snuggly around Starsky's scrotum, just tight enough to make him very aware of it without being uncomfortable. A black band then looped around his erect cock, pooling the blood in his member and immediately increasing the throbbing need already building there. The little chains hung down from the black bag, brushing against his thighs. Starsky squirmed, wanting to pull his thighs together, trying to adjust to the new sensation.
Smiling grimly, Hutch held up something Starsky recognized with dread. Nipple clamps strung together on a golden chain.
"Ooh, God." Starsky tensed up as Hutch pinched open one of the vicious little gold clamps. The tiny grips were covered with soft rubber, but once they bit onto his nipples, they were like miniature vices bearing down with unceasing pressure. He quite enjoyed when Hutch played with his nipples, twisting and pulling at the sensitive nubs, but the nipple clamps were so unforgiving without the subtlety of human touch. Starsky managed to keep silent when Hutch snapped the two clamps on simultaneously, but let out a cry of anguish when he tightened the chain. Then to further bedevil his bottom, Hutch hung two small silver teardrop shaped weights below each clamp and a third one was added to the chain below the ball sack.
"Hutch!" Starsky wanted to pull away, escape the deep rending pain that gripped his chest and groin. It hurt, more than anything he could remember. He wasn't prepared for this, couldn't accept it. "It hurts, it hurts..." Even though those words wouldn't have any effect on Hutch's actions, Starsky had to say them, just to keep sane. "Stop. It's too much! It hurts!"
"I know, little one, and I wish it didn't have to hurt, but I'll make you feel better." Hutch stroked Starsky's quivering thigh like he'd pet a cat, gentle and lovingly. Taking Starsky's thick, red cock in hand he kissed the end. "Think how good it will feel when I take the clamps off. It won't be long, lover, not long at all." Saying so, he curved his mouth around the stiff rod, licking the whole length with desire.
Sharp flashes of pain crackled like firecrackers across the nerve endings of Starsky's torso from his chest down to his genitals, refusing to settle into a distant ache that he could acclimate to. Hutch's mouth was the only thing swaying the hold the pain had on him, the luscious pleasure of that warm, wet tongue on his cock an oasis of pleasure in the desert. He tried to crawl into the comforting embrace of that mouth, but for every sweet second of suction on his cock there was an answering crescendo of pain engulfing him.
He finally straddled that illusionary border between pleasure and pain, poised on a pinhead, afraid that one more sensation would send him toppling off his perch. He managed to achieve a tiny slice of perfection where both pleasure and pain mixed for an instant, but it was eggshell fragile. Hutch's enthusiastic devotion to his job had grown increasingly energetic. When he maneuvered in closer between Starsky's thighs to crowd ever more of his love's cock in his mouth, he accidentally bumped the weight hanging from the scrotal sac, sending it swinging wildly like an erratic pendulum.
Starsky screamed loudly as the weight tugged brutally on his aching balls. "Torino!" he yelled with what was left of his strength.