Hutch stalked slowly down the alley, his ears straining for any extraneous sound. He filtered out the ambient sounds of cars, kids in a nearby basketball court and rats skittering through the trash littering the cement. Where was Starsky? Which way had he run?

Starsky was going to be in hot water for running out without informing Hutch where he was going, but the first order of business was to find him. Hutch could feel the irrational fear and accompanying surge of adrenaline-spiked tension rolling off him in waves and fought to bring it down a notch. Starsky would get what he deserved but it didn't help to go running after him in a blind rage. There must have been a good reason for him to have bolted so suddenly. Had someone seen the two of them together in the bar?

Flattening himself against a brick wall Hutch held his Magnum pistol up towards the sky and patted the small of his back ensure that his handcuffs were still tucked there. Starsky couldn't be far--he'd run out the back of the bar but Hutch had lost him quickly in the maze of intersecting alleyways.

He took a deep breath to slow his heart rate before bringing his gun down, holding it out with a stiff arm. Striding rapidly across a vacant lot, Hutch gained the far side without incident. Then he finally heard the slap of sneakers on a sidewalk close by.

"Starsky!" Hutch screamed, dashing around an empty storefront into the dim recesses behind. With the sun just setting the narrow alley he found himself in was a dark hole. What he wouldn't give for a flashlight, he thought dazedly. Feeling his way cautiously, Hutch froze, hearing the footsteps up ahead and a loud reverberation of gunfire.

"Hutch!"

"Starsky!" Running flat out, Hutch skidded past a dumpster and exploded into the open door of an auto body shop. Starsky had his back to Hutch, crouched low with his hands held wide, but he was weaponless. A hulking menace loomed just opposite the curly-haired detective, similarly crouched. In the gloom Hutch could barely make out what was going on and tightened his finger on the Magnum's trigger. Using his left hand he reached out blindly, searching for a light panel. Just as Hutch felt the switch and flicked it upward he saw a flash of sliver arc downward, catching Starsky in the upper arm.

In a single motion Hutch took the knife-wielding threat down with one bullet, straight through his right shoulder.

"Starsk?" Hutch panted, glancing over at his partner but keeping the perp covered with his .357. Watching his lover get knifed had been quite sufficient to quell the anger he'd tried to suppress and he was surprised how shaky his own voice sounded. "You okay?"

"I'll make it," Starsky said tightly, pressing a hand against the wound, but the knife stuck out obscenely from his arm. It was a surprisingly small weapon, not much bigger than a large Swiss Army knife, but it could still cause a great deal of damage.

Sparing a second to assess Starsky's wounds, his belly clenching at the sight of the blood, Hutch focused on the other man on the ground. He was dark skinned with tightly curled black hair and a belligerent sneer.

"Po-lice brutality, you pig," the man shouted, trying unsuccessfully to scrabble away like a crab.

"What do you call knifing an officer of the law?" Hutch growled, flicking open the cuffs one handed and snapping them around the guy's thick left wrist.

"Hey, I'm wounded!" he protested. "Bastard didn't look like no cop!"

"You have the right to remain silent," Hutch recited dispassionately, closing the empty cuff around a copper pipe bolted to the garage wall. He finished the Miranda with a grimace of disgust, wanting only to gather Starsky in his arms and rush him to the nearest ER. He was in charge of the crime scene, though, and there was protocol to follow.

Swallowing the bile in this throat he turned to find Starsky standing.

"What are you trying to do?" Hutch exploded, ignoring the increasingly vile threats out of the handcuffed prisoner.

"Gotta call for back-up," Starsky answered, not cowed in the least by Hutch's sudden thunderous temper.

"You've been knifed. Sit down, you need to wait for the medics to patch up your arm."

"No," Starsky said flatly. "I don't want to go to the hospital." He tightened his grip on the wound, biting his lip as more blood trickled out between his fingers; shockingly red against the cream-colored windbreaker he wore.

"Starsky!" Hutch swiftly checked that the black man was still securely cuffed to the pipe before turning his back on him. "You need stitches at the very least. I am not pulling that thing out of your arm."

As if fighting to make a decision, Starsky shook his head, "I don't want some brand new resident with a cocky attitude checking me out and thinking something kinky's goin' on!"

"S-starsk..." Hutch stammered to a halt suddenly understanding Starsky's reluctance to be examined. It had been barely a week since he'd chained Starsky down on a table and inserted a huge anal plug into his asshole, the culmination of a fantastic weekend in their own little world of BDSM. This was their choice of sexual fantasy, but most people would have declared what they had done together an abomination. That they were two consenting adults who enjoyed the rough play of sex toys and bondage would have made little difference to some. That included a huge number of the religious, medical, and law enforcement communities who might easily report them to Internal Affairs or some other governing board of the Bay City Police Department.

"You gonna get somebody to take care'a my arm, pig?" the prisoner yelled, jerking on his cuffed arm. "I'm bleedin' to death here."

"Starsky, I know a doctor. In fact he's not far from here--at Bay Valley Hospital," Hutch said more gently, taking Starsky's uninjured arm. He briefly felt his best friend's pulse, pleased that it beat solid and strong. "Trust me on this one. He's sympathetic to the scene."

"Yeah?" Starsky looked up into Hutch's eyes and for a moment Hutch saw the other's cop persona slip away to be replaced by the loving man who wanted nothing more than to kneel at his feet, but it was a brief flash and then gone. "I can manage to walk back to the car and call a patrol car while you keep your eye on your collar," Starsky said reasonably, pressing his wounded arm close to his body, but able to stand without swaying or any outward signs of shock.

"Shit," Hutch swore vehemently, knowing his partner was right. Someone needed to stay with the prisoner in case he tried to make a break for it, but leaving a wounded, defenseless man in charge was probably not the best idea. "Starsky, who is this guy, why'd you run after him?"

Starsky smiled with the smug expression that said categorically he'd gotten something over Hutch, "Don't you recognize Charley Waters? Raped and knifed three women in the last two months. Only the most wanted guy in the city."

Staring at the struggling perp Hutch shook his head in wonder. How had Starsky seen the guy in the dark bar where they'd been called on a trivial matter involving a dispute between two drunks?

Charley Waters mouthed off with such an obscene and most probably completely impossible sexual act that Hutch didn't know whether to laugh or smack him across the mouth.

"Doesn't look much like his poster," Hutch said finally, not seeing any likeness between Waters and the crude sketch the police artist had drawn from the victims' descriptions.

"No?" Starsky shrugged with a grimace, squeezing his knifed arm tightly, obviously fighting the pain. "I knew it was him in a heartbeat. And I'd lay odds this is his weapon of choice. I'm confiscatin' the sucker the minute it's pulled out of my arm."

"Where's your piece?" Hutch smiled grimly, his mouth dry at the thought of what might have happened if it had gone into Starsky's chest instead of an upper arm.

"He smacked me with a two-by-four or somethin' when I ran in, my shot went wild, and the gun slid over there," Starsky pointed, unconsciously using his left arm to point with. He waited until Hutch looked over in the indicated direction before wincing in pain and cradling his wounded arm.

"I'll find it, just..." Hutch looked back over his shoulder, relieved to know Starsky had survived yet another attack. There would be a day when he might not be so lucky, it was just a matter of time. "Keep your head down and be careful."

"Yes, sir," Starsky quipped with a ragged smile.

~~~

"No major break, but your wrist'll be swollen for a day or two from the blow. The knife wound didn't cause any serious muscle damage and should heal cleanly," Dr. Simon Davies said evenly, winding the last of the gauze bandage around Starsky's arm. "I put in eight stitches. If you come back in a week, I can take them out, unless you have your own physician."

"No, we'll come back here." Starsky gritted his teeth. Even though he'd been given something to numb his arm during the examination and the stitches, his whole body ached from the strain of holding himself erect. He just wanted to go home and pass out for a couple of hours.

"Then, since the main reason for your visit is over, can we talk privately?" The doctor placed a piece of tape over the dressing to keep it in place and walked across the room to wash his hands.

"Yeah." Starsky turned his tired gaze at Hutch sitting quietly next to the gurney in the chair reserved for family members. The blond nodded, reaching out to rub Starsky's thigh.

"You asked for me specially?" Davies asked calmly, drying his hands on a paper towel and tossing it into the trash. "And even waited for over an hour until I was finished with my last patient. With that thing in your arm, it must have hurt like hell. I take it you had a reason?"

"I took a couple aspirin," Starsky mumbled, suddenly embarrassed to talk about their secret aloud. Neither he nor Hutch had ever told anyone else what they did with their free time, well, not completely anyway. After he'd found out an old girlfriend lived as a full time slave, he had intimated to her that he had like interests, but that had been the extent of it. Hell, it was just over a month since the first time he'd been put into restraints for sexual purposes. On many levels, he was only just coming to terms with it himself, even if he liked bondage way more than he'd ever imagined was possible.

"Do we have to spell it out, doctor?" Hutch asked brusquely, his residual anger from the attack still evident.

"You're in the scene, then, I take it?"

"Yes," Hutch agreed, "We've only been doing it for a short time, so we haven't had much--shall we say--initiation into the support groups and parties but a mutual friend recommended your name as someone we could go to for medical care."

"But this wound wasn't the result of a scene gone bad." Simon raised dark eyebrows. He had the pale skin and dark hair of a black Irishman, combined with dark blue eyes to rival Starsky's, and the bearing of someone who'd spent at least a few years in the military. His hair was combed precisely and the pale blue striped shirt under his blood-spotted lab coat was pristine.

"No, sir." Starsky spoke carefully, attuned to the man's attitude. He was a dominant and most likely didn't take kindly to slaves speaking out of turn. "We're cops."

"Ah." The doctor smiled with a nod. "Now I know why you look familiar. You solved Carlysle's murder. Your pictures were in the paper."

"Right," Hutch agreed. "The thing is, we need to keep our involvement in the scene way under the radar. Any time Starsky gets injured on the job there's the potential for someone seeing something that..."

"I completely understand, and you've come to the right doctor." He glanced over the two of them with a professional eye. "You both look in good condition. Did Starsky have a physical before you started playing?"

"Should I have?" Starsky squeaked.

"It's not a bad idea. Especially since you've obviously been seriously wounded in the past, judging from the scars. You were shot?"

"Four times in the back," Hutch spoke up.

"More'n two years ago," Starsky added. "Not a problem any more." He didn't think he had to admit to the residual aches and pains he got occasionally when it rained.

"These look very well healed." The doctor pulled down the neck of Starsky's hospital gown low enough to view the upper most scars on his chest once again. Starsky tolerated the man's examination without protest for a few minutes because he was a doctor and a master, but finally jerked the gown up over his shoulder. "But some scenes can get very physical."

"You're telling me," Starsky agreed, remembering some of the more contorted positions Hutch had placed him in and they'd only gotten together for kink three times.

"What kinds of play have you done?" Simon asked, directing his questions at Hutch. Starsky sat quietly, trying again to accept that in the BDSM world, nearly everyone recognized Hutch as the master and himself as the slave. It was if it had been tattooed across his forehead. "Bondage? Pain play?" Davies persisted.

"All of that," Hutch answered, going on to explain his experience with BDSM and what he and Starsky had found pleasurable.

"If you're going to continue using a strap for pain play or punishments, I seriously suggest you take some instruction in how to swing a whip and a flogger," Simon said conversationally. "It saves a lot of wear and tear on the slave."

"I've talked to Caress about that," Hutch admitted. Starsky started in surprise, giving a slight yelp when he jostled his wound. He hadn't been aware of Hutch's plans to further his 'education'.

"Then she must have told you about MAST--Masters and Slaves Together?" Simon opened a drawer and pulled out a packet of information. "They hold classes in how to do everything from write your initials on your slave's back with a whip to building your own dungeon. You should give them a call."

"Planning on it, thanks." Hutch was completely relaxed now, all signs of anger gone as he chatted amicably.

Starsky still found himself ill at ease with the whole subject. It was one thing talking to Hutch, his master, about what they planned to do with leather cuffs and gags, and quite another to be talking openly with what amounted to a complete stranger. Even if Caress and Lisa, both of whom he trusted implicitly, had vouched for the doctor.

Despite his reservations, the appeal of BDSM still held Starsky in its thrall. He got instantly hard just imagining Hutch wearing leather pants and little else, ordering him to his knees to be collared and cuffed. Afterwards he'd be forced to bend forward, his ass open and vulnerable...

"When were you two planning on having another session?" Simon asked as Starsky came out of his reverie.

"I guess that's up to you, but we've got reservations at the Estate this weekend," Hutch said.

"It'll be six days from now on Friday; come by then and I'll take the stitches out." Simon smiled with a nod. "Can't promise anything, but I suspect that as long as you don't hang him by his wrists and keep the rough stuff to a minimum, there's no reason to give up your cabin. The Estate's one of my favorite weekend retreats. I go there all the time."

"Which is your favorite cabin?" Starsky asked with interest, trying to picture the perfectly groomed, elegant man applying the whip to some slave's backside.

"Ah, number four. Can't beat a room with a rack." Simon handed over the envelope he'd been holding along with Starsky's discharge and wound care instructions. "Make an appointment with my office, the number's in this packet, and I'll keep my eye on you both, whether it's job-related, or scene."

Walking out to the car, Starsky was acutely aware of the set of Hutch's shoulders. Although talking to Dr. Davies had loosened him up, Hutch was once again tense, his whole body rigid.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" Starsky asked sharply, the sling around his neck already cramping the muscles in his back.

"Pretty much, yeah." Hutch fumbled with the keys to the Torino, holding open the door for Starsky.

"For getting knifed?"

"Mostly for running out of the bar without telling me, but also putting yourself in a position where you could get hurt." Hutch shoved the keys into the ignition, then yanked hard on them, pressing on the gas pedal at the same moment. The powerful engine roared briefly, gurgled, and then died.

"You flooded the engine," Starsky pointed out needlessly.

"I am aware of that," Hutch hissed, turning to face his partner. "Damn it, Starsky, what happened to all that crap about me and thee? Huh? You ran outta there, I didn't know where you'd gone...scared the shit out of me. You think I like walking in just in time to see you get knifed?"

"I knew you'd follow me."

"Fuck!" Hutch swore, shoving his sweaty bangs back. "Yeah, but did it ever occur to you to tell me where you were going? Who you were chasing? The bartender musta thought we were both nuts, haring out of there after some phantom when he had those two drunken bums trying to brain each other with beer bottles."

"I yelled, 'Hutch out the back'," Starsky pointed out. He knew jollying Hutch out of this mood right now was out of the question. Hutch could simmer a rage like nobody else, so it was easier just to stand with the flames licking at his feet until it burned itself out. At which time, Hutch was often contrite and very loving. Making up reaped its own rewards.

When Hutch didn't answer, Starsky asked tightly, "You gonna punish me?" As strange as it seemed, he both feared and welcomed the idea. He had acted rashly. Maybe a couple of swats on the behind would do him good. At least his father used to subscribe to the 'spare the rod, spoil the child' philosophy of child rearing. Not that what Hutch could do to him bore any relationship to that, whatsoever. The problem was, the idea was almost too enticing, too arousing. The real thing hurt a good bit more than the fantasy, but both served to make him half-hard, right there in the car.

"I'm in a real quandary here, Starsk." Hutch sighed and Starsky was glad to see that the anger must have banked for now. Hutch rubbed his palm absently over the leather steering wheel cover. "On one hand I made a vow to myself not to...to mix what happens on the street with our lives when we're on the clock." Starsky nodded at the phrase they'd invented to symbolize their bondage weekends.

"On the other hand, if you had signed a contract for a full-time relationship, all that would be different. You didn't just get injured, you damaged my property." Hutch continued, looking straight at him, those pale blue eyes nearly colorless in the dim light of the car. There were standing lamps spaced at wide intervals around the hospital parking lot, but none were close enough to provide any real illumination to the two men inside the Torino. It gave Starsky a very isolated-on-a-desert-island feeling.

"But I didn't sign anything...yet," Starsky said quietly, his mouth dry. They'd discussed taking the next terrifying step in their relationship, but it was like climbing a mountain. Starsky needed to prepare, to acclimatize himself.

Being master and slave all the time, outside of their cop lives, meant doing away with a safeword and giving every ounce of autonomy and trust over to Hutch's dominance. It wasn't so much that he didn't trust Hutch, because he did. It was more that he didn't trust himself, that he would ever be able to fully commit, body and soul. He'd always been fiercely independent, even though he'd yoked himself to Hutch the minute he'd laid eyes on him that first day at the Police Academy. They'd been a matched set, no matter how opposite in temperament and coloring, right from the start and strangely enough, working so closely together had actually given Starsky a real sense of freedom. He could go as far out on a limb as possible, always knowing there was a safety net behind him in the form of a tall blond partner. What if agreeing to a 24/7 arrangement cost him the safety net, his best friend? As much as Starsky loved their times together as master and slave, he couldn't ignore that it had changed their relationship, even if only partially. He wanted to acquiesce to Hutch. In truth, he'd often done so in the past, sometimes with a growl of complaint, but he'd always listened to Hutch's mandates. What if he couldn't turn that off and he really did loose his ability to think independently?

Acutely aware that the local was starting to wear off around the wound on his arm, Starsky hunched forward, trying to stave off the inevitable. The ache was distant still, but it would soon be howling at him and this conversation wasn't helping matters.

"And if you had damaged my property, I would have good reason to punish. But right now, I don't."

"No," Starsky whispered, wishing he could twist around enough in the carseat to reach out to Hutch, but just leaning against the upholstery shot arrows of pain up his arm.

"I'm sorry, Hutch. I saw Waters, and knew that was the only chance to catch him. Who knows what he could have done? Maybe he was in the bar, trolling for some girl to rape, huh? I couldn't let that happen."

"And what if he'd killed you and I hadn't gotten there fast enough?" Hutch said so forlornly Starsky ignored the pain and leaned over to grab his hand, kiss his wan face.

Hutch's hands came up fast to cup Starsky's cheeks, hold him there for the length of the kiss. Starsky kissed his partner's soft lips, then both eyes, tasting the salty tears on the pale lashes.

"I'm sorry, Hutch." He turned his head, kissing the palm that caressed his stubbly cheek, but by now the pain in his left arm had reached a crescendo pitch and he pulled back with a groan.

"Now, I'm sorry," Hutch winced in sympathy. "The local must have worn off, huh?"

"Feels like it." Starsky closed his eyes, riding the wave of pain to the shore. He panted briefly as things subsided, including the erection that had blossomed with the kissing. "Guess I messed up our weekend, huh? No rough stuff and no hanging by the arms?" Truly, the last one didn't completely disappoint him. Something about being naked and suspended was inherently frightening, even when Hutch was the person in charge. Starsky always had to fight back his less than pleasant memories of being in the hands of the likes of Simon Marcus and other unsavory characters.

"It can still be salvaged." Hutch looked speculative. He tried the ignition key again and the car purred to life, sweet as you please. Putting the car into gear, Hutch drove out of the parking lot. "I'd already planned to do some work on training and obedience."

"Obedience training? On a leash, like a dog?" Starsky protested picturing himself trotting along side Hutch in a ring. He wasn't sure he liked that image.

"No leash, just a collar," Hutch intoned in what Starsky'd always referred to as his 'Bela Lugosi' voice. "But maybe I could teach you to heel, follow commands."

"You're just hilarious, you know that? You should take that act on TV."

~~~

Starsky found himself bored out of his skull after only two days of sick leave and finally showed up at the precinct squadroom just for the camaraderie. Hutch was out on patrol, reportedly re-questioning some of Charley Waters' victims to cement the case the D.A was building. Since he'd been hoping to grab a quick lunch with his favorite partner, Starsky found himself with nothing to do even at the department. Dobey made it abundantly clear that since Starsky had injured the arm he used for writing, and more importantly to a cop, holding a gun, he was to stay off the job for three days, according to the department's own physician.

"Rules are rules, son," Dobey had said, stomping off to find his own midday repast.

"Rules were meant to be broken," Starsky muttered under his breath, thinking at the same time that, as a slave, those were punishable words. He had a feeling that he'd regularly be in about the same amount of trouble with his master as he tended to be with Internal Affairs. Namely, most of the time.

When the phone rang, Starsky picked it up automatically. "Dave Starsky here."

"Starsky! I thought you were on sick leave," Assistant District Attorney Lisa Hartman said happily. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am, but that don't count for squat around here," he lamented. "What do you need, schweetheart?"

"I need to get some preliminary statements from you and Hutch on Charley Waters. This case has to be airtight so we can nail him to a cell in San Quentin," Lisa declared.

"And I know you're the woman to do it," Starsky teased. "Hutch ain't here right now, but I've got nothing but time on my hands. How 'bout lunch?"

"I think I can squeeze you in," she giggled. "I have to be in court in half an hour. It won't take long. How 'bout at the Judge's Chambers across the street at 1:30? You know where that is?"

"I've been there," Starsky agreed. It was a popular restaurant for all the legal types because of its close proximity to the courthouse. "Great big burgers."

"If I'm late, just order one for yourself and get me a vegetarian soup and salad combo, maybe pea soup or potato--on the DA's tab of course, since we're talking business."

"Great," Starsky enthused, thinking of a few other topics he might introduce if there was time.

~~~

Wearing her requisite courtroom attire, a navy pin striped suit over a white silk blouse with a floppy bow at the neck, Lisa Hartman breezed into the restaurant about ten minutes late. Starsky looked on with amusement as nearly every man at the long marble bar turned to watch Lisa's passage. Boy, most of them would be surprised to discover the petite woman's predilection for kink and that she lived with a woman. The only outward sign that she might be a trifle different than some of the other female attorneys was a pair of arch-killing five inch stiletto heels with tiny little buckles at the back of the ankle. Thinking those must be murder to walk on all day long in court, Starsky had to wonder if they had been Lisa's choice, or Caress'.

"Hello, hello." Lisa plunked down into the chair with a sigh. "Idiot prosecuting attorney had to argue about a plea bargain we'd already agreed on. Fool." She dumped her bulging briefcase into the extra chair, taking a long sip from the iced tea the waitress delivered just as she sat down. "Thanks for ordering, saves me a lot of time."

"Y'know, I have to admit, it's hard for me to reconcile this Lawyer Hartman with the Lisa I saw a couple of weeks ago." Starsky laughed uncomfortably. He remembered seeing her kneeling at the dominatrix Caress' feet, then standing to show him and Hutch her recently whipped bottom.

"Do you think it will influence our professional relationship?" Lisa asked gravely, looking up from digging through her files.

"No, I can get past that. It's just...weird, y'know, since we used to date. Then I knew you as an attorney and now I know a different side to Lisa. One that kinda surprised me, since you didn't seem like the type."

"Is there a type?" Lisa asked shrewdly.

"Touché," Starsky agreed, pausing while the waitress returned laden with a quarter pound of hamburger on a huge bun with a mound of French fries on the side and a small bowl of pea soup and a mixed green salad.

"And what about you, David Starsky? Are you the type?" Lisa blew delicately on her spoonful of soup.

"Maybe," Starsky hedged. Neither of them had used a single inflammatory word to describe what they were discussing, but he was acutely aware that there were unfriendly ears everywhere.

"You and Hutch never could take your eyes off each other," Lisa observed dryly.

"You knew?" Starsky paused with his hamburger halfway to his mouth.

"No, not really, not until now," she dimpled.

"Lawyers can always con ya into a confession," Starsky grumbled.

"And that's my cue to get on with business." Lisa nodded briskly, pushing a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. "Tell me about seeing Charley Waters; how did you know it was him?"

Discussing the case over the course of the meal Starsky noted that Lisa ate approximately half of her small cup of soup and speared only a few lettuce leaves into her mouth. She drank iced tea without any sweetener and declined dessert, telling the waitress she was full.

"You barely touched the food; that's what you asked me t'order, isn't it?" Starsky spooned sugar into his coffee.

"I'm...in weight training, I guess you could call it," Lisa shoved her paperwork back into her briefcase.

"You don't weigh more'n a minute now," Starsky protested, taking in her trim figure for the second time.

"For Caress."

"Oh, what, she wants you t'starve t'death?" He couldn't imagine subsisting on such a small amount of food. He had sympathy hunger pangs just thinking about it.

"No, it's only short term." Lisa sighed as a waitress carried a serving of chocolate cake to a customer across the room. "For tight lacing."

"Every time I think I gotta handle on the terminology, somebody throws me a new one," Starsky rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "What's tight lacing, if I'm allowed to ask."

"Starsky, you and I are on the same side, so to speak. You can ask me anything." She patted her flat belly then guided his hand down to feel the hard surface under her blouse. "I'm wearing a daytime corset. It's laced so I don't have a lot of room inside, but I'm comfortable enough to work. When I get home, Caress changes it for a tighter one. I'm tightly laced for the night and in the morning I get this one back. Except on weekends, then it's 48 hours of practically holding my breath 'cause the stays are so tight."

"That sounds barbaric!" Starsky exclaimed, feeling the ridges of the stays that held her erect. "You didn't have that on when we were there."

"No, like I said, it's only for a short time. Six weeks, give or take. Caress wants me down to a seventeen inch waist."

"God, I could just about put both my hands around you then."

"That's kind of the point," Lisa laughed, holding onto her side to take a deep breath after the giggles subsided. "It's for a slave competition. Kind of like the scene's version of the Olympics."

"And a seventeen inch waist'll win you a gold?" Starsky asked dubiously.

"Probably not, but a sixteen inch might." She smiled ruefully. "I came in third last year and Caress wants a second or first this time."

"And what happens if you don't win?"

"I think you can figure that one out," Lisa answered soberly.

"Does that scare you?" All he could think about was Caress saying that her slaves liked strict discipline and asked for more. Did that mean Lisa actually liked the whip?

"Sort of, but I'm used to it." She arched her eyebrows.

"And doesn't that tight lacing hurt?"

"Sometimes I cry," she admitted. "But this is my choice. It's the way I want to live my life."

"Sometimes, I dunno, I can't get behind it all." Starsky leaned his cheek on curved fingers, fiddling with his spoon. "I mean, I like it when I'm there and then when I'm not, it's...scary as hell. I kinda wonder why other people would do this to themselves."

"Starsky," Lisa said sharply, her lawyer voice on as anger colored her words. "I've been doing this for several years now and very few people know about my private life. I agreed to reveal myself to you and Hutch because I trusted you two and I really admired Carlysle. Was I wrong to believe you could keep my secret?"

"Hey, simmer down." Starsky waved his hands as if clearing the air. "I was just blowing smoke there. I'm the last person to want anyone pokin' their noses into any closets in my house."

"I'm sorry." She wrinkled up her button nose. "My feet are killing me today and I'm really hungry still."

"I could slip you some French fries under the table," Starsky offered, holding up two limp ones.

"No, I don't dare. It's like she can smell them my breath," Lisa groaned melodramatically. "I'd better get back. Meeting with the D.A. at three."

"Hey, what are my two favorite people taking about?" Hutch sauntered across the now nearly deserted restaurant, waving.

"How'd you know where to find us?" Starsky grinned, sliding in the booth to give Hutch room.

"Called Lisa's office to tell her what I'd been doing this morning and they directed me here." Hutch pushed over until he was nearly on top of Starsky, curling his right foot around Starsky's left one under the table.

"Did you track down all three of Waters' victims?" Lisa asked eagerly. "We've had a hell of a time getting in touch with Melissa Simpson."

"Yeah, she's not interested in testifying at his trial," Hutch agreed, referring to the second woman raped.

"Damn." Lisa drummed her fingers on the table. "She made up a lot of our case. Kerry Yantikova couldn't give a very reliable description, but her rape kit came up positive for his blood type and sperm. Simpson gave the best description, and she was positive for his sperm, as well. Natalie Kusko, who called me the second she heard Waters was arrested, took a shower before reporting her attack to the police so we can't get him on rape for that one, only aggravated assault."

"Yeah, she's out for blood, too. I guess pointing out the error of her shower didn't exactly endear me to her, either."

"She rip into you?" Starsky laughed.

"I'm surprised you can't see the marks her nails left," Hutch said dryly. "But Melissa Simpson is the opposite, just wants to put the whole incident behind her."

"I suggested she go to rape counseling. Did she go?" Lisa mused.

"She really didn't want to talk to me," Hutch shrugged.

"I'd better go give her a call," Lisa stood, smoothing her navy blue jacket down over her flat abdomen. "I'll talk to you guys soon, huh?"

"I'm coming over next week to train with Caress," Hutch said.

"Oh, then there will be some fun ahead," Lisa smirked, then trotted off on her spikes.

"You need a lift?" Hutch turned back to his partner.

"Got my car outside, didn't you see it?"

"That striped tomato did look vaguely familiar," Hutch conceded. "Then you can follow me."

"Where we goin'?" Starsky purred, admiring the way Hutch's cords pulled snugly over his thighs as he slid out of the booth.

"My place, unless you have objections."

"None at all, you're just acting kinda strange."

Hutch gave a short laugh, pushing open the door of the restaurant. "To tell the truth, I just haven't seen you have lunch with a woman in a long time."

"Hutch!" Starsky barked, swinging around to look him in the face. "Me and Lisa? That was business, you know that!"

"You were together once." Hutch reminded, resting an elbow on the top on Starsky's Gran Torino.

"For about five seconds, years ago."

"I know, it's stupid."

"Yeah, t'think that me and her...now, I can think of a much better combo." Starsky reached into his front jeans pocket, his fingers undulating under the tight blue fabric like fat worms working their way across his groin. "Where'd I put those keys?"

"Usually in your jacket pocket." Hutch shook with laughter, shoving his hand into Starsky's leather jacket. "Found 'em."

"What would I do without you?"

"Clean your gun?" Hutch asked. "First one home's a...." His words were lost in the revving of Starsky's engine just before the sleek red car sped off. He chuckled to himself, unlocking his own car door. "Now he'll never know."

~~~

Starsky had his head in the refrigerator when Hutch finally arrived. "What'd you do, stop for a drink?" Starsky called out, peering over the white metal door. "Oh, yeah, you did!" he grinned in delight, going over to relieve the blond of his burdens. "What'd you get?"

"Mostly organic seaweed, raw fish, some chopped vegetables..." Hutch listed, pulling out a six-pack of Japanese beer.

"Hutch, I can't eat any of that!"

"Sushi, dummy. You liked it the last time I got it. Said the wasabe mustard cleared your sinuses."

"You said that," Starsky countered, popping off the cap of a beer. "My sinuses have always been wide open."

"Like other parts of your anatomy?" Hutch grinned, clinking beer bottles with his best friend. "Starsk, you make it too easy."

"Didja get me some California rolls?" Starsky dug into the bags, ignoring Hutch's amusement.

"Yes, and because I take pity on your less-than-sophisticated tastes, you can have the fried tempura and I'll eat all the sashimi."

"Isn't that raw salmon and tuna?" Starsky grimaced, then snatched a quick kiss. "I figure your breath'll smell like the beach at low tide after we eat, I'd better get in a few good ones now."

"You're just filled with sweet little endearments tonight." Hutch returned the kiss with interest, exploring some of Starsky's oral cavities with his tongue.

"Just call 'em like they are." Starsky ground his pelvis into Hutch's leg, his breath rate beginning to accelerate.

"Too bad I passed on the blow fish." Hutch put his beer on the kitchen counter, so he could pull Starsky closer in for further exploration. "It's highly poisonous, but in small quantities it's supposed to be delicious and it leaves a curious tingle in your lips."

"That ain't the part of my body that's tingling." Starsky giggled, sucking on Hutch's bottom lip. "My jeans are so tight I'm losing the feeling in my legs."

"Can't have that." Hutch made quick work of the zipper and started pushing Starsky's jeans down.

"I've been undressing myself for years," Starsky protested weakly. "You take care of yourself and we'll both be naked in a couple of seconds." He wormed out of Hutch's embrace, leading the way to the bedroom.

"Sounds like a plan," Hutch agreed, quickly completing his task. Turning out the bedside lamp, Hutch lit a cluster of lumpy, half-burned candles that sat in a pool of hardened wax on a plate. The flickering flames danced creating wavering shadows on the walls and the faces of the two men. Hutch grinned up at Starsky as he lay back on the pillow, obviously enjoying the sight of his lover wearing nothing but a silver chain and a diamond. The earring sparkled in the candlelight when Starsky turned his head to grin back at his lover. Starsky's prominent erection was so heavy he should have toppled forward, but Hutch's hands on his hips kept him steady as Starsky swung his leg over and straddled the blond.

"I could look at that diamond all night," Hutch murmured running the tips of his fingers through Starsky's chest hair. "I almost wish we could have it pierced again just so I could see your face the first time you saw that thing in your ear." He stroked his lover's cheek, then reached back to caress the jewel nestled in the fleshy part of his lobe.

Starsky shivered. The hole had healed so that it no longer twinged when Hutch turned the post but just the touch of Hutch's hand sent chills down his spine. "That was pain you saw," he joked, arching forward so that the head of his cock brushed Hutch's chest.

"No, it was incredible: amazement...it was love."

"It is love," Starsky swooped down to kiss Hutch's lips. "I want to be in you."

"You will be." Hutch spread his legs, tipping his pelvis up so his buttocks were more available.

Positioning himself directly over his target, Starsky liberally applied a slick lubricant to his cock and the opening of his partner's anus. Without too much effort he easily slid into the warm sheath, groaning as the tight muscles clamped down on him. It always amazed Starsky that Hutch accepted him much more easily that he accepted Hutch's bulk. Already Hutch was scissoring his legs around Starsky's waist and hooking his feet behind him to lock the two of them closer together. There was no look of pain on his handsome face, just an open-mouthed awe. Starsky thrust forward into the warm tunnel, still partially distracted by this phenomenon. No matter what position they used, when Hutch entered him, it hurt. That didn't last very long, but the fact was there.

"Hey, you going somewhere?" Hutch gasped, obviously close to climaxing.

"To the moon." Starsky banished secondary thoughts with a jerk of his pelvis, "And I'm taking you with me." He grabbed Hutch's hands, pulling him up so that they balanced together like two children on a teeter-totter. When he gave a last hard thrust Hutch countered the move by pushing forward, jamming Starsky further up inside than he had ever gone before. They both jumped off the edge together, their momentum toppling Starsky onto his back with Hutch's ankles still locked behind him.

"The trip was worth it, even if the visit was way too short," Hutch panted trying to extricate himself from the tangle of body parts.

"One giant step for me and thee," Starsky giggled. "Ow!" he batted at Hutch's flailing foot after it accidentally kicked him in the head. Scooting over to avoid further altercations with flying limbs, he melted into the pillows. "You wore me out."

"I wore you out?" Now untangled, he reached out to pull Starsky into his arms. "You're the beast tonight, but how's your arm? Probably shouldn't have gotten so physical."

"Feels fine," Starsky said distracted by the way the candles highlighted his lover's blond hair. He wove his fingers through the silky fine white gold. "Don't you know that sex is a natural pain reliever?"

"So I've heard," Hutch smirked, cupping his hand around the gauze encircling Starsky's left bicep. "But you weren't wearing your sling at the restaurant..."

"Hutch," Starsky left off his hair stroking, confronting the sky blue eyes inches from his darker ones with frustration. "Would you wear one of those things to lunch with a beautiful woman?"

"So, you do find her attractive."

"Where is this coming from?" Starsky jumped off the bed in annoyance. "Are you really jealous of Lisa, cause there ain't a...a molecule of reason t'be."

"Not even a molecule?" Hutch had closed his expression down to a cool exterior. He cocked his head, waiting for an answer and looked suddenly endearingly like a lonely puppy waiting in the window of the pet shop.

Starsky started humming "How much is that doggy in the window." "No. When I look at you, how could there be?" He sat down on the bed, legs curled up under him Indian style.

"I've hurt you, babe, sometimes badly. I get jealous--not just of Lisa, but..."

"Whoa, I thought we had a pact. No mention of the 'K' woman in this apartment," Starsky teased. The woman who had caused the falling out between him and Hutch was strictly a verboten subject, but he realized that in a weird way, she had probably only sealed their fates. Kira had made both realize that they wanted the same things in life and it wasn't the same woman. It was each other. If he hadn't gotten mortally wounded only a few days later, they probably would have gotten together much faster--before the summer of '79 had passed. As it was, with his recovery and emotional instability, their ultimate joining hadn't occurred until January of 1980. So here it was a whole two years later and Hutch was still scared that Starsky wasn't fully committed?

"I never said a thing." Hutch smiled shyly. "I just worry that you'll get scared of what's happening here and want to back out."

"Nothing going on here 'cept two guys getting it on." Starsky waggled his eyebrows in a Groucho Marx leer. "And I'm all for that. Can't get rid of me that easily. I was planning to stay until the final curtain."

"Starsky! You know what I'm talking about."

"You mean that clandestine alternate lifestyle we've be pursuing on the sly?" Starsky rubbed the flat of his hand across Hutch's strong thigh, totally forgiving any jealousy Hutch had ever exhibited. "I'm still all for it, Hutch. You haven't scared me away and it won't happen."

"You know things could get more intense from here on in." Hutch sucked in a deep breath, Starsky's massage causing goosebumps to rise up along the inside of his legs.

"I had that impression. Somethin' t'do with training and obedience."

"I was going to go for a really heavy session this weekend, but you kind of forced a change of plans." Hutch ran both hands up the underside of Starsky's outstretched arms, skimming past the bandage and closing his large fingers around Starsky's broad torso. "I was going to have you wearing butt plugs for a few hours every night this week to culminate with the fisting on Saturday, but that'll change to next week, along with the punishment session."

"Like I could forget that one." Starsky closed his eyes, relaxing as Hutch kneaded his shoulder muscles. "I think I can live without being smacked for another week or so."

"Starsk, you know I will never intentionally hurt you, harm you," Hutch said so urgently Starsky opened up his eyes to find his partner staring at him intently. "If I caused you pain, it would only be..."

"Hutch, I know." Starsky pointed to his heart. "Physical pain passes, what's in here won't ever change."

"God, I hope not, because I couldn't live without it."

"Hutch, pain is part of the scene. I've totally accepted that. I think you're the one who has a hard time dolin' it out."

"Yeah, that's why I've got to go work out with Caress."

"Now who's going to get jealous?" Starsky asked coyly. "You'll be spendin' time with her instead of with me?"

"You'll have a little something to remember me, right up your beautiful ass. Couple hours every night."

"Damn." Starsky squirmed when Hutch's finger wormed its way around to the opening he was referring to. Butt plugs were maddening things, hard and unforgiving, rammed up inside like alien invaders just masquerading as a real live cock. "I'd rather have you."

"And you will have," Hutch made a fist, punching slightly up against Starsky's buttocks for emphasis. "Have to be stretched, Gumby...every night."

"Sound's a lot like what Lisa's going through." Starsky described the tight lacing to a fascinated Hutch.

"A BDSM Olympics, huh? I'll have to ask Caress about that. Want to go?"

"In what capacity? Cause I ain't modeling corsets, if that's what you mean."

"You'd look so cute," Hutch teased, tickling the puckered hole between Starsky's butt cheeks. "Gorgeous ass sticking out from under black leather, maybe nipple clamps with a chain hooked to your boner. I'd pay money to see that."

"You're seriously depraved, you know that?"

"I'm not depraved, I'm deprived," Hutch deliberately misquoted the song "Officer Krupky" from "West Side Story."

"Must mean you're a Jet an' I'm one a'the Sharks and we gotta rumble," Starsky proposed with a naughty grin. "But I'm kinda sticky from the last go round. You got a fire hose there. Last one in the shower gets to eat raw fish for dinner."

"Well, then you'd better get there first, or I'll collect on that bet." Hutch jumped off the bed in time to grab Starsky as he tried to slip into the bathroom door. There was much lighthearted scuffling and once the shower turned on, a fairly acrobatic rendition of the opening number from the modern day New York gang version of Romeo and Juliet.

~~~

"What did the doctor say?" Hutch asked when Starsky finally emerged from Dr. Davies' exam room with a fresh bandage on his left arm and a small Band-Aid over the puncture wound in the crook of his right elbow. Hutch had a nearly identical Band-Aid on his left arm.

"Took out the stitches, no infection, healing well, he'll call us back if the blood tests come back positive for any sexually transmitted diseases." Starsky struggled to pull on his leather jacket until Hutch helpfully pulled the sleeve right side out. "Which I don't think is possible, since it's been way over two years since I was with anyone else. Not since...her."

Hutch nodded no need to explain who "her" was. His betrayal of Starsky still hurt deeply, twisting in his soul whenever he tried to pull it out and examine his motives. Why had he slept with a woman his best friend had professed to love? What kind of a monster does that to their closest buddy? It had been a vindictive, cruel act and the only reason he could even give to explain himself is that he'd wanted to break them up. To take Starsky away from Kira. To get him away from Kira, because she had been bad news. And, beneath it all, had been a probably unconscious desire to have his curly-haired partner to himself. He hadn't fully realized his love for Starsky until he'd seen him lying there, white and unmoving, covered in bandages after hours of surgery to remove the bullets. That driving love had hit Hutch in the chest much in the same way as the bullets had pierced Starsky and he'd known he would never recover. Kira had been the last woman for both of them.

"Hutch, did you...while I was in the hospital?" Starsky questioned as if suddenly shy.

"Was I with anyone else?" Hutch asked, aghast. "Starsk, you nearly died. I didn't even think about it."

"I thought about you, all the time when I was lying in that damned bed." Starsky frowned ruefully at the memory. "My head was turned on and the rest of me just lay there like road kill. Couldn't get it up for months."

"Like road kill?" Hutch teased. "How bout you and me, at the Estate, doin' it in the middle of the street, right out in front of God and everybody? That get your juices stirring?"

"Oh, boy, not just my juices," Starsky groaned. Hutch laughed as he watched Starsky's jeans grow visibly tighter in a few seconds.

"The doctor told me we could use this room after you were finished." Hutch opened a door just off the main hall of exam rooms.

"I don't think I can...do it in the doctor's office!" Starsky whispered in horror.

"Just get in here." Hutch grabbed his belt loop to pull him inside. "To change clothes, Einstein."

"Oh." Starsky twisted his neck to look around the room, almost falling backward when Hutch let go of him. "Hey! He must use this room for--uh--counseling BDSMers, maybe?"

"Something like that." Hutch was unpacking a small carryall, draping the clothing and leather goods on the counter. Unlike the other exam rooms with the usual medical supplies such as blood pressure cuffs, thermometers and bandaging paraphernalia, this one was stocked with items of a more kinky nature. It wasn't quite as well equipped as a cupboard at the Estate, but there was enough of a variety of sex toys and books to illustrate any situation that might arise.

"I wonder how he got into this line a'work?" Starsky pondered, peering at a poster showing some unusual sexual positions.

"Went to medical school?" Hutch paused in his work to watch Starsky. His partner's insatiable curiosity was one of the things that endlessly fascinated him. Starsky was interested in everything, and it was an especially useful trait when they were investigating a suspect. Quite frequently Hutch would start in interrogating the unlucky soul while Starsky would roam the room looking for clues, or just anything that jumped out at him. More often than not, he found what he was looking for, probably without even knowing he'd been looking for it at all.

"I mean the scene!" Starsky reached out to touch a leather facemask on a mannequin head but stopped at the last second. "You know; what turned him on?"

"You'll turn me on once you change into these," Hutch said. "C'mon, time's wasting. You want to get something done today or not?"

"Just wondering about Dr. Davies." Starsky regarded the pile of leather with the wide-eyed look of a virgin about to be sacrificed to the gods. "You want me to wear that out in public?"

"It's Friday. From here on out we're on the clock." Hutch picked up a small item that looked like an oddly shaped leather belt with attachments hanging off. "You belong to me until tomorrow afternoon, right?"

"Yeah." Starsky began unbuttoning his 501's. "I just wasn't expectin' a new wardrobe."

"To get you in the mood."

"That ain't all that hard," Starsky punned, freeing his cock from his pants. It was rock solid and nearly fully extended.

Just looking at it nearly made Hutch come in his slacks, but he shook off those thoughts, cloaking himself more securely in his dominant personality. "This goes on first, under the leather pants."

"I'm not sure how to put that thing on." Starsky had removed all his clothes except for a pale blue shirt. It was unbuttoned with the tail hanging down over his buttocks.

"I was planning on helping," Hutch chuckled. "But take off the shirt and turn around."

"Oh, it's like that, huh?" Starsky did as instructed, bending over the counter without being asked. Hutch guided the black belt around his hips, buckling it in the back. Two medium width leather straps hung down on each side, one in the front and one directly over the asshole. After he'd carefully lubed up a rubber anal plug, Hutch began to gently insert it into Starsky's back opening. It was bigger than the smallest one he'd ever used on Starsky but smaller than the one they'd both nicknamed 'Big Red' so he had no problem seating it completely inside his slave. Starsky moaned with arousal, his fingers clutching the counter tightly. "How long?" Starsky asked hoarsely when Hutch fit the strap through the slit in the base of the plug and tightened it significantly.

"'Til we get to the Estate." Hutch worked the strap between his legs and then turned Starsky around to work on the front half. "We've got a few errands to do before them."

"You live to torment me," Starsky said, watching the proceedings with obvious interest but keeping his hands on the counter. Hutch smiled to himself as he worked. Starsky was already beginning to follow the rules of the game without even being told. From now on his own body was off limits to him and only accessible to his master.

"It's my pleasure." Hutch pushed Starsky's dick up against the widest part of the belt so it was flat against his belly, wrapping three small straps around the base, middle and head and velcroing them closed. He then helped Starsky into a pair of jet black leather pants that fit like glove leather. The imprisoned cock was prominently displayed like a present wrapped in kidskin just waiting to be opened. It literally made Hutch's mouth water. He shook out a black tee and watched as Starsky pulled it over his head and smoothed out the wrinkles. The shirt was so tight Hutch almost zoned out, completely mesmerized by the movement of pectoral muscles and ribcage every time Starsky took a breath.

"L-looks good, Herc," Hutch praised, his cock near to bursting. He turned away, ostensibly to pick up the motorcycle jacket that completed the outfit but he also used the cover to wrap his fist around his hard shaft to cool his raging libido. It didn't look good for the master to be creaming his slacks in front of the slave. What kind of discipline did that display?

"If I'm Hercules," Starsky flexed a bicep, "then, you must be Zeus."

"I hope not." Hutch laughed, glad for the distracting banter. "He was Hercules' father if I remember my Greek mythology correctly. I'd rather be Apollo, or Eros the god of love."

"Yeah...I'll go with that one." Starsky gave a throaty growl, moving forward in his leather gear with feral grace.

"Uh-uh." Hutch gathered up the old clothes to avoid Starsky's advances. "Errands first. I'm going to drop you off at Leather Jungle with a list. When you're done, go over to the café next door to wait for me. I'll meet you at 12:30."

"You're leaving me there by myself?" Starsky cried in dismay. "Where'll you be?"

"I have a few errands of my own. There's a couple of things I called to have put aside for me. You select what's on this list and just have Rex tally up the total. I've got credit there."

"I'll bet you do," Starsky snorted.

~~~

Just the idea of going into Leather Jungle alone left Starsky with a dry mouth and sweaty palms. The one and only time he'd been there before was to have his ear pierced, and Hutch had been at his side. But now all he had was the somatic memory of Hutch's fingers tapping him twice on the arm, just above his fresh bandage. That was their code for Starsky to drop into his submissive headspace. There he was Hutch's slave, his plaything; his for Hutch to command and Hutch had commanded him to pick out the items on the list. Since Starsky wasn't given any alternative except to do what he'd been directed to do, he ventured inside the fetish emporium. Feeling very exposed, he imagined everyone in the place knew exactly why he was there and what he intended to do with his purchases. This was a totally paranoid attitude, he realized, but his spine still crawled when he lifted his head to check out the store's interior. In reality, no one even looked up at the man standing just inside the door pretending to examine a display of books on the fine art of erotic Japanese knot tying.

Friday morning must be the day to shop because Leather Jungle was doing a booming business. Unless everyone in the place was just browsing, most people were there for exactly the same reason as Starsky; to pick up good quality fetish wear of the kinkier nature. His nervousness settling, Starsky advanced further into the shop, amazed at the wide representation of the general population all gathered in one place. A heavy set man wearing a business suit watched intently as a Leather Jungle employee fitted a pretty young girl, possibly the suit's slave judging by the expensive gold collar she wore around her neck, in death-defying red patent leather six inch spike heels with gold locks on the ankle buckles.

Nearby, a couple who looked barely out of their teens giggled over their choice of wristcuffs, discussing the relative merits of purple with red polka dots over white patent leather with shocking pink fur lining. In the back, at the piercing booth, a buxom lady showed off her newly pierced nipples to an admiring woman wearing an itsy-bitsy halter top to display the elaborate tattoo of Tinker Belle on her lower back.

Okay, Starsky thought, reading over the list Hutch had given him. How hard could this be? Just like grocery shopping. Only every item he was to purchase was to be used on him and some of the items--maybe even most of them--might cause some discomfort if not outright pain. Even so, the anticipation of the afternoon's play session gripped him with excitement. There was no adequate reason why he enjoyed BDSM, and especially bondage, so much. It just fulfilled a deep longing inside him and he wasn't willing to try to dissect the answer any further than that.

Hutch had written four things on the narrow slip of paper. The first three were the most scary; a crop, a leather flogger and a broad leather strap. All instruments that could cause a maximum of sexual pleasure and equal amounts of intense pain. The pain was what Starsky had the most trouble with. Why would anyone willingly allow themselves to be tied down and beaten? He had no answer, but found himself in front of a display of whips and other implements of discipline.

God, how did Hutch expect him to choose? This wasn't fair! There must be something written down that said this was the master's job, wasn't it? His belly fluttering with dread, Starsky put a tentative hand on the smooth leather of a broad flat strap. That wasn't so bad, he reasoned. It was just an old piece of cow's hide or something. But in Hutch's hands it would have the power to caress his body with silky sweetness or snap down with a fearsome bite that could leave Starsky howling.

Who in their right minds could stand here and choose which one to buy? Hutch was always joking that Starsky was rarely in his right mind, so it was up to him, apparently. The flogger, which he had never seen before, fascinated him. It had a braided handle with a tail of soft suede fringe. How much could that hurt? It was like a suede feather duster. Probably much more likely to make Starsky giggle.

After much deliberation involving holding each of several versions of floggers, crops and straps in his hand to determine their heft and how they felt when he swished them ineffectively through the air Starsky picked out three. He wasn't positive they were what Hutch might have chosen but he was prepared to explain his choices if asked. The only thing he couldn't say was how they'd feel when raked across his bare skin. He'd tested the crop on the palm of his hand and even a small flick of the thin, flat leather had stung.

The one saving grace about the whole shopping expedition was knowing that these things would not be used on him this afternoon. Since Dr. Davies had put restrictions on the activities, Hutch had promised no punishments until Starsky's arm healed up. And right now, despite the fact that having the stitches removed hadn't given Starsky so much as a twinge, his arm was aching like a sore tooth. Must have something to do with standing next to all those whips. Gathering up his selections, Starsky piled them on the counter where Rex, the owner, indicated and turned to another area of the store.

Time was growing short and he still had to decide on a butt plug. Decisions; more decisions. Starsky had never before realized how many different designs there could be for a single sex toy. There were broad ones, flat ones, long ones and fat ones. Some lit up, or had horse tails attached. Others were shaped like cartoon characters and anatomically correct phalluses. Every color of the rainbow abounded and several were clear glass like beautiful, erotic sculptures. Unlike the whips, though, this time his search was made a bit easier because Hutch had given Starsky dimensions. 6 inches long and 2 3/4 inches wide. A monster, although Starsky had a secret kind of pride that he could get something like that up inside him. The one already nestled inside his back canal was beginning to make its presence known every time Starsky shifted his weight. When Hutch had first stuck it inside Starsky was surprised to find that he'd somehow grown accustomed to butt plugs. What a weird concept to realize that he didn't find it uncomfortable as hell to have a foreign body in his asshole. The current one was just the right size for him to live with and at least partially ignore, but it had been in there a while now. Surely there was an hour or more left on the time limit before Hutch drove them out to the Estate and pulled the plug, literally. Starsky clenched his aching butt muscles and grabbed the first anal plug that matched the dimensions Hutch had specified.

The café next door to Leather Jungle was an eclectic mix of patrons of the fetish emporium and the bohemian artsy types who lived in the surrounding neighborhood. Bent wood chairs cozied up to round tables covered with short black tablecloths. The framed prints on the wall were mostly movie and theater posters, and it wasn't until they were really studied closely that it would be noticed that all had a bondage or kinky theme. Starsky stood on tiptoes to see around a massive ficus that had taken the tiny waiting area hostage allowing only a narrow passage from the door to the dining room. Hutch was already at a table near the back and had apparently ordered. Starsky laughed at the weird turnaround this was to his lunch with Lisa earlier in the week. She'd been restricted in her lunch choices because of her corset wearing. He wondered if Hutch had ordered some food for Starsky based on the rubber stopper plugging up his backside.

Luckily, the meal on the table looked edible and Starsky realized he was ravenous. The one problem was sitting on the hard wooden café chairs with his little backdoor buddy. Even perching on the edge shoved the hard rubber further up inside, causing Starsky to wince when he settled back.

"You get everything I needed?" Hutch asked. He'd used the time to change from the usual workaday outfit he'd had on earlier, and now sported an aqua silk tee shirt paired with wheat colored jeans. Not as overtly sexy an ensemble as Starsky's but one that made David Starsky's heart skip a beat. Hutch, as always, looked like he should be starring in his own TV series or maybe just a series of magazine ads for the perfect image of a man. Tall, impossibly blond, the very personification of a Nordic god sent down to grace the lowly lives of Bay City Citizens. And Starsky was grateful for every moment he could spend with Hutch, that is, at least, 85 percent of the time, maybe even closer to 90 percent. But there were those days when that Hutchinson temper and glacier-cold stare swept over him, and he knew what prisoners in a gulag must feel like. This glorious Friday was not one of those days.

"Rex packed up everything, including the stuff you had put aside," Starsky answered, digging into his lunch. "What'd you get me? It's good."

"Waldorf salad and small clam chowder--light on the cream." Hutch was eating an identical meal so Starsky didn't quibble on the absence of what he considered real meat. Clam chowder was great, but it didn't quite measure up to a burger. And there were no beers, which didn't surprise Starsky at all since he knew the best way to keep the scene safe was to keep the booze to a minimum. Besides, he enjoyed the tart, pulpy homemade style lemonade that accompanied the meal.

"We leaving right after this?" Starsky speared a big chunk of apple and walnut, savoring the crunchy textures between his teeth.

"You in a hurry for some reason?" Hutch wiped his upper lip with a napkin, pretending to hide the smirk that lurked. "You're squirming like you got ants in your pants."

"Not exactly." Starsky rolled his eyes. Not only was his posterior causing him consternation, but it felt distinctly strange to sit with his legs close together and not feel the long, thick shape of his dick lodged in between. With it wedged up against his abdomen he found that every time he leaned forward sharp warning pains shot from bottom to top, threatening to strangle his manhood. It was quite the balancing act to find a reasonably comfortable position to sit in.

The service was impeccable at the café, which led Starsky to wonder if they were all slaves, or at least used to some pretty severe discipline. Their waiter had a friendly grin, remembered to bring out some freshly cut lemons for Hutch's cup of tea and maintained a perfect balance of staying out of their way while they were eating and hovering just close enough to deliver the check seconds after both had put down cutlery. He didn't appear to be wearing any apparent signs of BDSM, but the girl who took Hutch's credit card had pierced nipples linked by a gold chain showing plainly under her nearly see-thru lace top.

"That place run by Leather Jungle?" Starsky asked as they hacked their way past the looming ficus in the foyer.

"Yeah, it's where MAST has a lot of get togethers," Hutch pulled out a pair of stylish black sunglasses with leather side guards like skiers use. "You forgot your shades, little one."

Even more than the change of clothes at the doctor's office or the shopping orders, this was the signal that the day had truly begun. Starsky donned the blinders masquerading as sunglasses with the same rush of adrenaline as when he pushed the Torino's speedometer past 80 in a high-speed chase.

~~~

"You are to be naked at all times when inside the house," Hutch said, helping Starsky from the car in front of cabin number two on the Estate. "You will not speak unless spoken to, not look at me unless told to do so and be on your knees, or back, unless allowed otherwise. You are in deep, deep submission today. It is the beginning all over again of your life as a slave."

Starsky stood on unsteady feet, feeling a cobblestone path beneath his feet, the sunglasses still blinding him. Hutch's stern voice and long stream of orders were making him light headed and incredibly aroused. God, he would do anything to have that man make love to him at this moment, but he had a feeling that he was going to have to earn that privilege, most likely the hard way.

"Since we are not going to use a lot of heavy bondage because of your arm, it's a good day to work on mental restraints," Hutch continued, taking Starsky by the arm and leading him up a short flight of stairs to a porch. Starsky could hear the drumming sounds of their footprints as they crossed the wooden floorboards before stopping at the front door. "You are bound by my command, even without cuffs or chains. If I say you cannot move, you do not. Any deviation from my orders is an immediate demerit and you already have four from the previous sessions."

Starsky drank in his master's words, soaking them into his pores. This was his world right now, this and nothing else. He existed to satisfy Hutch, as a tool for his needs. The commands were harsh, slapping at his free will and self worth, but Starsky had enough of both to be able to surrender them up for a brief time to become the slave that Hutch wanted him to be. The weirdest thing was that the more powerful Hutch became the more Starsky wanted to yield to his demands. Had it been any other person or any other time Starsky would have been itching for a fight. Instead, he applied himself to stringently following every order to the letter.

Sinking to his knees the second he stepped over the threshold, Starsky immediately began to wrestle with his clothing. In a very short time he was naked, with leather jacket and pants folded neatly beside him. Hutch had not yet said he could remove the sunglasses so he waited, hands placed limply on his thighs, back straight and chin up. The picture of a patient slave. He almost felt patient, too, except for the tiny jumping beans doing the sombrero dance in his belly. Today was different. He and Hutch were no longer experimenting with BDSM; they were living with it. From the little he'd read, some slaves spent a goodly portion of their lives kneeling like this, waiting to be subjected to any manner of sexual stimuli from highly pleasurable to downright unpleasant. The anticipation is what got him. He'd never liked waiting, be it on a stakeout or for Hutch's direction. What was going to happen next?

Starsky could hear the blond man walking around putting supplies away and preparing for the day. He tried not to shift position off his knees but he wasn't used to staying in one place for so long and his knees were burning with fatigue already, not to mention the pressure in his anus. Clenching his fists against his legs Starsky raised up slightly to relieve the pins and needles tingling in his feet and to contract his butt muscles. How long was he going to have to wait? The little peaceful patience he'd managed dissipated like ice in the sun and Starsky started to fidget restlessly. He wasn't cut out for this kind of tension. This was madness. Hutch couldn't have forgotten about him, could he? A cramp that had started in his left foot was now working its way up his calf and threatening to destroy any composure Starsky had left. He nearly bit down on his bottom lip to keep from groaning out loud, tucking his chin down to tighten up his calf muscles in a sort of isometric exercise. The sunglasses slid partway down his nose and Starsky caught a tiny glimpse of gleaming mahogany wood and elegant Tiffany style lamps before a sharp voice caught him up short.

~~~

Hutch stood silently, examining his lover the way he might a statue at the museum or a fine work of art. How did Starsky manage to stay so incredibly fit, muscled and trim with the life he led? He didn't eat right, only worked out at the gym one or two days a week and that was usually because Hutch goaded him into it. And he got hurt so often it was a wonder he still had all of his original parts. But man, did he look good. Starsky's skin glowed in the amber light from a nearby stained glass lampshade, the black leather of the belt slung low on his hips a marvelous contrast to the Mediterranean-hued skin and abundant hair on his torso. His imprisoned cock had taken on a most alarming purplish hue, the tip cherry red above the confining black straps.

Smiling fondly, Hutch watched as Starsky tried to keep his perfect slave boy posture. For a few minutes there he'd managed to play the part to the hilt, kneeling in the presentation position with faultless precision. But all too soon Starsky started to wiggle, flexing his knees and curling under his toes in an apparent effort to alleviate that tingling that comes from kneeling in one place for too long. Wondering how long he could afford to keep Starsky waiting before there was a blow-up, Hutch almost missed the earliest signs, but saw his lover's fingers stretch and then fold into fists. Starsky was about at the end of his rope and it was time for some action.

"Stand up, take two steps forward, turn to your right and lean straight-armed against the wall," Hutch said sharply, not moving until Starsky had risen to his feet. He had to stomp them once or twice before following directions and positioning himself on the wall. "When I give you an order, you do exactly as I say," Hutch corrected coldly. "Your don't see to your own needs first, do you understand?" He slipped his fingers under the silver chain encircling Starsky's neck, twisting it around his forefinger until it tightened against his slave's throat. "No stomping your feet or trying to take a peek at the room, do you understand?"

"Y-yes, sir," Starsky kept his blinded gaze straight ahead of him, arms stiff and straight supporting his body against the wall.

Satisfied that Starsky was going to take this training day seriously, Hutch went to work on the black belt. He'd never made Starsky wear a butt plug for so long before, although he fully intended to increase the time over the next week before the fisting. Preparation and stretching were all-important with that planned activity. There was no way on earth he wanted to injure Starsky's rectum, but all the same, he felt a tiny bit sorry that he was forcing his slave to wear such an uncomfortable device. When he popped it out, Starsky groaned audibly, shuddering once.

Hutch's hands skimmed over Starsky's naked body, hovering a millimeter or so above his warm flesh, leaving a bare cushion of air between them, just the close proximity triggering arousal for both of them. "Did you think about me when you were standing in the store picking out a flogger?" Hutch whispered, his breath stirring the curls at the nape of Starsky's neck.

"Yes, and how it would feel on my skin," Starsky admitted.

"Were you hard?" Hutch grinned to himself, stroking down Starsky's flat abdomen to his groin. Starsky twitched but held his position when Hutch released his bound cock. Each velcoed strap opened with a loud ripping that made Starsky quiver, nearly toppling backward into his master. Hutch put steadying hands on his hips before doing away with the black belt.

"Every minute," Starsky sighed, the strain in his voice an obvious sign of how close he was to release. His limbs were trembling as Hutch placed flat palms on either side of his engorged phallus; not coming close enough to the needy organ to give Starsky the help he craved. "Please, master, I need..."

Hutch smiled. By the looks of things Starsky was more than hard, he had turned to plum-colored granite. He wanted to reach down and bring the man off with a slow milking, but first things first. The silver chain was the next order of business that had to be dealt with, and Hutch wasn't about to let his sub's pleas hurry his plans along. "Not yet, puppy, you have to wait until it's time."

Removing the necklace quickly, Hutch spent sweet time kissing and nuzzling the naked planes on Starsky's back and exploring uncharted regions just under the curls hanging down the back of his neck. Starsky's hair had gotten so long Hutch could gather it up into a loose ponytail. He carded the tangled ringlets into individual curls, rubbing his cheek in the soft locks. "You need a haircut, my prince."

Starsky's hair was definitely too long for the collar Hutch had brought so he fished a covered elastic band out of his bag of tricks and confined the curls to a tight queue like a Revolutionary War soldier.

The collar that Hutch fastened around his submissive's neck was different than the usual one, causing Starsky to tilt his neck back slightly so that it didn't choke him. Wider and thicker than the other collar, this one forced the slave's chin up and forward so that he couldn't bend his neck downward. "This is a posture collar," Hutch explained, locking the clasp in the back with a small padlock. "It prevents you from looking to either side and keeps your back in alignment. Does it feel any different?"

"It's tight." Starsky started to nod but the curved leather under his chin didn't allow that much movement. "I feel even more like a slave."

"Now, stand straight with your arms at your sides and turn to face me," Hutch instructed, watching Starsky's body language for any signs that the collar was hurting him. Tight was one thing but if it cut off his airway or pinched necessary blood vessels in the neck, it would have to be removed. When Starsky moved into place, Hutch slid the sunglasses off his lover's nose watching as Starsky blinked in the brightly lit room. "Who's collar do you wear?"

"Yours, master." Starsky automatically knelt in presentation again, his hands resting lightly on his thighs, his eyes staring at Hutch's shoes in deference to his servitude.

"And who do you belong to when you wear my collar?"

"Only you, Hutch; mind, body and soul," Starsky whispered reverently.

"And what is your safeword?" Hutch could hardly get the last of the ritual phrases out, his heart was so overcome with joy. That Starsky would give himself to him in this way was such an act of unselfish bravery. Most people reading raunchy S & M novels usually perceived the slave as the weak one who gave up all pride to bow to the haughty master. That or the submissive was forced into slavery by an abusive husband or lover. Starsky had done neither. This had been a mutual decision with each party taking on the role that suited his needs and desires. Hutch craved the power and control he couldn't wield in his every day life. Even as a cop on the street he was helpless to curb the violence and mayhem that plagued his city. He was able to put a plug in a small hole in the dike but it didn't stop the crime. Here, he was the only one in command, the dictator to a population of one. As the slave, Starsky freely gave up his own power, knowing he would get it back when necessary.

"Torino," Starsky answered promptly, acknowledging his one tool to stop any session that became too much or too painful.

"I love you," Hutch said simply, taking his love's face between his two hands. "Remember that always." He grinned at Starsky's slightly dazed expression. "There'll be a quiz at the end of the day and that's the final answer."

"Yes, my Hutch."

Beginning with the basics, Hutch lead Starsky through a series of slave positions, each arranging the slave's body in ways both pleasing to the master and keeping him open and ready to be used at all times. Starsky tried to follow instructions to the letter but some of the positions required yoga-like contortions and with the posture collar in place he couldn't bend as easily as usual.

"S'like boot camp," he mumbled darkly, leaning forward with his cheek on the ground, knees tucked under him and butt stuck up in the air.

"Two demerits," Hutch intoned. "One for talking, and one for attitude." But he could tell Starsky was tiring. They'd been practicing the moves for an hour without stop. "Back to presentation."

That one Starsky could fold himself into without difficulty and he perched on his heels, breathing heavily.

"I think you'll like what comes next a lot better." Hutch zoned out watching Starsky's heaving chest, mesmerized by the rise and fall of his nipples half hidden in their nests of fur. He idly considered having those pert nubs pierced, but dismissed the thought immediately because of Starsky's detective status. The earring was one thing, but pierced nipples denoted just one thing--sex. And Hutch didn't want any one getting the "right" idea about him and Starsky. Still, he could clamp those pretty brown pips with tiny silver vises any time he chose. It was breathtaking to realize he could do whatever he wanted to do to this gorgeous man and that it was not only allowed, but also encouraged by the slave. Although Hutch was fully aware that as much as he liked nipple clamps, they came in very low on Starsky's fav list. So, maybe a little later. Right now he needed to jolly Starsky into a slightly more receptive mood or he'd have a surly slave for the rest of the day and that would be no fun at all. "I'm going to go get the plug you bought and then we can get to the fun part. Go lie down on the bed with your legs spread wide. Star position."

~~~

Getting stiffly to his feet, Starsky waited until Hutch had disappeared into the kitchen before taking a good look around the room. He'd hardly been able to make out much detail with the sunglasses on when he'd first arrived and then hadn't had time to check out the interior decoration when Hutch was putting him through his slave paces.

The living room was furnished like a proper Englishman's library or study with floor to ceiling bookshelves crammed with leather-bound books and half a dozen little cubbies containing curiously sexy figurines and framed prints from the Kama Sutra. Leather furniture abounded in the room, sofas, wingbacked chairs and hassocks accessorized with metal rings around the edge with which to anchor a slave.

Starsky took a cleansing breath as he headed down the hall to the bedroom. If anything, it was even more like the traditional room where a captured slave lost his or her virginity. The bed was large enough to sleep a giant. Thick wooden posts stood vigil at each corner, holding up a canopy from which was draped swags of royal blue brocade. The bed curtains were held back with gold rope tassels, which Starsky knew could be pulled into service to secure the wayward slave at a moment's notice. The only way up onto the oversized bed was by a short ladder and he clambered up, lying back on the smooth satin coverlet, spreading his limbs like a starfish in the required position. At least this one was comfortable and easy, not like the nasty bottoms-up position, which had him nose to ankles, holding his ass cheeks apart with cramping fingers for his master's ease of entry. He understood the reasoning behind putting the slave through the body twisting poses--it tuned him into listening to Hutch for all guidance and kept him aware of how his body was situated in space. Calling in the muscle memory of those positions when he was being restrained and cuffed would help him relax and go with the scene instead of resisting, but he still ached in places that hadn't been stretched in a long while. Lying back on the down-filled comforter was a little too relaxing. Starsky was about ready to fall asleep when Hutch's step on the plush Persian carpet alerted him.

"You look good enough to eat," Hutch complimented, holding out the rubber plug Starsky had selected and a brand new tube of Slippery Stuff. Starsky had always laughed at the silly brand name, but now stared stupidly at the items Hutch held, a disturbing thought piercing the sleepiness in his brain. Hutch couldn't be asking him to do that by himself, was he?

"Put the plug in," Hutch commanded.

Okay, so apparently he was asking exactly what Starsky had been afraid of. "I'm not sure I can do that."

"What words did I take out of your vocabulary the last time?"

"I can't," Starsky stated, remembering Hutch telling him to put the gag into his own mouth. It hadn't been as bad as he'd imagined, so maybe he could live through this. It wasn't as if he hadn't had a plug in before.

"So, what will it be?" Hutch was immovable, Starsky didn't expect him to back down from this one and in truth, he liked being forced to push the envelope just a bit further each time. But the first step was always the scariest.

"Give it to me," Starsky grumbled, adding, "Please, master," as an afterthought.

"Once you put that in," Hutch said as Starsky slathered the plug with Slippery Stuff. "You can put your cock in me."

Starsky looked up in surprise. He'd never been on the giving end on a BDSM weekend before, he'd always been the receiver and accepted that role as his due. This WAS all new territory. It would also be the first time he'd ever had sex wearing a butt plug.

Rolling over on his side Starsky reached back to widen his puckered opening. No wonder Hutch had introduced him to the bottom's-up position earlier. It was all preparation for what came afterwards. It was awkward to blindly stab at his anus with the fingers of his left hand and he winced after jarring the healing wound on his bicep but finally clumsily widened himself with two fingers. Ramming a third finger in was difficult but Starsky managed it by curling his knees up to his chest, grunting with exertion. He wasn't sure he approved of this, colluding in his own debasement. It was one thing to give free reign to the master and switch off all sense of control and quite another to literally have a hand in the proceedings.

Hutch pressed the slippery plug into his slave's hand, guiding it to his waiting asshole before moving away. Relaxing slightly Starsky realized he wanted to feel like a puppet; to be free of responsibility for a few hours, no longer accountable for his own actions. With Hutch pulling his strings and orchestrating the proceedings Starsky was absolved of all guilt and blame. This hand, the same one that clutched the rubber plug on the order of his master, had killed others when holding a gun. That life receded to a remote part of his memory when he was cocooned with Hutch. There was still apprehension in his grip on the toy when he brought it up to the target, but he knew what he had to do and pushed it inexpertly inside.

Gasping after jamming it roughly into delicate tissue, Starsky started to pull out, but Hutch cupped his hand around his lover's again, gently adjusting his angle and assisting in the completion of the job without taking over. The thick, rounded, rubber rod slid in with a minimum of fuss, Starsky's interior walls clamping down on it like they were welcoming a lost lover.

Perfection.

Starsky arched up with a small cry when the longer-than-he-was-used-to probe nailed his prostate dead on. It felt nowhere near as good as Hutch did inside him, but it wasn't half-bad.

"How does that feel?" Hutch asked with a slight smirk.

"Big." Starsky lifted his hips so that Hutch could push a belt under him to keep the plug in place. He was still amazed how easily he'd become accustomed to having alien intruders rammed up his back door. His muscles were beginning to adjust, although every single movement brought new surprises and he was constantly acutely aware of the fullness of his rectum. "Now I get to play astronaut?"

"You want to go where no man has gone before?" Hutch joked, seating the plug in the grove on the belt and buckling it tightly. "You're too late, there's already a prior claim on that piece of property."

"Yeah, it's mine," Starsky said with a little growl. "The one thing around here I own. It's one small step for man..."

"And one big leap for mankind." Hutch stripped quickly, then came up onto the bed with a long legged leap, nearly bouncing Starsky off the other side. Grabbing his partner by the good arm, Hutch pulled him in close so they were chest to chest. Sweaty hands were suddenly everywhere as both men pawed and clutched each other in a frenzied mating dance. Primal nature took over, each lover wanting to imprint his own scent and markings on the other. Using his tongue Hutch painted mystic runes on Starsky's vertebrae, calling down the ancient Norse gods of his ancestors to protect his adrenaline junkie of a lover.

Starsky rose up on his hands, flipping over in the cage of Hutch's arms so that Hutch's mouth subsequently landed on his belly instead of his back. "We're in the wrong positions if I get to drive this time," Starsky reminded.

"Just warming up the engines, Buzz Aldrin." Hutch kissed the furry belly button presented to him then lay down on his side facing away from Starsky.

"You're like gold." Starsky trailed his hand down Hutch's curved spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. "Like King Midas turned you into a golden man."

"Everything Midas touched became a statue," Hutch corrected.

"You were special." Starsky spooned in tightly, rubbing his erect cock on the smooth surface of Hutch's buttocks. "A special golden man made just for me." His movements became more pressured, the friction along his stiffened penis igniting a flame. He had to get inside that golden cave and discover the delights promised, but that meant slowing this intoxicating rhythm even for a few moments to procure some lubrication. Where was that Slippery Stuff Hutch was holding? It had to be near by.

Keeping up his steady grinding pace to match the passionate moans coming from Hutch, Starsky reached out behind him, searching for the necessary tube. He was rewarded instantly, closing his fingers around the greasy tube in seconds. Using only one hand to apply the ointment, Starsky held Hutch steady with the other until he was prepared for the grand entrance.

"C'mon, Starsk..." Hutch said breathlessly. "C'mon, soon..."

"I'm nearly ready, are you?"

"I've been ready. I'm about ready to...ahhh," Hutch broke off with a grunt when Starsky breached the opening of the golden cavern.

Thrusting his hips, Starsky dove in deeply, echoing Hutch's grunt when the slippery silk walls of the chamber threatened to collapse around him, trapping his cock inside. It was the weirdest sensation to feel so fully plugged in his own anus while filling Hutch's. Every time he arched forward to push into his lover Starsky's internal muscles clamped tighter around the butt plug sending sharp, burning cramps digging into him, forcing him to shove his cock in all the harder to compensate. The top of Starsky's head threatened to explode from the dizzying overload of stimuli assaulting him when he arched, grinding his groin into Hutch's ass, and spewing a volcano of thick, hot fluid down his lover's rectum.

"You really know how to send the flag up the pole," Hutch laughed, twisting around to face Starsky. His cock was rock hard and ready for a little relief now. Starsky smiled lazily, drowsy with post-coital exhaustion.

"How do you want it, my master?"

"One handed would be fine."

Starsky knew Hutch could see the little signs he'd been trying to hide, that all the strenuous activity had reawakened the pain from his stab wound. He enclosed the turgid pulsing dick in his right hand, circling the head with his forefinger before sliding his nail along the small slit at the end. Hutch gasped, clutching the satiny bedspread with suddenly bloodless fingers. Starsky loved watching Hutch's face go from tense expectancy to slack jawed rapture as he steadily milked the thick cock. He didn't want Hutch to climax too quickly and spread his fingers, easing off on the rhythm. Focusing on the tight sac behind, Starsky pinched gently, his victim emitting a startled shout.

"Geeze, Starsk! Careful, I need those!" Hutch panted.

"You get to be rough, but I don't?" Starsky traced the outline of the balls with a feather soft finger.

Biting down on his bottom lip Hutch nodded, his face back to pressured intensity with Starsky's sexy torture. "That's about the size of it."

"And look at the size of this thing." Starsky pretended to be alarmed as Hutch's cock swelled to even more mammoth proportions. "I think it's mutating."

"Watch what you say, Slave." Hutch pronounced the word with a definite capital 'S'. "Because it's really bordering on insubordination."

"Can't have that..." Starsky bent almost double, applying a little tongue to balls, all the while resuming his ministrations on the shaft. Hutch shuddered twice, then released a fountain of semen all over Starsky's face. Sputtering, Starsky scrambled back in surprise, wiping a fingerful off his cheek.

Although momentarily startled at his unintentional aim, Hutch laughed aloud; his annoyance at Starsky's teasing forgotten. "Oh, man, Starsk, I didn't mean to do that, lost my control there!"

"I dunno," Starsky's good nature resurfaced easily. "I kinda think you did mean that." He flicked the fingerful at his master then licked some off his lower lip with an insolent expression. He never quite got used to the taste. It was Hutch, through and through, and he loved that aspect, but to be truthful, semen tasted bitter, salty and thick on his palate. He always had an immediate urge to brush his teeth afterwards.

"Bath time, then dinner, I think, is the order of the day," Hutch proposed leaning forward to kiss Starsky's pouty lips. "Salty."

~~~

Serving up the roast chicken in wine sauce over fluffy rice, Hutch watched Starsky out of the corner of his eye. Starsky was sitting so prettily, like a perfect slave, except for the slightly mutinous look in his eye. As if aware he was the object of scrutiny, Starsky ducked his chin as much as he could in the high posture collar and resumed his examination of the pattern on the Oriental rug.

Hutch was finding it much harder to keep a dominant attitude with his submissive this time than on other occasions. Probably because there was more direction and command and far less of the busy work involved in buckling cuffs, arranging hooks and detailing scenes. He couldn't quite bring himself to do some of the more humiliating things described in S&M how-to books like ordering Starsky into a complicated position for a whole hour or making him eat off the floor like a puppy. That made him way too uncomfortable, but on the other hand it meant he had to work extra hard at staying dominant while being kind about it. Half the time he just wanted to engage in some kinky sex and let the rest of it slide, but then he remembered how arousing it was to have Starsky sweetly submit, get down on his knees and take Hutch into his mouth without a second of protest. That being on the bottom was arousing for Starsky was the only reason Hutch would ever do this. He liked the power and the control but he would never ever force Starsky into a situation against his will.

"Redemption position," Hutch stated in his most domineering voice. Starsky stood, this time without shaking out his feet, turned to the wall and propped himself with his arms. This position could be used for punishment because it left the butt jutting out just at the right height for a swift swat with a paddle, or it could be for quiet reflection. This time Hutch used the opportunity to remove the plug Starsky had been wearing for some time.

"Damn," Starsky swore with a shudder, but he didn't lose position. "I'm..." he stopped obviously remembering he was supposed to be quiet.

"You can speak. Sit down and eat before it gets cold." Hutch slipped a smooth, flat chintz pillow onto Starsky's chair before sitting himself and pouring out glasses of amber sparkling cider.

"I'd rather stand, if it's all right," Starsky grimaced.

"Suit yourself," Hutch shrugged, digging into his meal, but he couldn't help grinning when Starsky spied the pillow and gingerly lowered himself onto it. "Okay there, Prince?"

"That sounds like a dog's name," Starsky mumbled, his mouth full of food.

"Be careful, or it could be," Hutch informed him with a smirk. "There are whole chapters in my book about dog training."

"Isn't that what we've been doing?" Starsky asked rhetorically. "Although you never brought out a leash."

"That could be arranged."

"I'm okay without." Starsky forked rice and wine sauce into his mouth. "This chicken is great. How come you always cook the best stuff when we're on our weekends?"

"'Cause that's when you deserve it the most." Hutch reached out, twirling the curls bound with the elastic around his finger. "I know it's hard for you, Starsk. You've got it a lot harder than I have, but isn't it worth it?"

"Worth a little ache in the tush?" Starsky laughed, reclining his head along Hutch's arm. "I'd go back for seconds on everything you dish out, Master."

"See, that sounds like a dog's name, too." Hutch luxuriated in the feel of silky hair sliding along his skin; his fingers still entwined in the queue.

"That or you're Little Lord Fontleroy. Didn't they call him master?" Starsky teased.

"Where did you read that relic?"

"It's a movie, Hutch." Starsky rolled his eyes, wincing when he shifted his weight.

"Originally it was a book." Hutch gave a playful tug on the short ponytail before going back to his meal.

"What's next on the agenda, oh learned one?"

"What I mentioned when we first got here: mental restraints. I've been lenient because it's boring just to hear myself talk without your constant commentary on life to distract me, but we're back to basics again."

"Yes, sir."

"Help me clear away the dishes, then go sit on the couch with your eyes closed." Hutch carried the leftover chicken and rice into the kitchen with Starsky picking up the plates. Food was stored away, china slotted into the dishwasher and countertop wiped. Hutch spent about half the time just admiring his partner's body moving, muscles shifting and bunching as he walked and bent, doing the most ordinary daily tasks. Starsky finally went into the leather and mahogany-appointed living room, running an idle hand along one shelf of books before settling down on the glossy brown leather sofa. Hutch could just imagine how the slick leather felt on Starsky's bare bottom. How his skin would slide a bit on the smooth surface, how the intoxicating smell would envelope him when he sank down on the cushion.

"You cannot move," Hutch intoned, getting his libido under control as he stood a few feet away. He wrapped the robe's blue sash more firmly around his waist, but his erection jutted defiantly out in front. Starsky was just too alluring, so naked, so vulnerable and yet strong. "Whatever I do, whatever happens, you are restrained in whatever position I tell you to stay. You cannot see, you cannot speak--I've gagged you, do you understand?"

Starsky nodded.

"You can make noises, but any words will result in a demerit. Put your hands up on the back of the couch for support and spread your legs."

While Starsky rearranged himself Hutch brought out the implements purchased earlier in the day. He examined the flogger with interest, since he hadn't had an opportunity to do so until now. It was beautifully made, the handle braided with red and gold thread that complimented the soft tan of the suede. By swishing it lightly across his hand Hutch could produce a soft, sensual sensation, but if he'd used a heavier wrist action it could produce a much more painful sting. However, nothing like the pain of a rubber flogger, and he was glad Starsky had chosen wisely. He gave the thin, whippy crop a perfunctory look and ignored the leather strap for now. The other items in the Leather Jungle's bag were for later.

~~~

Starsky couldn't help but stiffen as he heard Hutch rummaging in a plastic sack. It could only be the bag from Leather Jungle. What was he pulling out? Which of the erotic torture articles was he going to use first? Would it hurt? Starsky was already completely turned on by Hutch's forceful presence and the idea of being restrained without cuffs or rope. How could he prevent himself from moving? Could he really remain still just on Hutch's command? Strangely, he could almost feel bands of steel keeping his arms stretched out over the back of the couch and his legs spread widely. Of course, that was without anything else going on. Starsky was certain that as soon as Hutch touched him he would leap off the couch from the suspense building up inside him.

Don't move, don't move.

Concentrate on the stimuli already touching his body; the polished leather felt smooth and fine under his ass and he longed to slide from one end of the long sofa to the other like a kid on a banister. The odor of leather was heady, filling his nostrils so strongly he could almost taste as well as smell the aroma. The carpet under his bare feet was just a little too prickly, but he couldn't lift them up or shift his weight without censure. He could hear Hutch breathing, a sibilant hiss of air in the quiet of the room.

Soft tassels tickling the palm of Starsky's hand where it lay along the top of the couch. What was that? A firm, braided club slid up the length of his arm, the tassels trailing in its wake like the long sweep of a peacock's tail. The flogger. In his mind's eye Starsky could imagine Hutch holding the red and gold handle as he diddled the suede tails across his slave. As if on cue, from outside the house, he heard the lonely, raucous cry of the ornamental bird that would always remind him of the Estate.

Hutch tapped Starsky on the left arm, just below his bandaged wound. The signal for his subservience. Starsky sighed, letting out his tension as a peaceful submission settled over him, pinning him to the couch. Without Hutch's word he could not have moved if he tried.

A fluttery, almost feathery lightness flickered across Starsky's chest once, then twice. He gave out a sound halfway between a sob and a whimper, desire shooting though him like a dose of pure top-grade heroin. The gentle strokes across his body were an incredible combination of bliss, paradise, and heaven. Eyes shut and deprived of his eyesight Starsky gave himself over to pure sensation, almost overdosing on the sensual hedonism. The velvety tails lashed lightly across his whole torso, not quite a tickle but more than a caress. This is what fairies dancing on a spring zephyr must feel when dandelion fluff enveloped them in a cushion of cottony down. Suede tassels whispered over his skin.

He gave up trying to count how many times Hutch had swiped the flogger with kitten paw pats but there came a point where it was too much, his skin hypersensitive as if every nerve ending was exposed to air. Abruptly he wanted it over and tried in vain to squirm away from the next pass of the suede. It didn't hurt but it was no longer a pleasant massage.

"Don't move," Hutch said ominously, taking the erotic assault a little lower so that the tassels barely flicked across Starsky's groin, just one or two tails slithering over his genitals.

A tiny moan escaped his lips but Starsky staunchly refused to beg even though Hutch had intensified his strokes, the flogger now landing with a certain force. Still not really hurting, the blows battered at the door that led to pain and that was as far as Starsky wanted to go right now. He bellowed his dissatisfaction but Hutch didn't stop. Even so, Starsky kept his hands flat on the backrest of the couch, but sweat slicked his palms making it harder to maintain position when he wanted to move so desperately.

In complete conflict with Starsky's brain's objections, his cock seemed determined to ride out the session standing at attention, seeking out the rain of blows without benefit of umbrella or protection. He gasped in total rapture, arching towards the flogger when it swirled around his erection, the tails twisting and tangling in his pubic hair, leaving tiny splashes of almost-pain on his tight balls. His cock felt huge; red and blistered, and he was almost afraid to see the result when this was all over. How would he be able to get his zipper closed over the thing, so bruised and tender? It was agony not to be able to close his legs but Starsky stayed strong, willing Hutch to continue in one second and mentally begging him to stop in the next.

The last two blows stung the insides of each thigh and then Hutch was kissing him, murmuring loving endearments to sooth the heat of his flesh. "You amaze me, you enrapture me." He was breathing heavily from the workout, panting between kisses. "Open your eyes, little one. How was that?"

"Life altering." Starsky couldn't move, but he was no longer bound by mental restraints just the tractor beam of Hutch's vibrant blue eyes millimeters from his own.

"When I was standin' there looking at all the floggers I was afraid they'd either hurt or tickle but this was so...something completely different."

"Monty Python does BDSM?" Hutch teased. "I don't think I've seen that one."

"Y'know, the Spanish Inquisition and the comfy chair?" Starsky reminded, not even needing to incline his head to kiss Hutch's rosy lips. Hutch straddled him; arms bracketing his shoulders, and knees pressed against Starsky's. "This was the Viking Invasion and the leather couch, but it was pretty similar."

"You're comparing me to a British comedy team?"

"Totally riveting, makes you laugh, makes you squirm, makes you see the world in a different realm..." Starsky chuckled deep in his throat, the high collar constricting his Adam's apple when he laughed. "But my parrot ain't dead."

"No, but it could push up a few daisies." Hutch moved enough to see the tumescent rod ready for action. "You liked that, then?"

"I'd do it again." Starsky flinched, his swollen member past needed relief, his balls so tense he wondered if anymore pressure would just pop them like an over filled balloon. "Is my skin all red? Are there marks?"

"Nothing. Nobody would be able to tell a thing." Hutch grabbed his hands to haul him to his feet. "Look in the mirror." Still holding hands Hutch led Starsky down the hall into the big bedroom again.

Walking with his pulsing erection was cumbersome, especially trying to keep his swollen balls from hitting his thighs, but Starsky hung on, laughing at Hutch's high spirits. This was more fun than anything he'd ever experienced. Sure, in the hands of some dominants, a scene could probably get scary or ugly pretty quickly, but Starsky had complete faith in Hutch. Even at the most extreme times, when his safe word was on the tip of his tongue and his whole body was screaming in pain, Starsky knew he was safe and cared for. It was a different sort of caring than he'd ever expected or experienced previously, but it was exactly what worked for him.

Swinging open a large closet door, Hutch situated Starsky in front of a three-sided mirror, the sort used in department store dressing rooms. "You look like Starsky, my slave."

Starsky stared at his reflection in amazement. The flogger had not left a single mark--no bruises, no redness. He looked the same as always, yet changed. Hutch had never previously let him see himself as a slave. Examining himself critically, Starsky always saw the flaws: his nose was sharp, his eyes narrow, and then those scars criss-crossing his chest. He'd long since grown accustomed to them, but he'd never treasure them the way Hutch claimed to. Instead, Starsky kept his eyes on the collar around his neck. It wasn't his usual one and he kind of wished he could see himself in that one, with the matching wrist and ankle cuffs, but he had a suspicion that was why Hutch was allowing him to see himself today. It wasn't how he looked ordinarily, when attired as a slave.

The dark brown leather collar had a curled lip that cradled his jaw, accenting the masculine line and accentuating the long, sharp angle. It looked right on him in a way that was almost scary. Because his hair had been pulled back, the diamond in his left ear was even more prominent, glowing inches above the leather collar. Both were symbols of Hutch's ownership and in a giddy rush Starsky realized that if he'd been presented the full time contract then and there he'd have signed it on the spot.

No wonder Hutch always made it a point to hold important scene discussions at a neutral location to keep them separate from sexual urges. Just thinking about being completely under Hutch's sway 365 days of the year made his aching genitals swell even further. He almost laughed at the stiff rod projecting straight out from his body like a heat-seeking missile. Starsky would have done just about anything his master said to get laid in the next five seconds.

"You're beautiful, whether you think so or not." Hutch's reflection appeared behind Starsky, his long fingers snaking around Starsky's torso, making him gasp from the contact. The flogger might not have left any visible signs of the seductive lashing but his skin felt raw and flayed.

"I'm going to jack you off just enough to cut some of the tension, but you can't come," Hutch whispered in his ear, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "Look at yourself; watch me touching you."

His breath coming fast, Starsky watched Hutch's big hand close around his tremendous dick, the long fingers just barely closing around the diameter. He couldn't take his eyes off the awesome sight of his perfect blond lover holding his cock, that fair Nordic skin a high contrast from the angry red/purple of Starsky's bulging member. Hutch's other arm pulled his slave in close so that Starsky could feel Hutch's own considerable erection pressing hard into the crack between his buttocks. When Hutch jerked once on Starsky's cock, then pinched down firmly to decompress some of the arousal, Starsky's knees buckled and he would have fallen to the floor if not for the arm around his waist.

"Steady, steady, " Hutch murmured. "Get your feet under you, I have to go get something out of the living room."

"Hurry back," Starsky grasped the edge of the mirror, still taking in his altered appearance. What was it that made him look so different and yet the same? Like a Starsky from another dimension? Hutch's love? Because every time that Hutch looked at him, Starsky felt desired, coveted, and adored. It didn't matter what he thought of himself, because Hutch wanted every single scarred inch of him.

"Keep facing the mirror, but close your eyes until I get this on you," Hutch said, waiting until Starsky had complied before moving in closely again. He slid a black mask over his submissive, smoothing the leather into place around Starsky's forehead and cheeks before pulling it tightly in the back.

Stifling a nervous cry, Starsky stood stiffly, feeling the leather mold to his features, encompassing his head. He gulped, the collar so tight around his throat he could feel his pulse hammering against the inflexible surface. A mask brought up all his latent claustrophobic fears and he wasn't sure he wanted this on. So far every session had brought out something that he found unnerving, but nothing had really freaked him out totally yet, so Starsky held his tongue and his judgment.

"Open your eyes now." Hutch was threading the laces through the grommets in the back of the hood, carefully keeping Starsky's curls from getting caught in the ties.

Now he looked truly looked different. Starsky inspected his image, quelling the fluttery apprehension in his chest. The mask was shiny black leather, perfect for robbing a bank or gliding through the night because it hid all distinguishing features except his dark blue eyes which had gone mostly black from his dilated pupils. He shivered, hardly recognizing himself in the mirror. The hood molded sleekly to his skull, redefining the shape of his head without the usual riot of curls. There were openings for the eyes; small holes over the nostrils and a slash cut across the mouth. Hutch pulled on the laces, finally getting the last one into the proper hole and tied a knot at the back. Starsky hardly dared move, no longer staring at himself. Instead he fixated on the shining blond head bent forward in concentration behind the anonymous slave in the black hood. Who was that slave? Was this what Hutch wanted? Some impersonal body to lie close to in the night? In his heart Starsky knew that wasn't so. Only a few minutes ago he'd been remembering how lovingly Hutch looked on him, how he seemed to cherish the very air Starsky breathed. Obviously he didn't want just a one night stand with a stranger, so why the hood? With the black leather hiding his features Starsky felt like there was nothing left of him and it scared him deeply.

"Just one more part, my Starsk." Hutch kissed the bare skin just below the collar where the collarbone jutted out towards the shoulder. Starsky shivered, drinking in the words. Hutch knew who he was; this was all just more of the discipline and maybe some of the sensory deprivation they'd experimented with before. "Open your mouth for the gag. It snaps on to the outside of the mask."

"Hutch..." Starsky whispered, relishing the sensual feel of Hutch's cock once again trying to bury itself in between his butt cheeks, but he didn't want the gag. It had turned out all right the last time, really good, in fact. But if the truth was known, he didn't like gags. Hated them. Hated being unable to communicate, hated the feel of something other than Hutch's huge rod in his mouth during sex and hated feeling so trapped. None of that mattered, of course, because the master could do whatever he wanted to the slave and there was nothing Starsky could do or say about it unless he brought out his safeword. He wouldn't do that, not for a lousy gag. But it didn't thrill him when Hutch pushed the small round protrusion into his mouth and snapped the base into place on either side of the mouth opening.

"Starsk, I know you don't like this." Hutch kissed his back, sending shivers of need down his spine. "Only for a little while, and your hands are free if you need to sign."

Starsky nodded, but his reflection was so alien he had to turn away from it. He hadn't expected anything like this when Hutch had said it would be mostly training and no bondage. The first hour with the death-defying slave positions and then having to kneel at Hutch's feet while he made dinner was what he'd been anticipating. Maybe even the joked about leash, but this touched something deep inside him. He wanted to acquiesce, just be for Hutch, but it was harder than he'd imagined. This time when Hutch turned him around to face him, then tapped him on the upper arm, he resisted. He longed for the tranquility of a swan dive into his submissive headspace, but it didn't come automatically and he ducked his head in shame.

"Don't be scared, Starsk," Hutch breathed against his neck, reading his mind as always. "It's all part of the journey. Show me you're willing to go there with me. You asked me to tie you up, to do these things to you...I didn't start this on my own."

Starsky heard the slight uncertainty in Hutch's voice and turned his eyes up to him, transmitting his thoughts in the only way he had left to him. Hutch was as nervous about this as he was. It was all new territory, for both of them. If he didn't agree would Hutch stop and take off the hood? Probably not, but neither of them would be able to enjoy themselves. He reached up to touch the smooth leather encasing his head. The more he wore the blasted thing, the less disturbing it felt. After all, it was just a thin layer of leather hiding his face, it wasn't really changing his identity. The scars on his chest were far too distinguishable for Hutch to ever imagine he was bedding anyone else. And the gag wasn't even uncomfortable, a total change from the traditional red ball gag they'd used previously. This one had a soft, sponge-like thickness that sat on his tongue, filling his mouth. He could close his jaw about half way, so it didn't immediately ache and swallowing was much easier with the smaller oral block. He'd never like the hood, but he could accept it and even learn to wear it with pride if this was something that really brought Hutch off. His job was to please Hutch and God knows, that was hard enough to do some days. If this pleased him, so be it. Starsky nodded, the collar digging into the soft skin under his chin, pressing himself against his lover's long slender body.

"Prove to me you'll take what I dish out without complaint." Hutch's words were supposed to be harsh, but his body was soft and pliant against Starsky's, except for the rock hard dick that dug into Starsky's leg with a needy insistence. "If you don't like it, we'll never do it again, but try something new."

Starsky snorted, the sound not even making its way out of his throat. Try something new? That's all he ever did around here. Hutch must be on Leather Jungle's call first list for every single new shipment they got in. The mask must have been what Rex had wrapped up for him to take with the flogger and crop.

"C'mon, over to the bed," Hutch urged, backing up slowly enough to keep them locked in an embrace the entire ten feet to the bed. He went up on tip-toe, plopping onto the bed with a whoosh of the comforter, landing so that Starsky was now standing between his legs, with that amazing, log sized cock right at the level of his chest. "Climb on up," Hutch breathed, gently kissing each of Starsky's eyelids, the only exposed skin left on his face.

Starsky closed his eyes with the touch of his lips, willing the kisses to go on forever. He needed Hutch's touch, had always craved it, but now, with less skin to feel his master with, he wanted extra assurances that they still fit, still molded together into one single being: StarskyHutch or maybe HutchStarsky, whichever. He wanted to feel Hutch inside him, filling his whole body with blond light to chase out the lingering fears. The mask was only a costume; it didn't change who he was.

Lowering his head, Starsky rubbed his leather-bound face on Hutch's thigh, nuzzling his groin and cock with the smooth calfskin covering his cheek. The sense of touch was muted through a layer of leather but he still felt the heat pouring out of his lover, and smell the ripe, sexy scent of Hutch. He pressed his gagged mouth to the end of the pulsing shaft, wishing he could swallow that cock whole, straight down his throat like that girl in the porno movie they'd gone to see while waiting for one of Huggy's more disreputable snitches.

"Oh, yeah, Starsk, again, again..." Hutch shouted, his member swelling even further with the friction of skin on leather. Starsky rolled his face over Hutch's genitals, butting gently against his pelvis as if knocking to be let in. "Stop, stop I can't hold it much longer...come up on the bed."

Hutch had scooted back too far for Starsky to continue his foraging so he followed, climbing up over the end of the bed and crawling back into his favorite place between Hutch's long muscled thighs.

"Raise up and then lower yourself down on me." Hutch pointed to a small trapeze type bar chained to the canopy of the bed. "Unhook the bar if you need something to hold onto, then come straight down onto me."

That wouldn't work, Starsky wanted to say, but the look on Hutch's face said it would. Those summer blue eyes were skewering him, drawing him closer with every second.

"Starsky," Hutch said warningly, knowing what was in his heart and mind without a word between them. "Relax and let it happen."

Starsky nodded as best he could, taking a few breaths to drop himself down to that needed submissive well where he didn't think so much about what Hutch told him to do, just followed orders. And it wasn't that he didn't want to do it; he loved feeling Hutch moving inside him. It was just the technical act of impaling himself on that monster rod that was daunting. When Hutch rammed himself up Starsky's rear passageway, Starsky had no control over the situation but this was like intentionally plunging a dull knife into his own arm. There was no way around it; he knew it would hurt for the first minute or so before he relaxed enough to enjoy the fullness. That was just the way it always was.

Crouching over Hutch's waiting cock, Starsky paused, his thighs vibrating from the strain. No matter how many times his tiny center had been breached, he never quite believed that a cock that big would fit in. With a determined grunt he descended, the wide head wedging his butt cheeks apart and pushing inside him with the blunt force of a fist hitting a punching bag.

His interior walls burning with pain, Starsky froze, panting, waiting out the hurt. It never lasted long; he just had to breathe. This was a different angle than they'd ever used before, and he found it astonishing to be looking down into Hutch's wide azure eyes. He appeared overjoyed, obviously feeling the tight squeeze of muscles around his boner.

"C'mon, Starsk," Hutch urged softly. "Slide on down, babe, it's a short trip."

Wishing he could laugh at that understatement, Starsky jerked his chin in what he hoped was an affirmative gesture. Already he was past the pain, and the knowledge that Hutch filled him, had melded with him, was empowering. He twisted minutely to the right just as Hutch shifted slightly to the left which caused Starsky to slide down so abruptly he practically bounced off Hutch's hip bones. The sensation was wonderful; fucking perfection.

Inside his head he was howling with glory even though there wasn't much more than muffled grunts coming out of Starsky's throat. He reached up, grasping the trapeze and raised up before descending more slowly this time, watching Hutch's passionate groaning with pride. He'd caused that radiant glow on his lover's face. He'd brought Hutch to the brink and then backed him off by elevating to his knees once again.

"Keepgoingkeepgoing," Hutch chanted, grabbing hold of Starsky's buttocks with both hands to shove him more firmly into place. Starsky's cry was muffled by the gag, the gratification he got from pleasuring Hutch, not to mention his own enjoyment of the sex sending his endorphins skyrocketing even as Hutch dug his fingers in almost cruelly. The pleasure and pain hung there, alternating like beads on a necklace. Starsky couldn't have distinguished one from the other if he'd tried, but he was too far gone to even care.

"YEAH!" Hutch screamed, shooting his load in one colossal burst.

Starsky rode out the wave, curling his toes under as if he were hanging ten on the edge of a surfboard, hardly even noticing that he was actually hanging from the trapeze with both hands.

"Wow." Hutch grinned. "I think I want to stay here for the rest of the evening."

Starsky pried his fingers off the wooden dowel, sinking down more comfortably now that Hutch's thickness had mostly shrunk inside him. This wasn't bad at all. He perched on Hutch's hipbones, his cheeks aching from his inability to smile.

"You can take the gag off." Hutch reached up lazily, unsnapping the base and pulling out the slobbery leather mouthpiece. "How're you doin'?"

"Bout the same as you." Starsky couldn't keep the smile off his face now, even though he wasn't sure how much it showed with the black leather covering his cheeks.

Having dropped the gag over the side of the bed, Hutch played idly with Starsky's groin hair, entwining his fingers in the springy curls. "Y'know, the other day, you were right about one thing."

"Yeah? Only one thing? Which one?" Starsky couldn't for the life of him remember what Hutch might be referring to. He was too content, like a cat after a good meal, he wanted to curl up in the sun and sleep but, Hutch's hand and the rod Starsky was still impaled on kept him in place.

"About Lisa. I was jealous."

"I told you b'fore, Hutch. It was over like eons ago."

"Still." Hutch wrapped his fingers around Starsky's thick cock possessively. "I don't want you going out to lunch with her again. In fact, I don't want you to be alone with her." He slid his thumbnail across the slit in the penis head, rubbing around the circumcision scar with the pad of his thumb.

Starsky's simmering anger cancelled out the erotic massage Hutch was giving him and he pulled himself off his perch, scrambling off the bed. "What right d'you have to..." Even before he finished the sentence he really thought about what he was about to say.

Hutch looked stunned at Starsky's explosion, his jaw muscles flexing. "I have every right while you wear my collar."

"Maybe I don't wanna wear it then," Starsky hissed, but he was scared, more scared than he'd been when Hutch had placed the hood and gag on him. Oh, God, what had he just done?

"Say that again." Hutch's voice was so devoid of emotion he might have been some robot in a science fiction movie.

"Hutch, we're working with Lisa..." Starsky changed tactics, frantic to fix what had just come horribly undone. Maybe if he backed up to the beginning of the awful conversation. "I have to be able to talk with her, but lunch ain't necessary, huh?"

"You can't see her without me," Hutch intoned icily.

Was this how it would be if Starsky actually signed the papers to make them exclusive? To become Hutch's slave in the bedroom he'd have to kowtow to Hutch's word in all things? Would agreeing to this one thing send him irreparably down a slippery slope to the place where he had no will of his own? This one could be so easy to yield to. He had no reason to see Lisa outside of work anyway. The lunch had been a completely random occurrence; he'd barely had contact with her previous to that day.

"Starsky?" This time there was the tiniest of cracks in Hutch's rigid stance. His voice wasn't so certain. Probably no one else on earth would have seen the pleading in those light blue eyes, but Starsky knew it was there.

"I want to wear your collar, Hutch but I gotta have my own life. How can I--be me if you tell me who to talk to and who to see?" Starsky wished he weren't still wearing the confining black leather mask and tight, posture collar. It was hard to be assertive wearing the garb of a sex slave. At least his hands and feet were free and he could move. He kept his distance from Hutch, afraid that even one touch from those big hands would be his undoing. There was so much at stake here, and not just the future of his sex life. If he took a stand on this, it would pave the way to negotiations on other issues, which was a good thing, right? In the event of his signing the full time slave papers, he needed some loopholes, some assurances that he wasn't putting his emotional freedom on the line, as well.

"Will you take this off me?" Starsky asked bluntly. He couldn't tolerate the mask any longer and the feel of it was affecting his thinking. He couldn't concentrate with the trappings of slavery binding him to Hutch. "Then we can really talk?"

"C'mere," Hutch said gruffly, the intractable anger softening. He untied the knot at the back, unthreading the laces until the hood was loose enough to come off. Then he silently inserted a tiny key into the padlock on the collar and removed it as well. Neither of them said a word the entire time Hutch worked.

"Thank you," Starsky said formally. He rubbed the sensitive skin of his neck, then fluffed his flattened sweaty curls. Hutch watched, still not speaking. Starsky regarded his lover, his chest aching with unsaid words. Hutch astounded him, he always had. From that first day at the Academy when he'd looked like some magazine model and then tripped over his own feet walking to his desk, Hutch had held a power over Starsky that had only grown steadily stronger the closer they became. It was like Hutch cast some sort of spell over him. Nobody had ever gotten under David Starsky's skin the way Ken Hutchinson had, and with so little effort. He couldn't even begin to explain the infinite ways they were entwined, but there was a point where each had to be his own man and stay separate. And this was it. But how the hell did he clarify things to Hutch?

"I need us--like we were today, Hutch." Starsky started slowly, searching for the words that would cleave them together and still allow him a place of his own and a separate identity. "This restores me in ways I never dreamed of when I thought S & M was just whips and doin' the nasty in a dungeon. I love wearing your collar. You're my world when we're together, but I gotta have some control out on the streets or I'm nothin'."

"We've talked about this before, Starsk," Hutch said tiredly.

"I know, I just wonder if you ever heard me."

"I know where you're coming from, if that makes any difference. One of the reasons I had to get away from Van was because she wanted to be in control and it didn't work. And it wasn't in the bedroom, cause she liked switch hitting, sometimes being on the bottom, but she wanted to run my life and my being a cop was the first thing she wanted to change."

"You told me she never even wanted you in the Academy."

"Yeah, I think she hoped I'd get tired of it." Hutch gave a short sharp laugh. "But I met you and the Earth changed its rotation."

"You felt it, too?"

"Like a gravitational pull."

"So how do we come to a compromise here?" Starsky had moved away once Hutch finished with the leatherwear in order to keep his wits about him. It was too easy for Hutch to get him aroused and off the subject. "There's no reason for me t'see Lisa without you, that's easy enough. We just stick to talkin' about the case. But I need space t'be a cop..."

"What context are we talking here? In general or..."

"You directing my life 'cause of the collar. Giving me orders on the clock for times when we're on the street. If I sign the contract giving you mastery over me, I need assurances there'll be...freedoms."

"Of course, within guidelines."

"How is this gonna work, Hutch?" Starsky asked plaintively. "I feel like you're putting this pressure on me t'sign and nothing's been finalized."

"I wasn't even thinking about the damned contract! It hasn't even been drafted yet, so what pressure am I putting on you?" Hutch exploded. He grabbed up his blue robe where it lay in a slither of silk and slammed out of the room. Pausing at the door Hutch turned back, his long finger an accusation. "You're the one who's fixated on this. I'd never force you to sign anything just to please me."

Kicking the leather mask in frustration Starsky glanced around the bedroom with its rich English gentlemen's club atmosphere. Tears pricked his eyes and he wanted a shower in the worst way. He was sticky and sweaty and he didn't have any clothes. How had things gone so wrong? Was it worth putting the pieces back together? Not doing so wasn't even worth considering. He and Hutch were a pair. They'd fought before, they'd weather this one. It just had leached all the fun out of the day at the Estate.

~~~

After pulling on a pair of leather pants--ironically the only other clothes he had that weren't back in the bedroom with Starsky, Hutch stalked into the living room. He stared at the towering shelves of leather bound books lining the walls of the room, trying to distract himself. He was half angry and... half what? Confused? Annoyed? Betrayed? Starsky invoked a welter of emotions too exhausting to try to untangle. Had his declaration started all this?

He'd admitted to being jealous--what more did Starsky want? The least Starsky could do was not feed the embers by spending time with Lisa. How hard was that? Starsky had said he would, so truly this was about much more weighty matters, i.e. his need to control his partner.

Originally desperation had played a part in all that. Back when Starsky was recovering from his wounds, Hutch was in charge. Starsky had no choice, he couldn't do the simplest chores on his own and he'd been limited in his activities due to physical shortcomings and an inability to drive while on painkillers. Hutch had grown used to making decisions, directing the show without much protest from Starsky. This dependence had gone a long way to healing his fears on Starsky's behalf. The problem had started when Starsky went back to work on the streets. So many times Hutch had to bite his tongue not to say the wrong thing as Starsky struggled to reassert himself as a functional cop. Suddenly Hutch had lost his position of power and he'd floundered, uncertain of where he stood in the partnership. Luckily, as they eased into old working patterns they'd both gained control of the situation and reestablished their working lives together. Strangely enough, that was when their sexual relationship had taken off, as if Starsky needed to be whole and strong before he could take that next step. For two years their love had flourished and grown, nurtured by their original friendship and watered by their commitment to and love of each other.

Then Starsky's interest and amazing conversion into the world of BDSM had changed everything--given Hutch an outlet for his power issues and upset the carefully constructed balance. So now, was Hutch trying to take it too far? He liked the idea of living in the scene full time, but would he turn into a maniacal despot obsessing on Starsky's every move? There had to be a midpoint that suited both of their needs and kept the relationship on the right track because Hutch was determined not to lose his lover again. Not after Starsky'd died two years ago and required a defibrillation to start up his heart. It wouldn't take an electrical charge to restart things this time. It would just take love.

Pulling out a book at random, Hutch chuckled at his inadvertent choice. 'Justine' by the Marquis de Sade. Definitely not quite the guidance he was hoping for. He replaced the red leather volume and selected another bound in deep sable leather with gold embossed letters on the front. Shakespeare--now he knew a few things about love.

Sinking down into a wingback chair upholstered in rich cowhide Hutch closed his eyes, the squeak of chair leather against his pants an instant remembrance of past times with Starsky. So long ago when he'd found Starsky hovering over Hutch's dead lover Gillian's body, he'd exploded in rage, railing against the injustice of her death by slugging Starsky. Yet, somehow Starsky had understood, not fought back, and wrapped him in comforting arms, the creak of their leather jackets rubbing together forever an audible memory of love.

Hutch opened the book, letting fate choose his reading material for the evening. It was one of the Bard's sonnets, number 57. The first lyrical words stopped his breath, their meaning so apropos. "Being your slave, what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire?"

Reading the rest of the sonnet with a pounding heart, Hutch wondered how the 16^th century playwright could have captured his heart so perfectly. "Nor dare I question with my jealous thought where you may be, or your affairs suppose, but, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught."

Damn, that was hitting it too close to home. Master was slave to the slave and vice versa. He laughed sardonically, imaging Starsky's face if he read the sonnet to him, but then smiled with a lighter heart. That was exactly what he should do. Make it romantic, intimate...like a date.

The water was running in the bathroom and Hutch presumed Starsky was taking a shower. If he was in a receptive mood maybe they could salvage the tatters of the evening.

Continuing to read, Hutch tried to ignore the sounds of Starsky moving around, but could all too easily imagine him drying his nude body, rubbing the towel over his genitals...Gulping, Hutch flipped a gilt-edged page, reading aloud from another poem, "Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, when I am sometime absent from thy heart, thy beauty and thy years full well befits, For still temptation follows where thou art."

"What is that?" Starsky asked softly, emerging from the bathroom wearing a terry cloth robe monogrammed with a cursive 'E', courtesy of the Estate.

"Shakespeare."

"Didn't sound like 'Romeo and Juliet' to me." Starsky dropped the robe off his body, letting it pool around his feet and then knelt in front of his master, head bowed. Hutch's heart soared, but he didn't speak. "Master, my only love, please collar me again," Starsky said.

"Why should I?" Hutch spoke as sharply as he could. If this was to work on any level, he had to maintain as much discipline and structure as possible. As much as he wanted to gather Starsky up in his arms and cuddle in the hot tub for a couple hours, he had to retain a certain level of strictness and domination.

"I need to feel your strength," Starsky said simply. "I'm sorry I argued with you. I deserve to be punished--how many demerits you think I earned I'll accept without complaint. But I can't live without you." He finally looked up at Hutch, his eyes moist and bright. "Please Hutch, it hurts so much I can hardly breathe."

"Bring me the gym bag, over there," Hutch commanded. "On your knees. Carry it in your mouth." He almost thought he'd gone too far with that last order, but Starsky crawled across the burgundy Kharistan, picked up the blue bag in his teeth and brought it back with sweet devotion. When the bag had settled at his feet Hutch pulled out the old collar, the one he'd originally used to possess his slave and held it out. "When I put this around your neck, you are mine, David Starsky. No other person can claim your heart. I also bear culpability for the argument, but I meant what I said. You're mine and I won't share you."

"Don't you know I never learned how to share?" Starsky quipped, a teasing light shining out of his indigo eyes. Hutch smiled, thinking Shakespeare had surely known one of Starsky's ancestors to create a character such as Puck.

"This collar is my mark." Hutch buckled the thick leather around Starsky's neck, briefly wrapping long fingers around the cincture to stroke the smooth skin of his throat. "You will receive ten lashes for what just happened, next week, when I mete out the formal punishment, but you can choose the weapon."

"Ten all total?" Starsky swallowed, staring up at Hutch.

"No, ten for the argument. You have a number of demerits for other infractions." Hutch still held himself firm, not wanting to yield to the almost fearful expression in those eyes, the way Starsky held his body, curved slightly forward in supplication, but it was hard. "When we get home, we can talk more. But Starsky, I need a straight and truthful answer on whether you want to go forward with this. Think about it. Occasional weekends can continue, but I feel like we'd stagnate quickly. A full time commitment could be for a set period of time, like a year, to give us time to adjust. But no more discussion on that subject tonight. Do you want to go on as planned, or scrap this session?"

"Go on as planned," Starsky replied as if he were having a hard time putting thought into words. "Master, may I have one request?"

"Within reason."

"May I wear your necklace, too?"

"Together?" Hutch asked, touched and amused.

"To find my center, my submissive place."

"That's easy enough to arrange, my prince." Hutch retrieved the heavy silver chain from where he'd left it on the entry hall table earlier that day. It seemed such a long time ago. He looped it around the brown leather collar, locking the tiny padlock in back with the special key. "They go well together." Like you and me, he thought. Dark and silver, separate and joined.

"Thank you, Master Hutch," Starsky said sincerely.

"One more thing, slave. What did I tell you when we first came in here today?"

"To be naked at all times, not to speak unless spoken to, not to look at you directly and to be on my knees or back unless allowed otherwise."

"Have you obeyed those to the letter?"

"No."

"So, I'm adding one more demerit for each of those rules you've broken. Four. Plus the three that I gave out when we first got here and four from the last session."

"Plus ten makes 21?" Starsky squeaked. "Hutch!"

"You did learn to add in your head in grade school," Hutch observed snidely. "Last, what was the final answer to the pop quiz?"

"You love me." Starsky smiled. " And I love you, but wasn't that supposed to be for the very end?"

"I thought you needed to hear it now." Hutch pulled him up into his arms, kissing him soundly.

"May I speak?" Starsky murmured with a hint of a smile in his voice, still pressed tightly against Hutch's lips.

"Yeah, when have I ever been able to stop you?" Hutch laughed, kissing him again.

"You're my ground, Hutch. I'd go off in a million different directions without you, but I need to stand on my own feet, too." Starsky snuggled in even closer, blazing a trail of kisses down the broad chest. "That's all I want."

"I know, and we'll work it out." Hutch shivered when Starsky's lips brushed lightly over his exposed nipples. "You just showered, but are you interested in some skinny dipping?"

"With you?"

"You were expecting somebody else to show up? I just told you I don't share."

"No menage-a-trois?" Only Starsky pronounced the 's' in trois, mangling the French.

"Twa, Starsky," Hutch chuckled, marveling at the myriad of emotions they'd run through in the last few hours. He'd never be bored with David Starsky around.

"Last one in's a rotten egg!" Starsky laughed gleefully. He dashed across the room to the garden access, jerking at the doorknob. "It's locked."

"Can't have recalcitrant slaves escaping, now can we?" Hutch produced a key from the inner pocket of his robe, opening the door.

"Wouldn't want that," Starsky said sarcastically. "I woulda won, too, since you're still dressed. Guess goin' around naked all the time has one advantage."

"More than just one." Hutch grabbed a handful of Starsky's behind, pinching.

"Ow! Are you gonna get undressed?" Starsky wiggled away, slipping into the steaming Jacuzzi. The small deck was sheltered by an old fashioned gazebo festooned with sweet-smelling purple lilacs, but overhead stars twinkled in the celestial void.

Hutch dropped his robe and slacks, stepping into the hot water with a sigh of satisfaction, enjoying watching Starsky's body through the uneven surface of the water. Flashes of chest hair and groin appeared and disappeared with churning bubble jets like a penny peep show at the arcade. Hutch reached under the water, unerringly finding the flat expanse of his lover's abdomen, spreading his fingers out across Starsky's belly. "I could never share this with anyone."

"Back to that again, are we?" Starsky leaned back, arching just enough that Hutch's hand slipped further down. Unfortunately, the bandage on his left arm loosened in the hot water, flapping off in a decidedly non-erotic manner.

"Gotta change that when we get out," Hutch tsked, discarding the gauze and tape over the side of the tub onto the slate floor. "But it's healing well."

"Wasn't much more'n a scratch."

"Looked like more than that to me." Hutch traced his finger around the new wound causing Starsky to hiss and pull away. "Still tender?" Changing directions he charted the causeways and byways mapped on Starsky's chest from the surgeon's scalpels. "I wish I could take a knife and connect these all together to spell out my name across your chest," he said with surprising savagery. "To mark you now and forever mine."

"Do it," Starsky breathed, mesmerized. "Now, Hutch."

Abruptly wondering where that brutal declaration had come from, Hutch kissed Starsky's arm just above Charley Waters' knife wound. "I can't. It would bleed too much."

"Then someday, someday you will," Starsky whispered. "It's what I want."

Hutch stared at his lover, now almost frightened by the weird intensity that had engulfed them. BDSM brought out all sorts of strange longings and hidden desires he'd never expected to reveal. Was it entirely safe to have a full time relationship? Would he be laid bare at the altar of his love? And if that happened, could he closet his emotions to work with Starsky on the street, when they knew the depths of each others' despair and joy so completely? There was no answer to that; it was the unknowable future.

Reaching out from the water; he air-dried one hand and then fished out the tiny volume he'd hidden in the voluminous robe pockets. Holding it up above the tiny waves Starsky was making Hutch began to read sonnet number 57 to a rapt audience of one.

~~~

"Hutch?" Starsky fiddled with his last strip of bacon, crushing it into tiny crumbs. Just yards away a squirrel eyed him curiously from its sanctuary under a bush, but there was no fear in the creature's eyes. Starsky tossed the bacon bits over to the squirrel, who immediately stuffed as much into its mouth as possible. Perched in the branches of an oak, a red and green parrot with long blue tail feathers scolded in them in raucous tones.

"Yeah?" Hutch's eyes lit up when he glanced over at Starsky, which just made it all the harder for Starsky to say what he'd planned. The previous night had ended so gloriously. No sex, no bondage, no role playing, just sweet, loving intimacy.

"I have something to confess," Starsky finally admitted, suddenly glad that Hutch had ordered him to eat his breakfast on his knees with his plate on a low hassock. The humble position made him feel all the more like a slave. " And I know it'll just add another swat onto that list of demerits you gave me last night."

"I'm listening," Hutch said quietly, but it was that stillness that scared Starsky. How would Hutch react to hearing he'd done something he'd been expressly told not to do?

"I tried to scope out where the Estate was."

"When?"

"J-just after we were here the first time. I know you wanted it t'be some big mysterious secret, but I gotta know, Hutch! It was bugging the crap outta me not knowing where we'd been. But I couldn't find an address, a phone number, nothing... How can it be hidden so completely but within--what? Half hour of Bay City?"

"Because that's the way they want it to be."

"Why? What's the big secret? This is a great place."

"Starsky, to be blunt, some of what goes on here is illegal--at least in the minds of a lot of vanilla citizens."

"S'not illegal, exactly." Starsky shifted, not only uncomfortable with the notion that he'd been participating in an illegal activity, but also because his knees were aching from kneeling so long. Even with a pillow to protect him from the slate patio, he wasn't used to kneeling, but it kept him in a submissive headspace. "Just a sort of gray area. But there's no listing for 'The Estate' so I bombed out."

"Good."

"Good? That all you're gonna say?"

"It's still a secret and the longer it stays that way, the better. You don't need to know the location, Starsk, you can see it exists." Hutch waved his fork at the lush vegetation, friendly animals, and gorgeous views.

"But I'm a detective! I can't not know."

"Yes, you can." Hutch calmly speared the last bite of egg, chewing silently. "And as a detective you already figured out the outcome of your investigation, so what more do I have to say?"

"One demerit?"

"You said it, I didn't." Hutch patted his mouth with the napkin. "We slept in so long this morning there isn't a lot of time to pack up. Before we leave, what're you thinking about the whole thing, now?"

"This is my world, for better or worse." Starsky nodded with an odd smile, resigning himself to a world of pain in one week's time. Twenty-two swats by Hutch's hand with the new strap or paddle. And there was likely to be more than 22 since those were the justified punishment swats. Hutch would probably give him lots more just for the hell of it. But only the pain really scared him, and that was transitory enough. The thought of being bound, suspended by his hands like some disciplined sailor in "Billy Budd" waiting for the lash of the whip and then being ravaged by his master was oddly arousing. The whole BDSM world was such a mixture of excitement and dread, enthralling the senses so entirely that it wasn't until he came down from the high that he thought rationally about what was happening. He could never tell his mother what he and Hutch were doing. She knew they were a couple, in the romantic Biblical sense, but this...why did he both like and hate it so much? "I'm right along side you, Hutch."

"Like always," Hutch smiled.

~~~

Monday morning, the Estate now just a pleasant memory, Hutch finished with the annoying pile of interdepartmental memos and shoved them across the desk towards Starsky. They'd ultimately end up in the round file, but he was at least obligated to show them to his partner. Starsky rarely actually read them. Hutch didn't have the patience this morning with whether sick leave should be filed on a goldenrod G14 form or a yellow G15 one, much less whether the file clerks in records deserved more pay for less work.

When the phone rang he beat Starsky to the receiver by one long forefinger. Starsky mock glared and flipped him a lazy bird them made a circle with thumb and pointer finger and inserted his round blue pen, languidly sliding it back and forth.

"Detective Hutchinson here," he choked an answer, still more focused on Starsky than the caller.

"Oh, Ken, I'm glad I got a hold of you. We may have a problem with the Charley Waters' case."

"How so?" Hutch asked, gesturing for Starsky to listen in. "It's Lisa," he whispered.

"Not really something I can discuss over the phone. Can you meet me in my office?"

"Be there in twenty," Hutch promised, exchanging a look with his mystified partner.

Lisa met the detectives in the lobby of the Federal building to lead them upstairs and then through the maze of desks and walled off workspaces that made up the District Attorney's office. As usual the pretty attorney was dressed in a business like suit jacket and skirt, although the skirt was a trifle shorter than what other lawyers might wear and the jacket fit her tiny waist and rounded curves like they had been tailored. Armed with the knowledge that she was wearing a tight corset, Hutch kept trying to remember if her waist had been that small the week before. He enjoyed watching her shapely legs and the way she walked in those mile high black and white spectator pumps. Glancing over at his partner, he noticed Starsky was enjoying the show as well, fanning that flame of jealousy he still held. He wasn't going to allow that to foul the atmosphere, though; Starsky knew his mind on the subject and Hutch wasn't insecure enough to think Starsky would ever go back on his promise of monogamy.

She had a cubicle in the far back of the crowded room that afforded a modicum of privacy due to the corner space and a narrow aisle leading to a main corridor. Because Lisa's workspace only shared one wall with another office, they could talk openly since the other space wasn't occupied.

"Melissa Simpson may be a liability instead of an asset to the case." Lisa sat down carefully in her chair, obviously corseted tightly enough that it was hard for her to bend or slump. "We were kind of hinging the whole rape case on her because she could positively ID him and his sperm was in her vagina."

"What's changed?" Starsky inquired.

"Saturday evening Caress took me to a scene party," Lisa began when Starsky was seated on the edge of the desk and Hutch was leaning against his shoulder with one foot crooked over the other. "With a charity slave auction and several whipping demos before couples paired up."

"What does this have to do with Waters?" Hutch asked, very aware that Starsky looked both fascinated and uncomfortable at the description of the party.

"Melissa Simpson was there," Lisa said simply.

"Damn," Starsky commented succinctly. "In what capacity?"

"A slave. She was bought by an owner known for his extreme tastes and as far as I'm aware, left with him."

"If this gets out, it ruins the case," Hutch spoke for all of them. "No one will believe she was raped, they'll say she liked it rough and asked for it."

"Did she see you?" Starsky asked.

"No, I'm usually in disguise at functions where I could be recognized--and Caress didn't enter me in the auction."

"Disguise?"

"A half mask, trimmed in feathers." She curved her thumb and forefinger on both hands into circles reminding Hutch of the raunchy gesture Starsky had made in the squadroom, but Lisa held them up to her eyes like glasses with the rest of her fingers splayed up like a peacock tail.

"So there's no way she could connect you back to the D.A.'s office?" Hutch surmised.

"I doubt it," she sighed. "I wanted to call you two on Sunday but I was on a short leash, you could say, and forbidden to discuss legal cases."

"Not a whole lot we coulda done anyway." Starsky shrugged. "We were on a really boring stake out with nothing but a couple of cokes and a pair of binoculars between us."

"If we can't persuade Melissa to testify there isn't much of a rape case--at best I could get Waters on aggravated assault on Kusko and maybe rape for Yantikova, but just because the sperm is his blood type it doesn't rule out any other 'A-' men in the Los Angeles basin. His lawyer could easily get that one dismissed."

"How about protein markers in the semen?" Hutch asked.

Lisa nodded absently. "The labs are working on them, but they're hopelessly backed up and we can't hinge the case on that until it's solid evidence in our hands."

"What about your tattoo? Could Melissa have seen that?" Starsky asked, touching the small of his back.

"I was wearing a corset." She patted her smooth, bound waist. "That partially obscures it in the back, at least I think so. And nobody around here has ever seen it, particularly not in the courtroom."

"I'd like to," Starsky grinned.

"Starsky," Hutch warned. He knew Starsky was not at all thrilled with the strict edicts he'd imposed regarding Lisa. Starsky really couldn't help flirting, it was ingrained and he was obviously attempting to toe the line, however precariously.

"You have," Lisa dimpled with a slight gleam in her eye.

"Let's get back to the problem at hand," Hutch directed. "Do you want us to try to talk to Miss Simpson again?"

"No. If she wouldn't talk to you last week and avoided my calls, I seriously doubt we'll get anywhere with her," Lisa sighed. "I plan to go out to her home this morning and try to appeal--woman to woman, I guess, but if that doesn't work Waters could be out on bail by tomorrow morning. We were only able to hold him for so long because there were so many charges and he couldn't afford bail."

"And his lawyer can get it reduced if they take away the main rape charge," Starsky summed it up.

"Exactly," Lisa agreed, pushing her brown bangs off her forehead. "Well, I just wanted to get us all on the same page. Since you two arrested him, and because of the nice assault on an officer with a deadly weapon Starsky so kindly provided, he will go to trial, just maybe not for rape."

"So glad to oblige," Starsky lifted his left arm in illustration.

"Keep us appraised, Lisa." Hutch worried his lower lip with the ball of his thumb. "I can't think of anything we haven't tried with Simpson at this point and from what she said last week, harassment charges could be filed if I try and talk to her again."

"Whadda 'bout me?" Starsky jumped up, all impatient energy.

"Give me a chance, first," Lisa said, glancing at her watch. "I have a meeting in five minutes with the D.A. and then I'll drive on over to her house. I'll call you if there's a bail hearing in the morning."

"Thanks." Hutch ushered Starsky out, both momentarily confused at the maze of offices until a kindly secretary showed them the way to the exit.

With such a dismal start to the day, things could only improve but a late winter rainstorm snarled traffic, frayed nerves and caused lowland flooding. Starsky and Hutch were called out on a number of domestic disputes and aided with a serious car accident before the end of their shift. Lisa called late in the day to tell them she hadn't gotten anywhere with Melissa Simpson and Charley Waters was due in court in the morning, if they could make it, too. Exhausted and dispirited they headed for Starsky's apartment after a brief stop at Venice Place.

"Are we really gonna do this?" Starsky asked, half hoping Hutch had changed his mind. He was tired and not particularly relishing the thought of having a butt plug inserted every night for the rest of the week.

"Starsky, you don't want my hand up there next Sunday without some preparation." Hutch sat unmoving in the passenger seat of the Torino despite the fact that Starsky had pulled up in his driveway and killed the engine. "You do want to go forward, right? Because I'm getting more than a little discouraged with your attitude lately."

"Oh, God, Hutch don't start with a guilt trip, man." Starsky ground the palm of his hand on his forehead. "I'm tired, it's wet, give me time to eat first, okay? Hard to feel erotic when my socks are wet." He peeked out from under his hand. "Kiss me?"

"In front of the neighbors?" Hutch raised a blond eyebrow. "What will they think?"

"In this downpour, I don't think they'll notice." Starsky grinned cheekily. He scooted closer on the seat, melting into Hutch's embrace, the kiss hot enough to scorch. "The windows are already steamed up."

"I hadn't noticed," Hutch kissed him again, sucking on Starsky's tongue like he wanted to swallow it whole.

~~~

Once dinner was over and the dishes washed Hutch opened his gym bag and spread the necessary items out on the table. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Starsky had removed his clothes and knelt in front of Hutch. "I was thinking this is kind of a practice run, anyway, y'know?"

"What?" Hutch looked up from his inventory.

"Since we have to do this every night, this week, it's a little like we were doin' it full time," Starsky explained. "Finding the dividing lines between the streets and private time--where they bleed together. The gray areas."

"I agree, that's the hardest part. Nothing's ever just black and white. We need to find a balance," Hutch nodded, looking down at him with such a loving expression Starsky blushed and squirmed with delight. "And we will, Starsk, it just takes some time."

"Some of it I love, Hutch, honestly. But other stuff just goes--against the grain, against what I think about who I am." Starsky put a hand up to the silver chain around his neck. The brown collar was once again packed away until another real session, but he could almost feel the tight restriction around his throat. "I love being your slave, but it's hard sometimes to see myself..."

"Submitting? On the floor when I'm above you?" Hutch asked softly, carding his fingers through Starsky's hair. "All I can see is someone so brave, so sure of their own masculinity that he can kneel down and take all of this without flinching."

"There is some flinching goin' on," Starsky grimaced, but his heart soared with Hutch's words. "Especially if you're plannin' to put that one in." He pointed to a monstrous plug with unbelievable dimensions. "That won't fit, I swear."

"It will, by the end of the week. We'll start with one of your old favorites." Hutch held up the one he'd used on Friday. "Today two hours, tomorrow three and so on. I'll increase the size every few days and then on Saturday, you wear it all night until we're ready to leave so you're all stretched when it comes time for the fisting."

"I think you're looking forward to this a lot more than me." Starsky stared up into his partner's summer blue eyes, bewitched nonetheless. "But I have to admit, the idea of your hand up inside me is much more of a turn on now than when you first told me about it."

"It's all I think about, Starsk. You make me so hot," Hutch whispered, grabbing a handful of hair to pull his lover closer and claim another kiss. "I'm going to slide my hand into that strong, hot, luscious cave so slowly, taking you inch by inch. You can't move, my hand is so big, filling you up until all you can feel is me. Nothing else exists except you and me." Still maintaining his hold on Starsky's hair Hutch folded the fingers of his left hand as narrowly as possible, then slipped then into Starsky's open mouth. Starsky started, not expecting the invasion, but he rose up on his knees, accepting the hand without protest. Hutch pressed his index finger against Starsky's hard palate to widen the opening, then pushed his whole hand in a little further to admit his thumb. Afraid to breathe, Starsky shuddered, but was totally sucked in to the carnal display. He extended his jaw as much as possible, his cheek muscles beginning to vibrate with the strain. "I close my hand into a fist, claiming you inside and out." Hutch continued to describe the fisting in a low, sensuous voice. "Then you come, tightening around me like a vice, but it feels so good to have you surrounding me that it makes me come, because you did."

Every one of Starsky's defenses crumbled; this was what he lived for. Hutch's words were a lifeline, extending out across an endless sea of erotic possibilities. No matter what happened in the future, they were fused together as partners, friends, lovers, master and slave. All were one and all were Starsky and Hutch. He didn't have to be afraid of what might happen, because they'd work it out together. And he knew he couldn't live without Hutch and his astonishing propensity for kink. What had started out as just another insertion of a butt plug, a both arousing and painful process, had turned into an amazingly erotic playtime.

Starsky breathed in carefully, so aware of the minute scrape of his teeth on Hutch's skin. He'd die if he drew blood and tried to still the urge to close his mouth, to bite down. His cock had sprung to life when Hutch entered him and now it throbbed below like a beating heart, distracting him from the job at hand. With trembling fingers Starsky reached out, sliding his palm along the inside of Hutch's thigh.

"Yeah, don't stop," Hutch breathed, gently rotating his hand, massaging Starsky's tongue.

Blindly Starsky found a fly and released the zipper, trying to grasp the sleek eel through the slit in Hutch's boxers. He leaned forward causing Hutch's hand to shift, jamming it against the back of his throat and for a minute he was sure he was going to throw up, but the sensation subsided and he managed to get a good grasp of the swelling cock. Hutch had wound his fingers deeper in Starsky's hair so that he couldn't move his head much, but it didn't matter. Just a few strokes brought Hutch to completion and he pulled his slick hand free with a howl of satisfaction.

"Man, Hutch," Starsky panted, wanting to grab his own erection, but unsure of his boundaries here in the half world where he wasn't quite a slave and not quite just plain old Starsky.

With a smile, Hutch wrapped his saliva-coated hand around Starsky's length, pumping hard. Starsky thrust into that lovely, slippery warmth and soon climaxed, his heart pounding with the effort. "I hadn't planned on that little diversion," Hutch laughed. "But it was incredible."

"That was--mind blowing," Starsky admitted. "I've never have believed your hand would fit in there, and now I'm even less convinced it'll fit in the smaller hole."

"Don't ever let anyone tell you size matters." Hutch grabbed a dishtowel to clean them both off. "C'mon, it's time. Turn around."

Doing so, Starsky braced himself against the table as Hutch inserted the plug. It slid in with ease, not giving him a moment's discomfort. The belt was buckled swiftly and Starsky expected that to be the end of it.

"One more thing." Hutch held up a tangle of metal rings and a solid plastic tube.

"Aw, Hutch, why that?"

"Because, after today I'll be gone most evenings working with Caress getting prepared for the session and I don't want you wanking off while I'm gone."

"I wouldn't," Starsky protested, but didn't resist when Hutch forced the rings and cock cage over his penis and balls, locking the whole thing to the belt loop with a padlock.

"Why tempt fate? Besides, I want you in charge of the operation tomorrow. You 'suit up' while I watch, then I'll leave you alone for a few hours, without worrying you'll take the whole thing off while I'm gone."

"You have that little faith in me?" Starsky bit his lip. Even though he was quite limp after their fantastic lovemaking only a short time ago, the tightly fitting chastity cage was unwieldy and while not painful, it was uncomfortable.

"It's not that, it's for you. To get you into the right head space."

"Coulda fooled me. Kinda think it's your control issue," Starsky grumped but shut up at Hutch's stern look. "What if I need to go out for a while?"

"To get a beer? Stock up ahead of time."

"For a--a walk, maybe. I do that sometimes."

"Wear baggy pants, Starsk." Hutch packed up the rest of his toys in the gym bag. "It stays on."

"This is one of those gray areas," Starsky moped, but secretly he kind of liked Hutch's hard line. It gave him a base to know where he stood.

"I forgot something." Hutch pulled out a small box containing rubber tubing with an attached bag. "Use this first, before the plug." Starsky regarded the equipment darkly. The oh-so-anticipated enema. "Remember, cleanliness comes before a fist."

"You should have that printed up on a T-shirt. Make a lotta money." Starsky stowed the box under the sink. "Those things are really unpleasant, you know that, don't you? I thought I had enough of 'em in the hospital t'last me a lifetime."

"That was a lifetime ago." Hutch pulled him close, running the back of his knuckles along Starsky's stubbly jaw.

"Hutch, do you think we woulda found bondage and all this stuff if we hadn't met Carlysle?" Starsky asked philosophically. Hutch broke free of the embrace, looking down at Starsky with a faraway look in his eyes. There was a sadness there that touched Starsky deeply.

"I hadn't thought about it."

"Would you have told me about you an' Van otherwise?"

Hutch stood lost in thought for so long Starsky began to wonder if he was going to answer the question. He shook his head slightly, absently rubbing his belly. "To be honest? Probably not. I wasn't proud of some of what went on then."

"Then why...? If you didn't want to go there again?"

"Starsk, I didn't like what was going on between me and Van. It was more than just marital problems; there was an elemental difference of--everything. And we both wanted control, she more than me." He sat down on the bed, toying with the lock on the belt cinched around Starsky's hips. "It's light years different with you. I give thanks every day that we did meet Carlysle because playing with you, being your master and having the honor of your submission has affected me so profoundly..."

"Me, too." Starsky kissed him, liking the way Hutch closed his hand so proprietarily around the padlock. It made him feel loved, even though in the back of his brain, the part not dazzled by Hutch's tongue sliding across his, he still chaffed just a bit at the ownership. Like a wild horse, Starsky would never be broken, just tamed.

"This kind of relationship only works if you find someone whose kink meshes with your own."

"Isn't that how any couple finds..." Starsky spread his legs, sitting down on Hutch's lap facing him, "a mate?"

"Well, but in the scene two people don't have to be a couple to find someone to satisfy their needs--s'why people like Carlysle suited Buchanan and all those other men. They had wives and lovers for the vanilla."

"An' the chocolate?" Starsky quirked a grin, sliding his fingers through the silky pale strands of Hutch's hair.

"Chocolate's only for the few." Hutch took advantage of the fact that Starsky's nipple was almost at mouth height and gently applied his teeth. Starsky moaned with arousal, remaining absolutely still. He liked the slight sting when Hutch scraped his teeth across the nub and then suckled briefly, but he didn't want anything heavy when he was yoked and plugged. "It's only for the very few," Hutch continued, finishing his snack. "The one in a million who finds another to connect with."

"Who fits," Starsky murmured softly. "Who completes you." His palm molded the back of Hutch's head. "But it's getting scary, Hutch, how much I want this. Does that make me crazy?"

"If you're crazy, then so am I," Hutch answered. "And a lot of other people, too. Lisa and Caress, Melissa Simpson." He took a slow breath, leaning his head on Starsky's shoulder, curving his arms around Starsky's waist. "I came from a very judgmental family. Everything had to be done by protocol and God forbid you talked to the wrong people, or associated with them." He chuckled. "Van was from a good family, had 'breeding', as my mother would call it. Style, elegance and a sickness way down deep in her soul that threatened to suck me dry. And boy, she liked sex--everything about it. That was the only place we saw eye to eye. She took me by the hand and led me into places I'd never been before and I liked it. I liked knowing my parents would be appalled so I didn't pay too much attention to the fact that I really didn't like her very much."

Starsky stroked his lover's hair, listening to this unexpected peek into the recesses of Hutch's most guarded secrets. That Hutch had broken away from his family's expectations wasn't new information, but the revelations about Van only confirmed his own opinion of her. "What changed?"

"You," Hutch said simply. "Joining the force, all of it. Once I knew I was going in the right direction, with a person who made me feel whole, I knew she had to go. I sort of turned my back on all the baggage she'd brought into the marriage and BDSM was one of 'em."

"Do you regret it?"

"The marriage? Hell, yeah."

"No," Starsky chuckled. "Throwing out the kink with the bath water."

"I didn't have anyone to play with until you jumped into the sandbox." Hutch grinned wolfishly. "Want to kick up some sand with me?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Starsky pushed the top button of Hutch's Hawaiian shirt through the hole. "But my toys are all locked up."

"I'll share mine." Hutch rolled over suddenly, pinning Starsky to the bed.

~~~

Charley Waters was given a much reduced bail, which he was able to pay, because of the D.A. office's inability to produce enough evidence that he was dangerous and a flight risk. Lisa was very disheartened at the loss of Melissa Simpson's rape charges and vowed to continue searching for more ways to throw the book at Waters. For Starsky and Hutch it was the lowest point in another rainy day. But they slogged through the puddles for the rest of their shift, ending up at the Pits for beer with dinner.

"Hug, how's business with all this rain?" Starsky asked, digging into his burger and fries with the appetite of a man who'd been marooned on a desert island. He and Hutch had been knee deep in a domestic dispute between a browbeaten husband and a two-timing wife at noon and he'd never gotten a real lunch.

"Man, the weather man gives us another two days of this wet," Huggy sighed, pointing to damp areas on the walls. "Parking lot's already under water and the ceiling is leaking. I gotta get flood insurance."

"The time to get that is before the rain falls." Hutch wiped catsup off his upper lip. "You about done, Starsk? I-I need to be someplace at 8:30." He was anxious to get to his session with Caress and the greasy hamburger wasn't settling right on his nervous stomach. Probably better to eat lightly before whipping something--or someone.

"Hold your horses." Starsky glared at his partner. "I'm still eating here. There's enough time for all you've got planned."

"Hutch has to be somewhere without you?" Huggy's eyebrows nearly disappeared under his broad brimmed purple velvet hat. "He standing you up, Starsky?"

"Nooo," Starsky laughed. Hutch blushed. "He's taking a class." Starsky used a French fry as a pointer. "Hutch never passes up a chance to further his education."

"I'm intrigued." Huggy leaned an elbow on the bar. "What subject are you taking, blondie?"

"Starsky talks too much," Hutch groused. He grinned nastily at Starsky who had the good sense to look worried. "It's an overview on detaining and subduing persons who step out of line and how to deal with disobedience in the ranks."

"How come Starsky's not learnin' that lesson, too?" Huggy inquired. "Sounds like somethin' every cop oughta know."

"Starsky will be learning that lesson soon enough," Hutch laughed. "There's more than one session."

"An' it comes all too soon f'me," Starsky mumbled around his burger. He crunched the last fry and stood reluctantly. "Let's get this over with, your lordship."

"Now that has a ring to it." Hutch nodded with approval.

Starsky was much less clumsy putting the butt plug in than he had been the first time, but he got the rings on the chastity cage tangled up and had to be rescued by a chuckling Hutch. However, the whole process took very little time so Hutch left Starsky watching a sitcom to drive across town to Caress' green house.

Wiping sweaty palms on his cords Hutch let himself into the high fenced front yard and followed the narrow path that curved around a koi pond through a tiny Zen garden. Although he had spoken to Caress many times on the phone concerning his mastery of Starsky, this was the first time he had visited her home as a client--make that student--and not in his role as a police detective. He was not at all sure what to expect. He was serious in his desire to learn the correct ways to strike his slave. The last thing he ever wanted to do was permanently injure Starsky by accident. The fact that Starsky had only sustained bruises the two times Hutch had punished him was more akin to luck than any real skill. The more Hutch read on the subject, the more intimidated he was. Whips were powerful weapons and took months of training to use correctly. He wasn't much interested in open hand spanking, but the finer points of using a strap, or even learning how to place a precise welt with a crop was exactly what he was after.

The whole matter of whipping another person was such a taboo topic. Parenting magazines spoke out against spanking children. Newspaper articles went on endlessly on the barbaric practices in third world countries that still used public flogging, and there were countless debates in school districts in every state on corporal punishment. So here he was, a man who once picketed for peace in his time, embarking on an education into the best ways to flay his lover's skin. Was that sick, or what? He found himself both aroused by the thought of Starsky bound and spread-eagled on a frame, long red lines from the whip criss-crossing his back, and appalled by the very fact that he wanted to wield that whip and was aroused at the idea. Sort of like a hamster in a wheel, Hutch kept going round and round on the moral issues involved.

"Well, are you going to stand there contemplating my fish all night or are you coming in?" Caress asked sharply. Standing in the doorway to the house she was dressed comfortably in a tiny red tank top and silk pajama-like pants printed with graceful Japanese writing. The red fingernails which beckoned him matched the color of her top. Only five feet tall, Caress looked like a fragile doll with a sweep of black hair hanging past her waist, but came on like a steamroller. Nobody defied her and got away with it.

"Girding myself for the next few hours," Hutch admitted. They'd already discussed on the phone what he needed to work on and what he wanted to accomplish, so there wasn't any preamble. Caress led him straight into a large open room in the back part of her house. It didn't look much like the traditional playroom most dominatrix kept; in fact it brought to mind more of soothing space for meditation or relaxation. Just the opposite of what it was actually used for.

"First we will spend an hour going over the best methods of holding and using each implement," Caress explained. She had laid out a variety of whips, floggers, crops and paddles on a low lacquered table. "After which, I have a slave coming by so I can give you a demonstration. Then tomorrow, you will show me what you have learned on another one of my slaves and I will give you some pointers. On Thursday we can play a little with more advanced skills, which I don't expect you to use just yet. Just to get your hand in it, you might say." Her black eyes flashed with humor and Hutch found himself relaxing some. This might actually turn out to be fun.

"I'm not sure I have the power to deliver the kind of blows to your slave that you would," Hutch hedged, swinging a narrow riding crop through the air with a whistling snap. "He may be disappointed."

"I have all the confidence in the world in your abilities." Caress slid her hand sensuously along his arm to adjust his grip on the crop and demonstrate a follow through. "You have the potential to be great, Ken. If you liked, I could put your name out--you'd be inundated with slaves in a few days."

"I've got enough to handle with just Starsky." Hutch smiled when she slipped an arm around his waist to steady him when he tried wielding the crop as she had. He wasn't surprised at Caress' provocative manner; he suspected that, like Starsky, she was just a naturally sexy person. She was comfortable in her own sexuality and had been living the life as a dominatrix for many years now. The caresses that had earned her a nickname were as basic to Caress as breathing.

"You have a gift for this, Ken," Caress said sincerely, looking up at him. "I knew you had taken David as your slave from the first moment you two walked in my house. And I also knew he'd been smacked hard on the ass a few times. That boy moved like his butt was on fire, and he wanted you to cool the heat."

"I'll tell him you said that," Hutch laughed. "Starsky's beginning to feel like he has the word tattooed across his forehead."

"To a real domme, it is." She picked up a rubber flogger, showing her technique for brandishing the punishing tails. "You know, having him tattooed makes a powerful statement in the slave's mind. Your permanent mark."

"I made him get his ear pierced; I'm not sure how far he'd let me go..." Flashing back to the hot tub at the Estate, he remembered Starsky urging Hutch to mark him with a knife and connect the lurid scars on his chest. A wash of hot lust shot through Hutch's body and he swished the flogger in the air to hide the sudden arousal, surprised at how much heavier this one was than the suede version he owned.

"Ah, you're still thinking like a friend and lover and not his master," Caress admonished. "He should do what you tell him to."

"I don't want to be just his master." Hutch frowned, slashing the flogger down onto an imaginary rump. "He's my friend first and that cannot change."

"Then you may fail at the rest, I'm afraid." Caress took a step back, toying with a flogger that had a multitude of braided tails ending in wicked little knots. That one would leave painful marks, Hutch reflected silently. "There has to be a point at which you're the master first and secondly the lover," Caress continued, "because if your emotions take over the dominance the slave senses your weakness and becomes disillusioned. She can't trust that you will always take care of her--or him."

Where had that come from? Hutch wondered. Caress looked momentarily sad, but covered her emotion quickly, lecturing on the specifics of each weapon. She insisted that Hutch feel the sting of a few on his own bare back so that he could judge what he was inflicting on his unwitting slave. Stunned for a moment, Hutch was slammed back into his past with Vanessa and her love of the lash. She'd even owned a collection for home use although the fine leather whips had mostly remained in their case. Hutch hadn't shared her interest in pain and preferred to let her get her kicks at parties and clubs where other people would be on the other end of her sting. But he'd felt the kiss of the whip once or twice.

"I've had the--uh--pleasure, years ago," he said, feeling the heat of a blush.

"No wonder you have such affinity for all of this," Caress nodded. "But it's important for the domme to know what is happening at all times, to gauge the necessary pressure to assert--or to avoid real injury." She smiled smugly at him. "Take off your shirt, Viking, and remove your trousers."

One didn't refuse Caress. Hutch did as instructed, thinking of Starsky at home. Should he tell him about this interesting development? Would Starsky notice any signs that he'd been struck on the back? He stood nervously, very aware of how vulnerable a slave was when naked next to someone fully dressed. There was such a sense of powerlessness without the armor of shirt and pants to cover exposed genitalia. He fought the urge to cover himself with his hands, knowing that was against the covenant of sub and domme, even if he was only sub for an hour.

"I'll be gentle and give one stroke with each of these five implements," Caress held up the first, small leather backed paddle. "Describe how each feels."

Grunting with the force from the paddle Hutch had to admit it was a dull pain, not much of a threat. The strap, which he had used successfully on Starsky, had a broader, deeper ache that lingered, but was quite bearable. The crop had a sting that made Hutch grit his teeth, puffing air through his nose. He'd have to be careful using that one for more than a few strokes on Starsky. It even left a small mark across his ass like the slash of a red pen from a college professor correcting essays,

"Damn!" Hutch exclaimed when Caress bisected the welt with a biting lick from the bamboo cane. That one was devilish and he was glad he didn't own one. The last of the five was by far the most intense. The rubber flogger dealt a punishing blow that slammed right through to the bone, even when swung gently. It was a bruising, deep pain that didn't evaporate quickly and had Hutch wishing for an ice pack.

"More sympathy for your slave now?" Caress reverently hung her weapons of choice on labeled hooks lining the interior of a closet. She had dozens of different types of each and all looked lovingly cared for.

"It definitely gives one pause," Hutch grimaced, putting on his pants. Starsky would certainly notice the damage on his pale skin.

"Pain play isn't for everyone." Caress poured small cups of tea from a traditional Japanese pot, handing one over to Hutch. "I often prefer to describe it as the giving of intense stimulation. How you deliver the blows, the atmosphere and the meaning of your exchange, all have significance. Is this a good experience for you? For your slave? If it doesn't reward the both of you in some form, then it isn't the right scene for the two of you and you need to work out what is."

"I have to admit I never liked pain." Hutch sipped the tea pensively, settling awkwardly on a flat pillow. He felt freakishly long limbed and ungraceful next to Caress' delicate poise. "I think Starsky is beginning to like it more than I ever did, but he really gets off on the cuffs and restraints."

"Good; you know some of your slave's personal kinks, which is important. And I think you read him well." She offered a plate of sesame cookies like a proper hostess. It lent a bizarre, almost French avant-garde film ambiance to the evening. A little whipping, then some tea. All very proper. "Why do you want to punish him this way when you know he is learning to enjoy pain as a sexual stimulation? Some dommes would use another method to enforce discipline on their slave."

Thrown such a curve ball Hutch had no answer. He ate two cookies in quick succession then gulped too hot tea to cover his confusion. "Is it wrong to use it for both reasons?" he blurted.

"No." Caress' smile was surprisingly sweet. "Everyone has their own reasons for using the tools at their disposal. You don't have to answer me now, but think about it. Do you have reasons for what you do or is it just what feels right?" She rose like a ballerina in mid-dance, her posture both erect and supple. "Come, my slave is due for some strokes from the tawse." Opening the closet once again, Caress gathered up the rubber flogger and the paddle, then walked across the hall, her red mules making sharp taps on the parquet floor.

His skin still smarting from the admittedly gentle blows Caress had delivered, Hutch beheld the sight of a man bent over a whipping horse, awaiting his punishment. Since he and Caress had been discussing the merits of one implement over the other for nearly an hour, Hutch was surprised to realize that the man must have been tied down for longer than that. Caress had never left his side since he'd arrived. He held out a flicker of sympathy for the nameless slave, especially when Caress landed a hard blow on his bulbous backside with the flogger. The slave bucked but remained silent. After three or four more blows Caress changed her tactics, crooning low soothing words to the man who wore a leather mask to conceal his features. When he had calmed sufficiently she went back to smacking his butt with the paddle until it was thoroughly covered with red splotches.

For Hutch there was no turn-on watching the whipping as there was when he was one on one with Starsky, which both relieved him and worried him. Was he being cruel to want to do this, to insist on doing this to his best friend? Forcing his autocratic rules on Starsky and then punishing him for breaking them was the height of conceit. But it also worked in the universe of BDSM he and Starsky had created. This was his right and Starsky's, too. Would he ever get to a point where he would let Starsky hurt him in that manner? Probably not, to be truthful. He didn't like it and right now held the power to refuse to allow it. About the whole full time relationship issue he was finding himself on a precipice. It sounded erotic as hell, in principle, but extremely hard to achieve on a realistic level. And then there was the question of whether he really wanted to be the dominant for the unforeseeable future. It was damned hard work and exhausting to have to plan all the sessions, keep every play time safe and working smoothly. There was never much time to relax. When he got some of the power issues dealt with, could he let Starsky take control for a while? That idea had some very pleasurable aspects.

Getting back to what Caress had asked. Why use the same pain to both punish and give sexual pleasure? It was profoundly perverse, which was most probably why he wanted to do it. What a power trip to control his slave's pain, wielding both agony and ecstasy with the flick of a wrist like Caesar giving thumbs down to a hapless Centurion about to be eaten by a lion. Power both scary and primal.

Trying to concentrate once again on the here and now, Hutch silently studied Caress' style as she swung the paddle over and over. She had a steady rhythm; one designed to last the session without tiring her too quickly. She looked strong and formidable, her tinyness a sharp contrast to the slave's soft, lumpy corpulence. Yet she was the one wielding the weapon and the big man was the one tied up, screaming with painful delight.

For Hutch there was no sexual component whatsoever watching the beating nor, he suspected, for Caress, who simply looked cool and focused on her task. The same could not be said for the whipee who was obviously enjoying his domme's firm hand. Hutch couldn't imagine going to such lengths for sexual release without the love of a partner to see him through to the other side. He thought of Starsky again, relishing the long hours they would spend together in both pleasure and pain and realized he could never do this again with anyone else. Starsky was his partner, the ying to his yang, and if Starsky ever wanted to end this exploration into the dark side of sex, that would end it for him, too.

The demonstration concluded the evening and Hutch drove home with just a minimum of squirming on his abused bottom. It was late by the time he reached the house so there was little ceremony in releasing Starsky from his confines and preparing for bed. Hutch slipped on a pair of silk boxers in the privacy of the bathroom, a signal that there wasn't going to be any nookie going on, and he fell asleep when his head hit the pillow.

~~~

Slitting open an eye against the sun streaming in the windows, Starsky pulled the blanket over his head to shield himself from the offending rays. It was just a crime when his internal clock woke him at an ungodly hour even on his day off. But, spying Hutch's large form curled under the sheets, Starsky grinned widely. Maybe not such a crime after all if he was up before his friend. It offered him the advantage to give Hutch a special wake-up call. He laid a bold hand on Hutch's strong t-shirt covered back, feeling the gentle movements of rib and muscle breathing evenly in sleep. Starsky slid his hands under the elastic waist of black silk boxer shorts, loving the warm scent of Hutch in the morning and the sensual feel of all that power relaxed under his hands.

"W-whadder you doin'?" Hutch muttered still half asleep, but he reached back, closing his fingers around Starsky's wrist to stall the movement of that questing hand.

"Just exploring." Starsky wriggled free, thinking it was a game, and curved his hand around the slope of Hutch's hip, down the globe of his ass.

"Don't!" Hutch said more sharply, but Starsky had already encountered something he hadn't expected to feel.

"Pull your shorts down," Starsky barked, confused. That couldn't have been what he though it was, could it?

"Starsky," Hutch sat up swiftly almost trapping Starsky's hand in the process.

"I want to see what she did to you."

"It's nothing."

"Then why are you tryin' to hide it?"

"It was all part of the training," Hutch answered warily.

"Did she hurt you? She hurt you, didn't she?" Starsky stormed, not really certain where the rage was coming from, but unable to contain his emotion. "You're not supposed to get hurt. Only me. I'm supposed to get hurt."

"Whoa, where did that come from?" Hutch grabbed for his wrist again, but Starsky slithered away, jumping off the bed to storm around.

"You're invincible, Hutch, don't you see? I'm the one who gets hurt, but I can handle it. Not you..."

"Starsky, do you listen to yourself? You aren't making any sense."

"You were supposed to go there to learn--not get stripes like a prisoner in a bad prison movie." Starsky raved, clenching his fists as if he wanted to punch someone, probably Caress.

"How can I do this to you if I don't know what it feels like?" Hutch asked simply.

"Don't be reasonable with me," Starsky pleaded. "It isn't fair."

"Who told you life was fair?"

"Certainly not you!" Starsky flared, but there was teasing in his voice now. He still didn't like the idea of Caress having strapped Hutch but there was little he could do after the fact. It felt wrong. It made him guilty in a strange way, as if he should have been the ones to take the blows, to protect Hutch.

"I did it to protect you," Hutch said, weirdly echoing Starsky's thoughts. "To keep you from getting hurt."

"Strange turn around way to do it," Starsky grumbled, but he let himself be lured back onto the bed, encircled in Hutch's arms and kissed.

"Good morning to you," Hutch hummed the old-fashioned tune, his cheek against Starsky's. "I learned a lot, you know. From Caress, and not just that I don't plan on using a rubber flogger on you any time soon."

"So you don't have to go back tonight?" Starsky wheedled, leaving tiny kisses spaced along Hutch's jaw and then blowing lightly on the snail trail.

Hutch shivered, chuckling. "I'm a slow learner."

"No, you're my college boy. You learn faster'n anybody I know," Starsky said honestly. "That's why you don't have to go back tonight. We could stay here."

"Sorry, in fact, I've got to get a move on. I've got a load of errands to do today before the weekend since this is our only day off until then."

"What you got planned?" Starsky asked, suspecting it had to do with the upcoming BDSM and punishment session. That gave him pause, especially in the light of what Hutch had 'learned'.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Hutch teased, starting to untangle himself from Starsky's arms.

"Can I see?"

Hutch was in the midst of taking off his t-shirt. It was still bunched up around his neck and shoulders and he struggled to finish undressing before answering. "See what?"

"What she did to you."

Without a word Hutch lowered the black silk boxers, dropping them next to the t-shirt on the floor and turned, exposing himself to his lover.

"Damn," Starsky breathed in sharply, his stomach clenching with sympathy pain. "You look like a treasure map."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Hutch said huffily.

"X makes the spot." Starsky lightly ran his finger across the raised welts forming a bright red 'X' on Hutch's butt. Gently grabbing Hutch at the waist, he lowered himself until he was nose to ass with Hutch and tentatively extended his tongue, tasting the abraded skin.

"G-god, Starsky!" Hutch gasped. He panted but didn't pull away as Starsky traced the ridge of skin with his tongue soothing the sting with sweetness. "I didn't know..."

"It could be this good?" Starsky smiled, reaching around with his left hand to find Hutch's straining cock. No matter how much the sight of Caress' mark angered him, he liked being able to do this for Hutch. To make things better. To reclaim his master and make him feel so good. Still applying his tongue like a healing balm he began to stroke Hutch's log with increasingly rapid movements. He could feel the shudders going up and down Hutch's frame like tiny earthquakes and knew more than likely that Hutch wouldn't be standing if he weren't braced against Starsky's body. He was Hutch's support and his anchor and that's how he wanted it. And with a sudden sharp desire so intense it brought his cock into tight throbbing, Starsky knew he wanted Hutch's mark on his body. He wanted Hutch to draw his mastery on his skin as proof of their love, their bond with each other. And he wanted more than just two measly scarlet welts. He wanted to be striped from shoulders to hips. Not just to prove he could take more than Hutch, although it was possible there was something to that, but it was more that he wanted to feel all that power used on him. All that great strength and unconquerable love poured out in a visible, palpable declaration of dominance. It would be his gift to Hutch.

Using his thumbnail to scrape the sensitive underside, Starsky gave a last sharp tug on Hutch's cock, feeling the culmination of his hand job surge out like the explosive burst from a heavy duty fire hose at a three-alarm fire. Cum splattered over Starsky's hand as Hutch sagged against him.

"Did you get that one out of the Boy Scouts first aid handbook?" Hutch asked weakly.

"I was never a Boy Scout," Starsky scoffed, leaving a kiss at the exact center of the prominent 'X' and slid out from under Hutch to go get a washrag. Hutch sat down on the bed, laughing, shaking his head in obvious bewilderment at the way the morning had started.

Hutch insisted on leaving to do his errands later in the morning even though Starsky used every weapon in his vast arsenal of pouting, moping, and pleading to keep him home and in bed. He was grumpy and out of sorts going about the routine household chores necessary to keeping his house looking it's best and got out some of his frustrations by scrubbing down the bathtub, viciously sweeping every inch of the kitchen floor, and smashing aluminum cans to take to the recycling center. Thinking better of his attitude, he decided to cook a nice dinner for Hutch before he was once again abandoned in the evening, and headed for the grocery store.

In the check out line Starsky had to laugh at his purchases as they moved past him on the conveyer belt. Sex was definitely on his brain. Rump roast, virgin olive oil to drizzle over roasted baby potatoes, and blushing ripe strawberries with whipped cream would make a delicious meal and maybe a raunchy suggestion, as well.

Hutch didn't give any hints on what his afternoon's activities had been, but made very appreciative noises over the home-cooked dinner and ate up every bite. After Starsky was strapped into a slightly larger diameter butt plug and bussed on the mouth like a housewife, Hutch left again.

Starsky had the urge to follow his errant lover just to ensure that he was actually going where he said he was, and then admonished himself for that traitorous thought. It was just that he was feeling quite the martyr, plugged and imprisoned on a day off without any entertainment. He could go to Huggy's and drown his sorrows in a mug of beer and a game of pool with his old friend, but even in sweat pants Starsky was overly aware of the hard package in front. Standing in the mirror, examining himself critically, he had to admit the chastity cage didn't show, which amazed him, but he was still too self-conscious to leave the house. If this was any indication of what a full time relationship was going to entail, he wasn't too happy about it. Luckily there was repeat of "The Great Escape" on TV. He had a whole new appreciation for Steve McQueen and the gang held captive by the Germans.

~~~

Hutch was no dummy and he could read Starsky's surly mood as easily as he could read the message in what had been served for dinner. This was not a good sign. However, he still uncertain enough of his own abilities when holding a whip to want a little more instruction. He'd make it up to Starsky afterwards. Tonight there would be no quick slide under the covers without any conversation--and who knows what else.

Caress had things ready as usual and started right in on different methods to create totally different moods with the same implement. Hutch caught on quickly since he'd used the flogger so sensually on Starsky. He knew that by changing the stroke he could change the whole sensation, keeping the slave in suspense as to whether the experience would be provocative or painful. While he was experimenting with gently stroking his own arm with the crop Caress excused herself to go prepare the evening's slave for a whipping demo.

"I want you to show me what you can do on a live body," Caress said, on her return.

"Won't he know it isn't you giving him the strokes?" Hutch asked, banking his nervousness. After all he should have expected this eventually.

"She does know it won't be me, but she doesn't know who will be delivering the blows," Caress answered smoothly. "She's had a hard week and wants release. This is not a punishment for her, but a way to release her inner stress and frustrations through the cleansing aspects of pain."

Never having thought of it that way, Hutch was distracted when he followed Caress across the hall. Could BDSM be used as a method of purging the body of negative vibes? It seemed almost ridiculous to consider. Most vanilla people would think that pounding on another person would just bring up anger and resentment, but in the same way that working out stress in the boxing ring was both exhausting and satisfying, the pain play and bondage of BDSM could let him slip out of his everyday self and become another person all together, just for a short while. BDSM as a therapeutic tool, now there was a novel concept.

Spread-eagled on a frame was a small woman wearing a black mask over her eyes, and a tightly laced black leather corset. The boned leather exaggerated the smallness of her waist, emphasizing the swell of breasts and hips above and below. She looked like she could easily snap in half, but her stance, while stretched due to the cuffs holding her to the frame, was relaxed. She wasn't dreading the coming beating, but seemed to be waiting with a sweet patience that was altogether endearing. Hutch caught his breath when he saw a tattoo of a whip coiled around two handcuffs in the small of her back partially concealed by the lower edge of the corset. It was Lisa!

"Caress," he whispered, afraid Lisa would hear him. "That's..."

"She is wearing ear plugs." Caress handed him a paddle. "My slave enjoys the feel of leather on her bare skin. Give her satisfaction."

The sight of Lisa's supple, restrained body was intoxicating. Despite his complete satisfaction with his own love life, Hutch had not lost an appreciation for the winsome curves and sexiness of a naked--or in this case--semi-naked woman. He was surprised to realize that he didn't want to boff her, but couldn't resist just running a cool hand over the silky skin of her bottom. Lisa gave a wordless gasp, wriggling slightly at his touch. Minute white lines running across her flesh bore testimony of the past whippings she'd received and Hutch recalled the first time he'd seen Lisa as a slave. She'd been marked with five parallel welts as punishment. The paddle he held would not leave such a dramatic imprint, but it would make its presence known.

"To some, the idea of pain play is frightening, so some prefer to leave the word pain out, which is fine. The term is negotiable since heightened sensation is really what the game is all about," Caress said conversationally.

Trying to swallow against the constriction in his throat, Hutch swung back his arm and let the paddle fly. It landed with a firm thud, but Lisa didn't make a sound.

"My little sweet slave Lisa is a pain slut. She craves the whip the way others do alcohol or drugs. Wouldn't know it to look at her." Caress smiled affectionately as Hutch gave Lisa a second blow. "It is often the most important role of a domme to be able to read one's slave intimately. Know their inner most desires."

What was Starsky's inner most desire? Did he really know?

Hutch managed to pepper Lisa's butt until it glowed red, but his heart wasn't in it. He wanted Starsky in front of him, giving his submission freely to his master, feeling the depth of Hutch's desire in the fiery kiss of the whip. He would be dressed in black to set off his blond hair and Starsky would be just as God made him, pure and lascivious in equal parts. Hutch could see Starsky bravely allowing himself to be bound to the whipping frame, midnight blue eyes wide with just a hint of fear, but also defiance, and he'd arch back when the leather creased his back, only crying out when he was marked by multiple slashes. Starsky would never resort to begging for an end of the pain. Even with his body hanging limply he'd rebelliously refuse to be conquered. It was what spurred Hutch on, that Starsky both accepted and challenged his slavery.

Caress wordlessly took over the session, finishing Lisa off with a leather flogger that wrung screams of passion from the little slave. Hutch slipped out when Caress bent her head down over Lisa's, her long wings of black hair hiding the kiss she bestowed on the bound woman. Just the sight of their intimacy made him long for Starsky in his arms.

"You're home sooner than I expected," Starsky greeted Hutch when he came through the front door.

"Finished up quickly." Hutch shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on a hook. He'd had a long day and the strenuous exercise only served to remind him that he'd been marked by the best of them the day before. His butt hurt. What must Lisa's feel like by now? What would Starsky's feel like after this weekend? That thought brought him up cold, suddenly leery of going through with the planned punishment.

"She hit you again?" Starsky asked flipping off the TV.

"No, just some demonstrations," Hutch hedged, not ready to admit he'd smacked Lisa.

"That's better then."

"Starsk." Hutch held out a hand, smiling when Starsky grabbed hold and let himself be towed off the couch into the bedroom. "This morning when you saw the results of Caress' handiwork you said you were the one who was supposed to get hurt." Hutch pulled Starsky up close so he couldn't wiggle out of the question, and slipped his arms around him, unbuckling the belt holding the plug in place. "What did you mean by that?"

Starsky grunted with the pressure when Hutch popped the plug free, not responding until he'd taken a deep breath. "Did you ever have a moment when you kind of knew what your place was in life?"

"I'm not sure I follow you," Hutch said, which happened more often than not with Starsky's circuitous logic.

"When I got shot...you're gonna say this is stupid..."

"I won't."

Taking another breath as if he needed to gird himself for what he was going to say, Starsky continued, glancing down, maybe looking at the place where their bellies met, his naked one against Hutch's belt buckle. "One night after I got shot I realized that because I was the one who got hit, you didn't."

"Starsky!"

"That I got shot to save you, and I think I probably was s'pposed t'die, but something happened so I didn't. But you're not s'pposed to get hurt, Hutch. Not now, not ever."

Starsky's self-imposed martyrdom took Hutch's breath away. He tightened his grip on Starsky, not even sure he knew how to refute such bizarre reasoning, but it wasn't true by any stretch of the imagination. "You've been holding this inside you all this time? Is that why you agreed to--all this? To slavery?"

"No!" Starsky started in surprise. "You know how that happened, with Carlysle and all that. When you swatted me on the ass that first night outside the precinct, I knew you were the master. That has nothing to do with--well, I guess, it sort of does, but not really."

"You are not making any sense whatsoever," Hutch groaned. He leaned into a kiss, which got an immediate response from his partner. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time--so was I, for that matter. If I'd been able to get off a better shot, stop them somehow..."

"You'd've been shot, too, and what good would that have done?" Starsky countered. "It's not like I have a death wish or anything, Hutch, or even like pain all that much--just so you know. But I think I saved you for a reason, and I don't like people messin' that up, hurtin' you. Not Caress, not anyone."

"Kind of possessive?" Hutch chuckled.

"I got a right to be, I paid for you in blood. You're mine."

"The price you set was too high," Hutch said more soberly.

"No, it was bargain for what I got." Starsky straddled Hutch's left thigh and ground his still imprisoned cock against the brushed denim covering. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"I didn't forget, I just like seeing you wear that thing."

"So if I ask to get it off you'll leave it on longer just to annoy the heck outta me?" Starsky guessed.

"You can teach an old dog new tricks," Hutch proclaimed in mock surprise. He backed up just enough to sit on the bed, leaving Starsky still standing in front of him with one leg on each side of his thigh. Reaching in through the 'V' of Starsky's legs Hutch seductively ran his thumb over the taut perineum and back to the split between the butt cheeks. Starsky moaned, a goofy smile on his face.

Hutch really liked that smile and continued his gentle massage of the sensitive area. With his other hand he released the lock on the chastity cage then very slowly drew off the barrier, laughing when Starsky's very red cock popped free like a toy snake from a joke can of peanuts.

"Since I won't ever thank you for putting that maniacal contraption on, I'll thank you doubly for taking it off," Starsky sighed, yelping in surprise when Hutch knelt in front of him to take Starsky's cock in his mouth in one swift movement. Starsky's smile increased tenfold as heat sizzled up from his groin warming his whole body like he'd taken a plunge into a Jacuzzi. He gasped as Hutch sucked hard as if he could swallow the long sausage whole. The mild ache caused by the restricting chastity cage disappeared with Hutch's loving technique and Starsky sighed with happiness. But just as he sensed the pressure building before climax Starsky pulled out of the perfect round hole for his round peg with an audible pop. Although he loved the erotic feel of Hutch's mouth on him, he suddenly couldn't stand the idea of his lover inundated with cum clogging his throat. He just managed to direct the spurting stream onto the already stained velvet bedspread instead of baptizing Hutch.

"I wasn't finished with that!" Hutch protested.

"The bedspread needs to go to the cleaner anyway," Starsky shrugged, fondling the back of his best friend's head. It was decidedly weird to have Hutch kneeling at his feet and he unexpectedly understood why he'd pulled out so abruptly. He was too disconcerted having his top sucking him off and it felt inappropriate to make Hutch swallow that rush of semen--like a slave forced to service his master. No matter how much he'd enjoyed it, Starsky's mindset these days was so directed towards the BDSM lifestyle that he considered himself a slave when he was with Hutch whenever they were doing anything sexual. That frightened him a little. How far could that go? Would he someday acquiesce to Hutch without even realizing it? In front of people or in their work as detectives? That was what he'd been so concerned about all along.

"Starsk?" Hutch asked tentatively. "Something wrong?"

"No, that was fantastic, I just wasn't expecting it to turn out that way." Starsky yawned until his eyes watered. "You ready to hit the hay?"

"Sure, six am never comes any later," Hutch sighed, but Starsky could tell from his expression that he was perplexed by Starsky's brusque end to their lovemaking. As a consolation Starsky kissed him gently, pouring all his love and adoration into one simple meeting of lips.

~~~

Rain fell steadily all of Thursday, with the TV weather reporters giving dire news for the weekend. This was the rainiest February in nearly a decade with heavy snowfall in the Sierras. Good news for skiers, but for the citizens of Bay City, floodwaters were threatening. Some shops boarded up due to water damage had already experienced some looting so Starsky and Hutch spent a goodly portion of their day taking accounts from frazzled shop owners and witnesses of the vandalism. They joined in on a police raid of an apartment filled with stolen electronic equipment before logging out for the day.

After picking up homemade soup from a local kosher deli, along with some bagels and lox, they slogged home. The warm, rich soup helped immensely, filling both their bellies with good food and warming their spirits.

"My Aunt Chava used to make soup like this," Starsky sighed with contentment, scraping the last of the creamy mixture from the bottom of the takeout container.

"I hope she had better luck than some of your unfortunate uncles," Hutch teased, finishing his bowl with a satisfied smile. "Seems like they all died in really unusual ways."

"Hey, I got a lotta uncles, they didn't all die."

"All the ones you've ever mentioned to me have."

"Well, you wouldn't be so interested in Uncle Mordecai who keeled over from a heart attack mowin' the lawn."

"Maybe not, but at least he died of natural causes--not in the Battle of the Bulge."

"Battle of the Bulge was nothing," Starsky bragged. "Uncle Reuben went..."

"If this is going to be another long improbable tale about one of your father's dead relatives I'd rather stick with Aunt Chava." Hutch reached under the table, sliding his hand up Starsky's bare thigh. He had changed out of his wet clothes the minute they got into the house and was now simply dressed in a ratty bathrobe with nothing underneath. "Or a recreation of the Battle of the Bulge." Hutch captured Starsky's limp cock in one hand and tugged gently. "Maybe a little hand-to-hand combat?"

"Bring it on, big boy," Starsky purred.

"I'd love to, but I do still have an appointment," Hutch sighed in regret, still running his thumb along the circumcision scar.

"I'm beginning to wonder just exactly what she's teachin' you, if it takes this long?"

"Tonight's the upper division class, for extra credit," Hutch grinned. "Can't let my grade point average fall on the last day, can I?"

"Just as long as this is the last day," Starsky pouted. "Cause it's gettin' real lonely around here, especially with nothing to play with." He looked down at his very erect penis in Hutch's grasp.

"Exactly why I like to wrap it up every night, so you don't play with it when I'm not around." Hutch gave his plaything a last squeeze, then went in search of the gym bag.

"I feel like Rapunzal locked up in a tower," Starsky said sourly. "This week is never going to end."

"Rapunzal was locked up in a tower for most of her life; you've had four days. Deal with it." Hutch held out the anal plug and accoutrements. "Besides, her hair was a lot longer than yours."

After preparing himself appropriately Starsky did the honors swiftly, only complaining because he knew Hutch expected it. He was so used to being plugged by now it felt a bit strange when it came out in the late evening. Even the slightly larger one Hutch had given him to use yesterday and today didn't give him a second thought. That weirded him out a little. Would all this stretching deform his anus somehow or did the muscles bounce back when the ordeal was over? Hutch was long gone to his lesson by the time Starsky thought to ask. He was just considering who might know the answer when the phone rang.

"H'llo?" Starsky asked lazily.

"S-Starsky?" Lisa's voice trembled. "Could you come over to my office?"

"Lisa? What'er you doing there at this time of night?" Starsky countered. He didn't like the scared tone in her voice, but on the other hand, he was practically leashed and collared. Hutch had told him not to see Lisa on his own, and Starsky hadn't yet had the nerve to go outside with the chastity cage in place even hidden under his sweat pants.

"I was working..." Lisa swallowed a tiny sob, then took a deep breath. "We're still working on the Waters' prosecution. And he's here..."

"Lisa? Waters is there?" Starsky demanded, her palpable fear almost contagious. "Where?"

"In my cubicle. I'm in Mr. Carver's office. The lobby guard should have called to announce Waters...it was only b'cause I was already walking down the corridor to drop off the paperwork and I saw him before he saw me..." she whispered frantically. "Oh--I gotta go. Come!"

"LISA!" Starsky shouted into the dead phone. He dropped the handset without checking to see that it landed correctly in the cradle, grabbing his gun and leather jacket in one motion. It took a moment longer to cram his feet into still soggy sneakers and bolt out the front door into the rain. Any edicts Hutch had ever given about Lisa were null and void if she was in danger; that was an unspoken agreement.

His heart hammering louder than the rain splattering on the roof of the Torino, Starsky briefly wondered how effective he might be since it would take him nearly 20 minutes to get to the Federal building. Anything could happen by then, rape, even... Starsky refused to think about the worst possibilities. Without Hutch at his side he felt naked and unbalanced, and acknowledged the necessity of backup. Driving at top speed down the city streets he swerved around a clump of slow moving cars, tooting the siren briefly. Finally on a long stretch of relatively uncrowded road he spared half a moment to call for backup shortly before pulling up in front of the undistinguished Federal building.

The lobby guard lay slumped over his desk, a blankness in his dark eyes. Starsky skirted the puddle of blood pooling at the man's feet, taking only seconds to ascertain that the man was still alive. "Help is on the way," he whispered with forced cheerfulness.

Since Lisa's office was on the third floor Starsky bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs. No need to telegraph his arrival to Waters. Bounding up two flights of stairs Starsky paused behind the door to the third floor, listening hard, but the heavy fire door was a poor sound conductor so he finally eased it open just a smidgen.

There was dead silence until a feminine shriek rent the air followed by angry grunting in a much lower register. "You little whore! What the hell...?"

Starsky didn't wait any longer. He barreled down the corridor, pistol held at the ready, listening to the voices coming from the cluster of offices on the far side of the building from Lisa's little workstation.

"Don't...don't..." Lisa chanted.

"Get this fucking thing off!" Waters insisted.

"It's locked!" Lisa wailed, then screamed in pain.

"Police, back away from the woman!" Starsky bellowed, panting raggedly. He leveled his weapon on Waters who still straddled Lisa's body. A knife stuck straight out of her left shoulder, a bit higher than Starsky's own souvenir of Waters but oddly similar. She was bleeding from several other minor defensive wounds on her arms, but it was her undergarments that had apparently completely flummoxed her rapist. He'd ripped the white silk blouse off and mangled her gray worsted pleated skirt but the white silk brocade corset and unusual underwear she wore had prevented any sort of penile penetration.

"Get off her, Waters!" Starsky barked again. "On the floor, hands on your head."

"Fuck off!" Waters shouted, reaching for his shiv still imbedded in Lisa's flesh but she countered his move, bucking her lower body and toppling her rider.

Moving in quickly, Starsky shoved the gun behind Charley Waters' right ear. "I said on the floor before I blow your brains out." Yanking Waters away from Lisa he quickly Mirandized the man while snapping handcuffs on his thick wrists. There was a certain irony in the fact that he and Lisa were just as apt to be wearing restraints as the prisoner was.

"Lisa? How bad...?" Starsky knelt beside her, concerned by her trembling. He bunched her torn blouse around the knife to staunch the flow of blood.

"I'm not crying and I'm not laughing, but it's somewhere in the middle there." Lisa tried to sit up unaided but the blade in her shoulder prevented much movement.

"Stay still, I know from personal experience that thing hurts like a son-of-a-bitch," Starsky soothed, stroking her disheveled brown hair.

"I demand my rights!" Waters yelled from his ignominious position on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back. "I got shot a coupla weeks ago, this is po-lice brutality. My arm hurts."

"Then you shoulda kept up the exercises your physical therapist gave you insteada engagin' in extra curricular activities," Starsky sneered without turning away from the wounded lawyer. "Cops are on the way, Sweetheart."

"You are a cop," she teased weakly.

"The rest of 'em, hopefully with sirens and stuff," he glanced towards the stairwell, anticipating more officers who could take Waters off his hands. Truth be told he was somewhat nervous that one of his brothers in arms might notice his unorthodox sports cup, as Hutch had once termed it. "What the heck have you got on, anyway?" He asked Lisa to get his mind off his own mild discomfort, fore and aft.

"I told Caress that Waters had been calling me, making threats..." she whispered, her lips nearly white from the pain.

"You didn't tell us!" Starsky retorted.

"Because I knew you'd react like this--I've gotten them on lots of cases, nobody ever broke in before," she answered lamely.

"That still doesn't explain what you're wearing." Starsky hitched her skirt back over her body, hiding her lower half and the tops of her thighs. He was concerned about her tremors; shock and blood loss could doubly compound her injuries.

"Caress was worried so she locked me into a chastity belt this morning."

Exploding with laughter, Starsky had half a mind to admit that he was wearing one, too but a phalanx of blue uniforms stormed in just then. "Good thing; stopped Waters in his tracks," was all he said.

"Waters attacked assistant D.A. Hartman," Starsky explained gruffly to the officers who crowded the corridor between the work cubicles. He was glad to note that while he knew a few of their names, none of them were close personal friends.

"You want us t'call an ambulance for the Miss Hartman, Sarge?" John Greenwater asked helpfully while his partner hauled the prisoner up to his feet.

Glancing over at Lisa, who gave a minute shake of her head, Starsky said, "Miss Hartman has a--medical condition. I know her personal physician, if you could stay with her while I give him a call?"

"Sure thing!" Greenwater always seemed a bit too enthusiastic for Starsky's taste. He waited until Greenwater bent down to ask Lisa a few preliminary questions before dialing the number he had fortunately memorized after his own stabbing. While waiting for the line to pick up he grinned; this whole rescue could be inadvertently advantageous. Because he and Hutch had been spending so much time together, sans women, there had been a few rumors in the grapevine that they were gay. The fact that Captain Dobey and Huggy Bear now knew the truth about their relationship didn't mean that he and Hutch wanted everyone on earth in on their little secrets. That he'd rescued Lisa, and known her doctor's number would go a long way towards insinuating that he and assistant D.A. Hartman were keeping company. No doubt the officers who'd responded would be gossiping about it before morning. With his blond haired partner nowhere in sight it was obvious Lisa had contacted him privately. Hutch might not like it but it gave them a cover story for their illicit activities.

~~~

"Starsky?" Hutch strode into the ER, his pale hair wispy and disheveled. Keeping pace with him, Caress wore her usual serenity like an armor, but Starsky could detect a few chinks in the shield. She was very concerned for her lover. That Hutch looked far more upset was almost comical. "What the hell happened?" Hutch demanded.

"Where's Lisa?" Caress asked.

"In the exam room. She's got a couple cuts, but Davies said none of 'em were serious," Starsky explained. He hadn't been able to get a hold of Hutch or Caress until he and Lisa had driven over to the hospital. Lisa told him one of the reasons she often worked late certain nights of the week was because Caress had clients or students such as Hutch and she didn't answer the phone or even pick up messages until after sessions were over. That was one of the reasons Lisa had phoned Starsky first. Luckily Starsky had gotten through to Lisa's Mistress while Hutch was still there.

"Waters attacked her in her office?" Hutch asked shoving his hands into his pockets.

"She called me when she saw him walking through that maze of cubicles. Anyone could get lost in there--you and I did." Starsky shifted his weight on the poorly padded waiting room seat. He'd been wearing the plug under much more adverse conditions than usual and wanted it off an hour ago, but knew that wasn't likely to happen any time soon. "He'd already knifed the lobby guard. She was able to hide from him for a while, but he finally cornered her and tried to rape her, but Lady Caress had applied some precautionary--uh--measures that thwarted his unnatural desires." Starsky blushed when those dark almond shaped eyes centered on him.

"Oh!" Caress cried out softly, then smiled with supreme joy when she understood what he'd inferred. "I see my mission to keep my slave safe was successful." Hutch stared hard at Starsky as if trying to understand what just went on, but the arrival of a starched nurse stopped any further discussion into bondage wear.

"You're next of kin for Miss Hartman?" she asked.

"Jeanne Tatsumi," Caress gave her seldom-used name in a firm voice. "She has no living family. I'm her housemate."

"That's what she said; will you come with me?"

"Caress, we can wait here for you if you need me to drive you home?" Hutch offered.

"No, thank you, Ken. I'll give you a call when I know more, but thank you so much, David." Caress put a hand up to Starsky's cheek, her emotional, vulnerable self showing briefly. "I owe you a debt of gratitude for this one."

"Hey, I just showed up," Starsky shrugged. "You'd already done most of the work." He winked with cheeky bravado, "And if it makes her feel better, when you get the chance, tell her I was wearin' one, too."

"Very good, I'm glad your master was paying attention to my tutelage," Caress nodded, her mistress persona very evident once again. "I believe you will have a wonderful, difficult, and very enlightening weekend with Ken as your Dom. He has learned much, and will prove himself as an excellent master for a slave such as you." Although the nurse was standing a few feet away Caress' voice was pitched low and intimate, for Starsky's ears only.

"Thank you, ma'am. Is it okay to send Lisa a big buncha flowers tomorrow?"

"I think she will welcome being pampered and fussed over for a few days," Caress smiled. "I think I'll enjoy it, too." With that she turned and followed the waiting nurse beyond the ER doors.

Turning to Hutch Starsky wanted nothing more than to be swept up in those strong arms and hugged until he couldn't breathe, but even in this particular hospital where Simon Davies welcomed patients with society's more unacceptable kinks, he didn't think it was wise to flaunt his affair with his male detective partner.

"You ready to go?" Hutch asked quietly. "Caress said she'd call with news."

"Yeah, I know..." Starsky slipped under the arm Hutch slung across his shoulders in comradely fashion. He liked having that weight there, a solid reminder of Hutch's friendship and love. It was a close as he was going to get to a hug for the moment.

The rain had finally let up but the parking lot was booby trapped with puddles invisible in the dark. The sky was inky without visible stars and the sickly moon seemed to be hiding nervously behind ominous clouds.

When they got to the Torino, Starsky turned to face his lover, trying to gauge Hutch's reactions to the whole situation. Hutch didn't look like he was fuming so Starsky turned on the charm, extending his wrists like a felon waiting to be arrested. "Detective, give it to me straight, if I'm in trouble, cuff me now and get the sentencing over with quick so my tush can get used to the added demerit count. What's it gonna be now? Twenty-five, 26?"

"Starsky," Hutch laughed, just what Starsky had hoped he'd do. "If you're referring to going to see Lisa behind my back, there were definitely extenuating circumstances here. You saved her life, I think that cancels out demerits in my book."

"Yeah? That's terrific." Starsky jangled his keys happily. "Where's your car?"

"Back at Caress'. You don't argue with a Mistress in full dominance mode about who's going to drive when she's just learned her lover has been stabbed," Hutch shuddered slightly. "It was a sight to see."

"Man, I had enough to see on my end." Starsky got into the car, waiting until Hutch was buckled up before starting the ignition.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Hutch, that bastard was loomin' over her, ripping her clothes and stabbing her! I mean--stabbing me is one thing, but tryin' to rape a woman..." Starsky trailed off, his fists clenched around the steering wheel, unable to put his anger into words. "Where does this guy get off? What makes him want to pummel a woman into submission, force her t'have sex?"

"It's not sex, it's power," Hutch answered so softly Starsky could hardly hear his voice over the roar of the engine. "It's domination, but of a totally different stripe than what you and I do. It's violent, unadulterated control without any regard for the feelings of the other person. And, so help me, Starsky, if I ever..."

"Never!" Starsky interjected. "Hutch, it ain't the same thing. What's between us is always consensual, even if you're the one in control, I agreed to put you there."

"I get scared, Starsk, that I could turn into some person I don't even know intent on dominating your every move."

"I'd never let you, you know that, don't you?" Starsky reached out to find Hutch's hand in the dark. He drove one handed for several blocks, his palm resting on his best friend's. "You worry too much."

"You give me so much to work with." Hutch raised their hands up to his lips, bestowing a kiss so solemn and sweet that Starsky was glad it was too dark for Hutch to see the well of tears in his eyes. "Glad you brought that bastard down, Starsk."

~~~

"Hutchinson! Starsky! In my office! NOW!" Dobey's bellow was even more blustery than usual. Hutch made eyes at Starsky over the rim of his coffee cup, drowning a smirk with a long swallow of hot brew. They had been in the squadroom less than five minutes and were apparently already in hot water.

Starsky waggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, using a maple log as a cigar. "And the magic word is...?"

"Prevaricate?" Hutch guessed.

"Huh?"

"Obfuscate?"

"Now you're scarin' me."

"Put on your song and dance, Starsk." Hutch led the way to their superior's office. "Fifty says he wants to know why you went to Lisa's rescue without backup..." He held open the door with a sly grin.

"I HAD backup," Starsky insisted for the second time to Captain Dobey's face shortly thereafter. "I called before I even went inside the building."

"You should have waited for them," Dobey said with a glower. "You were off duty, without your partner. Why did she call you in the first place? She should have called the cops."

"She did--she called Starsky," Hutch put in helpfully. He hadn't quite finished thinking up an adequate distortion of the truth to put forth as to where he was at nine-thirty on a Thursday night, but he was certain it would come to him in the nick of time.

"Hutchinson, I meant an emergency operator who could send over a patrol car..." The captain harrumphed several times, tapping a sheath of papers together against his desk, obviously aware that he wasn't getting anywhere with the united front of Starsky and Hutch. "You were able to save assistant D.A Hartman's life, and apprehend a known rapist..." he began after clearing his throat.

"Again," Starsky added taking a bite of the maple log he'd managed to hang on to.

"Fine work, son, but don't let it go to your head. Use your brain and wait for backup!" Dobey nearly roared. "Waters is behind bars for a while now, no bail, no get out of jail free card. With that in mind, give your statements to IA..."

"Aw, Cap!" Starsky protested, the bite he'd just taken from the pastry still unchewed and on display.

"Close your mouth and don't talk with your mouth full," Hutch reminded with a saintly smile. "Chew your food 30 times."

Snapping his jaw down on the food, Starsky chewed furiously with a glower.

"So saying, when you get that done and the paperwork on your desk cleaned off, I don't want to see you again until Tuesday."

"Tuesday?" Starsky repeated.

"Monday is President's day," Hutch said with something akin to awe. They'd been going full tilt to get ready for the fisting, he hadn't really been paying much attention to the calendar. That gave them a day longer than he'd originally anticipated, which was all for the good. When they'd sat down and discussed a few ground rules for their sessions Starsky had mandated two days off after a major pain or punishment session. Hutch had basically expected that Starsky to call in sick on Monday if he was still hurting enough, but now that wasn't an issue anymore.

"Washington or Lincoln's birthday?" Starsky asked but the glint in his eyes said he was thinking exactly the same thing as Hutch. One more day to play in their personal playground.

"Both of 'em together." Hutch answered. "If you go over the partially finished reports, I'll start typing up the interrogations and witness interviews and we can be out of here early."

"Starsky," Dobey leveled his dark glare at him. "I went down to the cafeteria when I arrived this morning. Edith wants me to eat more fruit, but I just can't take bananas without some cream..."

"I like 'em with chocolate myself," Starsky said, glancing at his breakfast as if he suddenly wished for a different flavor. Hutch choked on the raunchy image filling his head and covered it with a cough into his fist.

"Low fat cream," Dobey continued. "And I overhead some conversation. I only listened because I heard Starsky's name."

"Of course, Captain," Hutch agreed earnestly. He glanced over at Starsky's wantonly slack-legged slouch in the adjacent chair. Starsky nearly always occupied a chair like it was a malleable object he could twist and shape into anything he wanted. He rarely sat up primly as Hutch had been taught as a child; back straight, eyes forward, knees upright. He lounged; one leg swung over the armrest so his other leg partially hid his erection from Dobey's view. But Hutch could see it very clearly. When a phone call distracted Dobey's attention Starsky winked lecherously at Hutch, stickling out his tongue to lick the icing off his maple log. Hutch was instantly hard. He coughed, crossing his legs, all the while scowling at his partner.

"Now, where was I?" Dobey replaced the phone.

"People are talkin' about me?" Starsky swung his sneakered foot, looking completely unrepentant for his behavior. "In the cafeteria."

"That you and the attorney were an..." Dobey searched for the correct term. "Item."

"They think we're dating?" Starsky giggled.

"Looks that way," Hutch agreed, very glad that the ridiculous idea had reduced his boner.

"And does this have any bearing on the news you gave me a few weeks ago during the Carlysle murder investigation?" Dobey questioned.

"Cap'n, nothin's changed on that front, relationship wise," Starsky said obliquely. "Lisa called me 'cause she was scared and she knows I wear a gun. She wasn't thinkin' straight with a rapist breathing down her neck. The guy nearly killed the lobby guard and he woulda killed her, but I got there before it happened. End of story."

"And where were you during all this activity, Hutchinson?" Dobey asked formally.

"I was off duty, Captain..." Hutch sat up straighter, wondering why he always felt like he was in the principal's office when Dobey got like this while Starsky rarely let these things get under his skin.

"Hutch is takin' a class, Cap," Starsky finished his breakfast with a smack of his lips. He reached over to snatch the handkerchief from Dobey's chest pocket to wipe his fingers and leaned forward as if imparting a secret. "He's learning some discipline."

"Well, then, that sounds uplifting." Dobey grabbed the now sticky hanky back with a growl.

"It is for me," Starsky agreed solemnly, ignoring the strangled sounds coming from Hutch. "Every time I think of him in that class, hitting the books..." Any further comment was squashed when Hutch hauled Starsky out of the small office by the collar of his jacket.

"What the hell was that all about?" Hutch hissed.

"The whole song and dance," Starsky grinned at him. "You owe me 50 bucks by the way."

"Didn't I win that bet?"

"You were right, which is not exactly the same thing, but I saved your pretty ass with my prevarication there. You never could lie to Dobey."

"Swindler," Hutch muttered digging two twenties and a ten out of his jeans and handing them over.

"I could buy you a drink..." Starsky offered, waving the money in his face. "Maybe an appetizer."

"I don't need an appetizer when I've got you," Hutch made a sound low in his throat. They were virtually alone in the squadroom, with only a lone detective hunched over the phone at the corner desk nearest to the door. Even so, Hutch didn't want the foreplay to get anymore out of hand than it already had. He pulled out his chair to sit down in front of the mountain of paperwork that seemed to have doubled in size since the day before. "Don't you need to get over to Simonetti's office before he comes in and drags you there?" Hutch inserted a sheet of foolscap into the typewriter carriage.

"Oh, yeah," Starsky sneered. "I'll see you in a few, if I'm not thrown into the brig first."

"Oh, but Starsk, think of all those pirate fantasies you could play out," Hutch teased. "The evil Simmonetti locking you in the damp, dark brig until he pulls out his peg leg..."

"Don't even go there!" Starsky admonished with a horrified expression. "You'd better be the rival pirate king who comes to my rescue."

"It is, it is a glorious thing to be a pirate king," Hutch hummed a snatch of song from "Pirates of Penzance" as Starsky stalked out.

~~~

Despite Dobey's hopeful words that they could leave early, Starsky and Hutch ended up spending most of the day in the squadroom, but they did manage to get out on time, which was a rarity in itself. The rain was falling only fitfully when they splashed their way to the car and headed home to grab a light meal. The weekend was upon them and they didn't want to waste any time getting into their 'other life'. It not might be a piratical one but the fantasy of BDSM still held them in thrall and they both had eager anticipation for the weekend, even if Starsky knew he'd be in pain a great deal of the time. The reality of that had been on his mind most of the week. Each time Hutch handed over the increasingly larger butt plugs Starsky was reminded of his position in their hierarchy. He'd come all over scared, excited, and every emotion in between in a matter of seconds, sweat tickling his underarms at the sight of those toys. He was willingly going to subject himself to situations that would hurt like hell, without morphine or any of the painkillers he'd used after he was shot. Was that insane? It was weirdly thrilling in a way he couldn't even begin to explain.

There had been a time, especially while he was in the hospital just after Gunther's goons nailed him, that the idea of enduring any more pain was so terrifying Starsky had nearly lost his resolve to reclaim his place on the police force. He'd never admitted that to Hutch, but the wound pain had almost been his downfall. Even now his chest hurt more often and worse than he ever let on. Luckily, most of the time a single aspirin or just a longer than pre-shooting rest restored him. But that he now was willingly walking into the tiger's den was oddly revitalizing. Pain was no longer his enemy. In fact, he knew from other sessions with Hutch that it could be so easily coaxed into pleasure. The pain/pleasure concept was one that had never entered his mind a few years ago. Gunshot wounds just hurt like hell, but for whatever reason, a leather strap on the back was a different animal entirely. It hurt, but also brought along a myriad of other sensations riding on its coattails. Pleasure was only one of them. And just thinking about it made him horny. Wonder what Pavlov and his dogs would have thought of that?

"You ready for this?" Hutch held out the gym bag after they'd cleared away the dinner dishes and all his plants had been watered. Starsky also insisted on checking up on the wounded lobby guard, who was resting well after surgery to reinflate his punctured lung. Caress called to report that Lisa had come home from her overnight stay at the hospital and loved the flowers, but she would be incommunicado for the rest of the weekend. There was nothing else to delay them from their own plans, now.

"I guess so." Starsky had just finished his nightly enema, which was another thing that no longer held the connotation it had in the hospital. While he'd never view the tangle of plastic tubing with anything but distaste, it did help to focus him in on what would happen tomorrow and center his submissive headspace. But other than that it was a messy, distasteful ritual that he'd be glad to abandon.

Hutch seemed already in his dominant role and Starsky had to resist the sudden urge to kneel at his feet. "This evening will be a little bit preparation, and a little bit of fun. After you're all suited up, I'm going back to my place to get ready, too. I'll leave an envelope with specific instructions and an address. From now on, we're on the clock."

"Yes, master." Starsky sank to his knees when his legs wouldn't hold him up any longer. Hutch's words had slammed him into his slavery so fast his head swam. He longed for the touch of those big, broad hands, needed to feel them roaming over his body possessively. His cock bobbed upward, ready to play.

First came the usual ceremony with the leather collar. Starsky listened solemnly to the words he'd come to cherish in his heart. "When you wear this collar, who do you belong to?" Hutch asked.

"You, Hutch, body and soul."

With his hands tangled in Starsky's long hair Hutch pulled him into a loving kiss until Starsky was standing on his feet again.

"This is the largest plug you will wear, and it won't be removed until tomorrow morning." Hutch displayed a thick, black rubber plug the size of a playing card spade on steroids. Starsky's anus tightened reflexively at the sight, his belly clenching. That monster was too big by half.

"It will be hard to insert, that's certain, but we've stretched your muscles all week, so it won't be the same as putting it in virgin. You can do this, I have total faith in you, little one. Have faith in yourself." Hutch rubbed his knuckles along Starsky's jaw line, then traced the contour of the tight leather cincture around his neck. "I love seeing you like this. Your eyes go dark and needy; I just want to fill you up."

"With that, you will," Starsky quipped, but he didn't have as much faith as Hutch did. The plug was huge, far larger than any they'd used before and the black color gave it an ominous, mysterious air. "Please, go slow?"

"On the bed, on your side," Hutch pointed. "Are you lubed up inside?"

That was another part of the preparation that Starsky had learned was absolutely essential for ease of insertion and comfort, what little there might be. "Yes," he agreed, laying down facing away from Hutch. He'd dumped the velvet bedspread in the dirty hamper to be washed so he was lying naked on the blanket, which was itchier than he'd expected.

"I will take it at your speed, but Starsky, there is no stop here. This is my decree and a necessary precursor to the fisting." With that Hutch widened the tiny anal opening as much as possible with his fingers and began pushing the plug into place.

"Ohdamn," Starsky gulped frantically, his whole body suddenly against the entire idea. Despite the experience of the past week his sphincter clenched up tightly, the muscles fighting the intrusion of the thick black invader. The rectum was a canal built for expelling not for welcoming in large foreign bodies.

"Relax, remember to breathe," Hutch whispered, letting the plug slide out a millimeter or so. The top end was still inside Starsky's body, but that was the narrowest part and least likely to hurt. Hutch spread Starsky's legs farther apart, pushing the right one up until it was bent nearly up under his chin. With soothing strokes he gently slid one hand up and down the tender underside of that leg, not rushing, but waiting until Starsky's fear level reduced.

When his trembling had slowed, Starsky took in a big breath to prepare for the onslaught. This was the big time, no wimps allowed. Hutch had total faith, so why didn't he? Because Hutch didn't have to have that bottle stopper shoved up his ass. "Can I ask a question?"

"Sure." Hutch pushed the plug back in a tiny bit.

"You ever had anything like this in you?" Starsky gasped as the wider portion began to stretch his inner walls.

"Not like this. Vanessa went in for dildos mostly, which are long but not usually so wide." Hutch took the opportunity for advancement until Starsky cried out.

"That hurts, it hurts, Hutch..." Starsky didn't want to beg, he really didn't, but this wasn't going to fit, that much was obvious. Agonizing bolts of pain were shooting down both his legs and up his spine, leaving his whole lower body tingling. Starsky squeezed his eyes shut so Hutch wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. "This hurts too much." He hadn't said the word stop, but it was a close thing.

"No, it doesn't," Hutch soothed, going back to stroking Starsky's leg. The plug was not completely seated, but it was nearly all the way inside. "It hurts just enough and that'll fade soon. Accept it, Starsk, pull it inside you and ride it out. This gets so much better." He gave the last push, which left just the flat black base sticking out and fitted it into the leather harness.

"Just give me a few minutes," Starsky pleaded, waiting out the hurt. As much as it surprised him, Hutch was right. His stretched muscles did loosen up a fraction while still gripping the plug tightly. This one would be murder to walk around with, but after only a few minutes, he'd grown accustomed to the pressure and incredible fullness. "Thanks," he said, thumbing a stray tear out of his eye. "It's all behind me now."

"Always the comedian," Hutch laughed, buckling the belt into place.

"So Vanessa liked dildos, huh?" Starsky gingerly sat up, wincing as the plug shifted inside him. That was the part he hated the most. Even the smaller ones would shift and move creating the strangest sensations. This one felt like he'd stuffed a bowling ball up a drinking straw. He was sure his balance was going to be affected. "She have one of those belts to wear it in the front like a guy?"

"That's the idea." Hutch nodded, his cheeks a cherry red.

"I made you blush?" Starsky grinned, managing to ignore his present predicament.

"It's just hot in here, and I had to work hard to get that thing in."

Starsky placed a cool hand on Hutch's blazing cheeks, sensing the tension in Hutch's body. "You didn't like her being the aggressor," he said astutely.

"Starsky, this isn't the time."

"If it gets in the way of us, it is."

"How is it getting in between us?"

"Because a lot of your need to dominate comes from her." Starsky kissed the worry lines between his lover's eyebrows. "You couldn't control Vanessa and I won't let you completely control me. But Hutch, we're not the same. I would never play you for a fool. I love you."

"Anybody ever tell you you're a lot smarter than you look?" Hutch teased, but his voice was unaccountably tired. "At first I liked that independent streak of hers. Van knew what she wanted and went after it. I didn't realize for a long time that I was one of the things she wanted. I went with the package--A big house, a good-looking husband and a high paying job. So what did I do? Became a cop and she got no money, no prestige, and a lousy little rented cottage. She was angry and I didn't even see it coming."

"And she hurt you bad." Starsky rose up on his knees, which had the combined benefit of taking some of the strain off his backside and making him taller than the seated Hutch. "After all this time it still rips you up inside." With his cheek on the top of Hutch's bent head, Starsky could feel the rasp of Hutch's stubbly beard on his chest especially across his nipples. He'd meant to comfort, but the constant irritation was surprisingly arousing. "Would it help to imagine smackin' her with a long tailed whip?"

Hutch chuckled without moving from his comfortable position. "I love you, too, you mushpot."

"Listen, either we start something right here or I'm gonna have to take a cold shower..." Starsky joked pulling away just enough to look Hutch in the eye. "You okay?"

"Nothing starting something wouldn't cure," Hutch replied with a twinkle in his sky blue eyes. The melancholia was gone, but he still looked haunted by the memories. "What time is it?"

"After nine."

"Then you take that shower. I've got a few errands before we start the evening out right. I'll meet you at ten thirty at the address I left on the table." Hutch scrambled off the bed with purpose, patting his pockets for his car keys.

"We going to the Estate?" Starsky asked hopefully. Maybe he'd earned the honor of knowing the address.

"Nope. No more questions, just follow those instructions exactly and don't be late. There could be consequences."

"I'll bet," Starsky muttered. "Don't I even get a good-by kiss?"

Hutch reversed his course and planted a distracted one on Starsky's ready lips before running out the door.

Wondering if the shower was part of the instructions or just a teasing response to his own suggestion, Starsky got off the bed to retrieve the envelope in question. Walking did take far more effort than usual and it took him several attempts before he could move without shuffling like an old man with hemorrhoids. Damn, this was going to be harder than he thought. Hopefully the end results would make up for all the prep work.

Slitting open the innocuous white envelope with a letter opener Starsky removed the missive and silently read his master's orders. This always gave him a kind of Mission: Impossible thrill, like he was embarking on a dangerous assignment. He almost expected the paper to burst into flames after he read it.

Starsky was directed to dress similarly to what he'd worn the week before to Leather Jungle and the café for lunch, but with a slight change. Included in the envelope was a fine linked gold chain with two tiny black loops at each end. After experimenting with the elasticized loops for a moment, Starsky understood their use. Each one slipped over his nipples like a miniature lasso leaving the gold chain suspended in between. Hutch wanted him to go out in public like this? Because the address on the paper was not of a private meeting place, as he'd expected, but a fairly well known leather bar just outside of Bay City. Starsky swallowed hard, staring at the delicate jewelry in his hand. His master had decreed this and if he refused now, things would never be the same between them. He closed his fist around the cold metal, walking resolutely into the bathroom.

~~~

Scanning the all male crowd with a cop's eye, Hutch found himself checking the occupants of the room for illegal substances. That was not such a good idea when he should be gearing up for meeting his lover. He'd arrived a mite early and was starting to feel nervous and uncertain. What if Starsky didn't come? Had the nipple chain been too much? Hutch had tried it on himself; the loops hugged the nipple, but didn't apply pressure or pain like clamps did. But he'd never asked Starsky to so publicly display himself before. Should he have allowed his slave to wear a shirt to cover the jewelry? Taking a sip from his soda water, Hutch looked up in time to see a vision walk through the door of Rawhide and pause just inside. Starsky was a delectable bonbon decked out in black leather, the light from the outside neon sign outlining him in red like Lucifer out for a night on the town. This was not the whimsical Starsky who sometimes teased Hutch out of a crummy mood; this Starsky was hard and fine, an aphrodisiac on two legs

Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Hutch watched his wet dream head over to the bar. The black leather motorcycle jacket was zipped halfway up so the gold chain was only partially visible. It winked and teased from its nest of chest hair as Starsky passed the little cones of light illuminating each patron's table. Nearly every eye in the room was on that tight ass enrobed in smooth black leather. Although Hutch could see that Starsky wasn't walking with quite his normal grace, he still had the sinuous stalk of a panther in the jungle. With his hair once again pulled back into a small knot, the diamond earring and the tight slave's collar were prominently displayed. Those symbols of ownership were visible to everyone in the place and while they would not know who his master was, it was obvious that he had one.

Watching like a predator sizing up his next catch, Hutch sat back to enjoy the spectacle. He was aware that several men at adjoining tables were just as interested in the beautiful creature as he was. Starsky stood at the bar, eschewing the barstools, and spoke to the bartender. Hutch had already given the coffee-skinned man special instructions and slipped him a fifty to do just what he asked. It looked as if it were working perfectly. A tall glass was set in front of Starsky along with a note.

After taking a sip from his soda, Starsky read the note with the air of someone who didn't give a damn what it said because he received anonymous notes everyday. He inclined his head to the bartender once more and Hutch suppressed a grin when the African-American indicated his table with a jut of his chin.

Turning, Starsky gazed at Hutch with hooded eyes, his whole body an advertisement for sex. He reached up with a lazy hand, teasing the zipper of his jacket down to his navel to reveal more of the nipple chain, then dropped his fingers down to glide down the slick smoothness of his leather pants, skimming around the bulging mound at his groin. He never actually touched himself but it was a close thing. Hutch was hard as a rock knowing Starsky was following his orders perfectly. While in his submissive headspace Starsky's cock was for his master alone and he was forbidden to even touch it. Caressing the bulge in his own pants that was threatening to cut off his blood supply Hutch fervently wished he hadn't set up such an elaborate charade. He wanted to throw Starsky down on the floor and ravage him right then and there.

A man wearing an outfit so similar to Starsky's they could have been twins sidled up to the bar. The man was huge, topping Starsky by four or five inches, but far too large bellied to pull off the tight pants and Harley jacket. He leered at Hutch's slave, a bushy mustache hiding his lips, but Hutch didn't have to be a lip reader to know what he was saying to Starsky.

Starsky shook his head, taking another drink from his cola. After he'd drained the glass, he set the glass down on the marble countertop, making a little show of tucking the note into his jacket pocket. Motorcycle Man made another attempt, grabbing Starsky by the arm when he started to leave, but the icy stare Starsky shot at him would have frozen the sun. He was not for sale, bud, stop wasting his time. Hutch savored the knowledge that Starsky was all his. Starsky didn't have to act out this little show to prove anything. He would have come willingly to Hutch, with or without orders. It just gave the whole session more of an edge this way, the adrenaline rush like a snort of cocaine to an addict.

~~~

Starsky drove as fast as he dared on the dark streets. The rain had stopped but nearly invisible puddles left the roadway treacherous this late at night. Luckily, he knew exactly where he was going. The address on the note the bartender had slipped under his cola was for a cottage very dear to Starsky's heart. The location of his first BDSM encounter with Hutch.

69 Robinson Lane.

Both the number and the name amused him all over again, and he hummed the Simon and Garfunckle tune as he turned his car into the driveway. "What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson, heaven holds a place for those who pray..."

Starsky winced getting out of the car, the plug poking uncomfortably inside him. There were moments he could almost ignore it and other times he wanted to rip it out with both hands. Just the thought of Hutch's loving blue eyes stopped him, though, and the phantom feel of those big hands cupping his buttocks. Taking a deep breath, he stood looking up at the front of the house. He always arrived on a rainy day, it seemed, but this time the shy moon peeked out from behind a bank of dark clouds so that he was able to examine the place more closely. It was a lovely little cottage, probably built in the '30's, with those little touches of gingerbread molding and fine craftsmanship that just weren't included on modern houses. The door was still painted a jaunty red that matched the mailbox down by the road. The gravel driveway was just long enough that the house was nearly hidden, a line of evergreens giving the impression of a secluded hideaway. With the closest neighbor a half-mile away, the loudest sound on a summer's day was probably the drone of bees amongst the flowers. City boy Starsky liked the slightly rural feel to the place with the safety of a small town only ten minutes away. He was glad they would have a longer visit this time, so he could get to know the place more intimately. Maybe it would dry up enough on Saturday or Sunday for a walk. Hutch's friend Joel, a flight attendant, must be on one of his long flights to Europe again.

But enough stalling; Hutch might be coming at any moment and Starsky was far from ready. Having memorized the instructions in the note, he reached up above the scarlet door for the key. This hold over of Hutch's Minnesota childhood always made Starsky laugh. In their line of work it was patently dangerous to leave the house key out in plain sight, but it never seemed to worry Hutch any. Sure enough, Starsky closed his fist around the key on the first pass. It was the work of seconds to slide it in the lock and step inside. The interior looked less magical than his first impression. There were no flickering candles, and Hutch was not waiting, wearing a luminous pale blue silk shirt looking both sexy and powerful. The house seemed expectant, patiently waiting for what would happen on the morrow and Starsky again took a deep breath of the calm, quiet air. Then he stripped off his leathers. The pants had been difficult to get on--he'd had to use talcum powder to slide the second skin up his legs, and they were equally trying to remove, but finally he stood in nothing but his collar, the belt holding the plug in place and the gold chain slung across his chest. The tiny loops fit snuggly around his nipples just tightly enough to be very noticeable. He found the movement of the links tugging on his flesh disconcerting, however.

After stowing his clothes in the front closet Starsky knelt down, assuming presentation position just as Hutch had taught him the week before. The training served him well, pulling him down into that wonderful tranquility he'd begun to savor. This was so far from the dirty streets where teenaged prostitutes shot up and little old men were beaten for a few bucks. Being in this house, outside the Norman Rockwellian hamlet of a town, was like taking a vacation in an old fashioned movie; albeit one with a very kinky plot. He grinned, his whole body flushing at the memory of Hutch watching him from across the room at Rawhide. Knowing he was the object of such intense scrutiny and that he was turning his lover on from afar was completely arousing and he'd barely been able to breath with a hard on taking up all available space in his painted-on leathers. Starsky stared at his stiff penis, imagining Hutch standing in front of him, so close, but not touching the throbbing organ. If it were possible, his erection blossomed even wider and he longed to relieve the ache centered in his groin. It wouldn't take that long and it would make it so much easier to wait if he just took the edge off. Raising up one hand to grasp his cock, Starsky's heart slammed into overdrive when he heard the whine of Hutch's engine grind to a halt. No mistaking the sound of that car.

Placing his palms flat on his spread thighs Starsky willed himself to remain frozen in place even after Hutch came through the door. He was now a slave, with no rights or privileges except those given to him by his master. No speaking out of turn, no looking directly at his master, and he was to be on his knees or back unless told to stand.

The anticipation was driving him crazy as he listened to the sounds of Hutch opening the front door and stepping inside. Was he sitting straight enough? Would he please his master? Had he done anything to deserve another demerit? His throat as dry as the Mojave, Starsky kept his position, barely noticing the tingling in his feet or the cramping in his knees. In a strange way, he loved this. It gave him a crazy mixed up feeling of bad little boy and much adored plaything. Which would it be tonight?

"Very good, Slave," Hutch said softly, touching his hair. Starsky shuddered from the barely-there caress, his entire being physically craving Hutch's nearness. "Don't move, stay just as you are for a little while longer."

Starsky could have wept when Hutch walked away, stowing his belongings as he always did when they first entered the house on a weekend. Hutch always had provisions, toys and props for every occasion. He planned for everything, seeming to leave nothing to chance. For that Starsky was grateful. So much could go wrong, there were so many times when the slightest slip up could cause injury but he trusted Hutch implicitly. Hutch was so prepared that Starsky felt safe enough to venture out each session into the unknown, blindfolded and bound. BDSM was like a treasure trove, an exotic oasis in a far-off land that took some time to get to and could be frightening as hell, but also a magical place that held some of the most passionate moments of his life. To think that he might never have gotten into this enchanted circle was tragic and, now, whenever Starsky folded himself into proper presentation like the perfect slave he wished he could be, he gave thanks to the late but not forgotten dominatrix, Carlysle, who had been his catalyst. Maybe he should make a small shrine for her--the patron saint of dommes.

"What are you thinking about that puts such a sweet smile on your face?" Hutch asked gently.

"Carlysle," Starsky answered shyly. His voice sounded odd in the little house and he realized he'd been there over half an hour and never spoken aloud.

"Yeah, I was, too." Hutch buckled a leather cuff around each of Starsky's wrists. "Stand up, I want to take a look at you."

Getting to his feet, Starsky glanced over at Hutch from under his eyelashes, wanting to get a look at him as well. Hutch filled the snug jeans he wore like a runway model, the fabric hugging those long thighs like it had melded to his body.

"Eyes down," Hutch commanded with amusement in his voice. "You can look later." He toyed with the nipple chain, tugging experimentally on it until Starsky stiffened. Like any slipknot, when pulled on, it tightened. Now the pinch on his nipples was considerable, but he didn't move as Hutch twisted the chain until the abused nub was fiery red and throbbing in time with his heart. Hutch then slid the loop off and sucked ever so gently on the blushing tip, taking it into his mouth like a breast-feeding baby. Starsky arched forward, giving Hutch as much skin as possible. He was under a spell cast by a blond wizard; there was no other way to account for his complete and utter capitulation. As Hutch suckled, one hand anchoring Starsky around his waist, the other pinched and crimped his other nipple like it was as malleable as a lump of Play-doh. Starsky cried out once but then lips covered his, a succulent invader probing deeply inside, divining his secret desires. His tongue coupled with the newcomer, dancing a mating ritual that was pure instinct. Nothing on earth mattered more than those lips locked together, arms now cradling bodies, cocks held out like dueling swords. But there was no battle to be waged and no conquering army, just two generals engaged in the oldest field engagement there was.

Starsky was never quite sure at what point during their ritualistic dance Hutch had lost his pants. One minute the jeans fabric was rough against his bare skin, the next Hutch's paleness was accented by Starsky's darker coloring.

"Bed," Hutch whispered, but that was enough. Starsky didn't need any more instructions than that to follow. He nuzzled against the nubby softness of the raw silk shirt Hutch was wearing, both of them walking like Siamese Twins joined at the hip back to the bedroom. It was just as Starsky had remembered; a big bed covered with a dark velvet bedspread and a huge, ornate metal frame. He'd had some good times in that bed.

Kissing, cuddling, and good old fashioned necking continued for some time after the partners made it to the bed, but nothing more than what any red blooded teenaged boy might do after Homecoming dance. Starsky didn't care, it was wonderful. He lived to follow his master's orders and he had no problem complying, even under these extreme circumstances.

"I wanted to take you right there on the floor at Rawhide," Hutch chuckled, still burrowing his fingers in Starsky's chest hair.

"I'd have done it in a heartbeat if you'da pulled out this telephone pole."

"Not going to happen, studpuppy," Hutch laughed again, his cock vibrating against Starsky's in a most delicious way. "But how are you doing down there?"

"S'okay," Starsky shrugged, cuddled against Hutch, unwilling to move.

"No, Starsky, this is no time to be evasive. I need the truth."

"It's all mixed up, Hutch." Starsky rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. Less distractions. "Part of me hates this ramrod. It hurts, and I want it out so bad it's all I can think about and the other half knows it's just a hunka rubber but tomorrow real flesh, your real flesh will be up there and I can hardly wait." Starsky smiled to himself when Hutch's hand crept back into the tangle of chest hair across his torso. He liked that big palm covering his torso, all five fingers spread from nipple to nipple, taking possession of his body. It made him feel very wanted and very loved. "It's an extension of you--so I think about you all the time, and that makes me happy."

"Any regrets right now?"

"Not a one," Starsky sighed happily. "You?"

"Can't get any better than this right now."

"Now, tomorrow, I know I'm gonna regret every single thing I did to earn a demerit--any chance I'll get a reprieve?"

"None whatsoever." Hutch propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing a hank of wiry chest hair between his thumb and forefinger. It made a crunchy, crackly sound. Starsky watched lazily, surprised to see that one end of the nipple chain was still attached on the left. He'd never noticed once the pressure was released.

"Are you going to mark me?" Starsky asked somberly. "Like Caress did to you?"

"Yes."

"How long do they last? Can I see yours again?"

"Just a couple of days, I hardly feel 'em anymore. Then it's time to get some sleep, 'cause Saturday will be one for the record books."

"I haven't seen the BDSM version of Guinness book of records," Starsky teased. "But I'd sure like to know who could keep it up the longest."

"Or who was the longest," Hutch added.

"Probably from Africa, those guys are really tall."

"Starsky, everybody knows size doesn't matter." Hutch flopped over on his belly, butt up.

"Tell me that tomorrow when you're squeezing your fist into my tight space," Starsky countered. He examined Hutch's backside with empathy, once again tracing the fading welts Caress had placed on his master. Had these weals been the result of some brawl, he wouldn't have taken a second look at them, but in this context they were rites of passage, brands of a special significance. And it would probably be the one and only time he ever saw stripes crossing Hutch's rounded ass. He was humbled and awed that Hutch had gone to such lengths to prove his worthiness as a Dom and Starsky could do no less than to emulate his master.

Gently tucking the blankets over Hutch's scarred derriere, Starsky curled up beside him, almost instantly asleep.

~~~

He awoke with a howl of pain, the epicenter on his right nipple. "What?" Starsky croaked, reaching up to pluck off the offending object dangling there.

"Hands at your sides," Hutch commanded darkly, already slipping off the chain loop and replacing it with another of the most insidious nipple clamps Starsky had ever encountered. They bit down viciously on his tender flesh like needle sharp talons digging into his chest. "These are on until breakfast."

"They hurt," Starsky hunched his shoulders, trying to lessen the pain but it didn't work. "I can't wear these for that long!"

"You can and you will." Hutch left a loving kiss just above each silver vise, as solicitous as someone who had just soothed a wound, not inflicted one. "The plug comes out and the clamps stay on."

"Why?" Starsky asked plaintively.

"Because I want it that way, my prince." Hutch tenderly caressed his arms, hair and cheeks until Starsky was putty in his hands. Centering on those heavenly blue eyes, Starsky sought solace from the hurt and found it. Just Hutch's gaze and the hands petting Starsky's body helped ease his complaints. "I'm not being mean, Starsk," Hutch whispered.

"I know, but you woke me up. Did I do something wrong...? These hurt, Hutch, a lot!" Starsky protested but made no further attempts to dislodge the shiny metal clasps tightly compressing his nipples.

"These would never be used as a punishment. I like to see them on you, half hidden in all this hair." Hutch lightly circled each breast with his finger, then licked it and repeated the shape leaving a hot, wet mark behind. "Why do you think I do this? Do you think I like to hurt you?"

"No..." Starsky hedged, but he was confused, and still half-sleepy. It was quite a shock to wake up with his master putting him into bondage before he even had his eyes open.

"I do it because you are mine and I want to. I want to adorn you with jewels. To cover you with silver and gold, each clipped to a little fold of bare skin. I dreamed about you last night, all covered in tiny clamps, your body moving under me, so beautiful, Starsk. And every time I removed one of 'em, I kissed the pinch and you laughed." Starsky lost himself in those words, dazed by the seemingly opposing concepts of love and cruelty. His cock responded to the sensual visions with a prominent thrust. Hutch grabbed the straining organ in one hand, chuckling with delight. "Yeah, I'll even put a few here. Because I can--and someday I will. The pain is an unfortunate side effect, but it serves a purpose by focusing you, anchoring you to me. I give it and I can take it away." Hutch drew his fingers down the center of Starsky's chest, equidistant between the twin pinchers. Starsky hitched in a breath, totally bewitched by his Top. "I love you more than I can say. And I love to see you decorated just for me." Hutch pulled his slave to his knees, their bodies so close together the clamps brushed Hutch's chest sending a wave of electricity through Starsky. Fireworks exploded in his brain, working the alchemy that could turn pain into incredible pleasure. Unfortunately, that wonderfulness only lasted a few heartbeats because Hutch moved around behind him.

Starsky sucked on his lower lip as Hutch worked on his backside. How did that happen? Going from bliss to agony in a few seconds. God, the damn clamps hurt, but at least he was trading one colossal pain for another. The anal plug had been in so long his body almost didn't want to release hold. There was a brief struggle before a rush of amazing relief left him shivering and sweaty as if he had to use the restroom but couldn't find an open stall. His anus felt as gaping as the giant maw of the space worm in "Empire Strikes Back" and as usual, Starsky's quirky sense of humor came to his rescue. At least he wouldn't have the Millennium Falcon flying up his ass. Now that would be a pain in the butt.

This was the first challenge of the day. How long would he hold out before buckling under? Would he continue to discover the pleasure in all this and if he didn't, would just the knowledge that he was giving Hutch pleasure be enough?

When Hutch was in the bathroom cleaning the rubber toy, Starsky couldn't resist bringing his hands up to gently press on his throbbing chest. Big mistake, that only exacerbated the intense ache. He bit down on his lip to keep from groaning aloud.

Still trying to come to terms with enduring the erotic version of clip-on earrings for an extended period of time Starsky was caught off guard when Hutch grabbed one wrist, yanking it behind his back to meet the other and locking them together with a loud snap. It was clear just exactly why he'd buckled on the leather cuffs the night before.

"No touching my handiwork," Hutch reminded.

"I can't help with breakfast this way," Starsky wheedled, wiggling his wrists.

"I'll cook, you can clean up later." Hutch brushed a kiss over his lips, eyes full of promise.

Following Hutch into the kitchen, Starsky watched contentedly while his master prepared a simple repast. He loved the feeling of domesticity that filled the room. The blue tiled floor beneath his feet was cool, but not cold enough to chill him while walking around naked. Blue Willow plates were lined up on a decorative shelf above the sink and a pattern of Delft tile ornamented the area above the stove giving the place an Old World charm. It was such a pretty, ordinary kitchen; out of sync with the kinky behavior performed in the house. Starsky idly fantasized about screwing around on the same table where they would soon eat. Maybe they could try for a different position in every room in the house? How many rooms were there? He realized he'd never explored the entire place--the previous time he'd been here they'd ended up in the hot tub and watched videos in the den late into the night before falling asleep. He hadn't been in any kind of mood to poke his nose into every room when he could poke it into Hutch. Besides the house wasn't all that big.

Hutch chopped fruit and slipped bread into the toaster, humming absently to himself. He set the table for one, tucking a place mat on the floor next to a chair before opening the refrigerator to retrieve the orange juice. Belatedly Starsky remembered he wasn't supposed to be standing idly around, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be allowed to sit either, from the looks of things.

Except the floor was hard. He lowered down carefully, sitting on his haunches, admiring the way the over-head lights caught the highlights in Hutch's pale hair, creating streaks of gold like veins of pure ore in a mine.

Almost blurting out a question, Starsky remembered his rules and frowned. This not speaking until spoken to was the hardest one in his opinion. And he couldn't even raise his hand the way he had in grade school. Made things damned difficult. Shifting his weight, he flexed his shoulders carefully to relieve the strain on his linked arms without disturbing the evil clamps.

"Got a question, Starsk?" Hutch asked without turning around. Just like when they were on the streets, there was some freaky connection between them that defied definition. It had always been there, right from the first, but Starsky was relieved that their present departure from normal activities hadn't severed the connection. In some ways, he almost thought it was stronger than ever.

"Can I ask when the fisting will be?"

"After breakfast."

His stomach lurched at the news, little wings suddenly battering inside him as if trying to get out. "I don't think I can eat anything," Starsky said shakily.

"At least some toast and juice to keep your blood sugar up." Hutch served up the food after releasing Starsky's hands from confinement. "I don't want you to get light headed."

"I already am."

"Starsk, there's nothing to be afraid of. This will be one of the most awesome experiences, for both of us." Hutch held out a plump grape, popping it into Starsky's mouth. "I peeled it just for you."

"Isn't that my job?"

"Only if I was Caesar. In this century, I can peel a few grapes on my own. Keeps my fingers limber." Hutch snaked his toes between Starsky's spread knees, insinuating them under the thick penis and up against the rounded grapes hanging there. "I always had a fondness for grapes on the vine, as a matter of fact."

"Only Italians pick grapes with their feet." Starsky widened his thighs to give Hutch more room, his breath quickening,

"They crush 'em," Hutch was now rolling the ball of his foot over Starsky's balls, encouraged by some very enthusiastic sounds. "But if you let them tumble around just a little, it makes them so much sweeter and juicier."

"It's working," Starsky crowed, as his cock rose upward, leaking pre-cum. Hutch slid the other foot under the first, lifting Starsky up off his heels so that he could toe the taunt skin of the perineum and tease the puckered hole behind. Starsky was already so sensitive there the merest touch sent a paroxysm of desire through him.

"You're definitely primed," Hutch said with satisfaction, his feet retreating to a more neutral position. "Eat some toast and we'll move into the back bedroom." He forked a slice of melon into his mouth, followed by another grape, chewing with a smirk.

Taking a bite of the buttery toast, Starsky swallowed nervously. No matter how much he had been primed as Hutch said, this was new territory and as always, he was uncertain and half-way to scared. What if he hated it? Admittedly he'd been fantasizing about Hutch's arm half-way up his colon for a week now, but reality was always a great deal different than fiction. Would this hurt, a lot?

"Starsk?" Hutch broke into his reverie. "What's your safe word?"

Leave it to his partner to know exactly what Starsky needed, every time. "Torino," Starsky answered.

"And if things get too much for you, you use it," Hutch said firmly.

"I don't think I'll need to."

~~~

Hutch opened the door to the room he'd transformed with a great deal of hard work and long hours. Starsky would never know how long he'd been preparing for this, stealing free time, hammering his own thumb, and dreaming of the games they'd play inside these four walls. He was more than satisfied, though. The room had turned out perfectly. Letting Starsky walk in past him, he watched his best friend's face blossom with joy and awe at the furnishings.

"Hutch! This place is amazing! Your friend--Joel? Is he in the scene, too?"

"Not exactly, but he said I could do some redecorating, so I did." Hutch got a kick out of seeing Starsky prowl around examining all the special modifications and erotic toys displayed. The back bedroom faced the yard, with a high fence beyond shielding it from prying eyes. Even so, a sheer curtain drawn across the mullioned panes created a discrete barrier without reducing the morning light. Long sunbeams streamed across the parquet floor, picking out the deep red of the area rug. Like Caress's chamber, this one didn't immediately bring to mind a traditional dungeon or torture chamber but the hooks studding the ceiling and the array of bondage accoutrement tucked away in an armoire revealed it's actual purpose. The most intriguing device was a leather sling chair hanging in the middle of the room near the day bed.

"You did all this? For us?" Starsky squeaked, giving the sling a push to start it swinging. "Joel won't mind? He'll figure out what's going on for sure."

"Don't worry about Joel. He's on a different continent." Hutch advanced on his prey, capturing Starsky against the wall. "You're the only man I want to discuss right now."

"Discuss away, I got all the time in the world," Starsky joked.

"No time at all, little one," Hutch nuzzled his slave in that warm, perfect junction of shoulder and neck, the aroma of leather collar and Starsky sweat like sweet perfume in his nose.

"Hutch..." Starsky let out a passionate moan. "Slide that big dick up inside me."

"Nope, no sausage for you today, before or after. Fisting can be dangerous, no matter how carefully we do it. First, another go round with your friend the rubber nozzle," Hutch might be saying some fairly unromantic things, but he continued to pepper Starsky with kisses, his hands roaming possessively across the hairy chest.

"He's not my friend," Starsky muttered, near to swooning.

"Brace yourself, I'm going to take these off," Hutch warned, but Starsky still yowled as each grip squeezing his abused nipples was removed. "You're getting to be an old pro at that, had 'em on for 45 minutes."

"Thank you, master," Starsky said meekly but there was a level of mutiny in his eyes. Hutch could read him like a book. Starsky wanted a pay off soon or he'd be hell to live with, and all the kisses in the world wouldn't jolly him into a better mood if he didn't want to be jollied. "Explain to me why we can't do it the old fashioned way?"

"I want all my concentration on the fisting and if I'm pumping your ass, I'll lose my momentum." Hutch gently propelled Starsky into the attached bathroom, not making any effort to chastise him for talking out of turn. He liked hearing Starsky talk, most of the time. "Besides, even with a lot of lube and rubber gloves you may be scraped and bruised inside. It's unsanitary for both of us to follow up a fisting with my dick."

"Boy, that really puts me in a romantic mood," Starsky groused, bending over for his second cleansing in 24 hours.

"Don't worry, gypsy prince, I'll romance you up one side and down the other before we get started," Hutch promised. He had all sorts of ideas brewing and was excited to get started on all of them. This was the culmination of everything he'd been working towards. When he'd first proposed inserting his whole hand up Starsky's rectum on a cold windy beach just about a month ago, Starsky hadn't been very enthusiastic. Hutch just couldn't get the picture from a book on anal sex out of his mind; the photo of a man with his arm up another's ass had sent shivers of desire down his spine the first time he'd seen it. The wish to replicate that maneuver had grown stronger each time he'd opened the book since. He seduced Starsky with vivid descriptions of how good it could be, down playing, at first, the inherent dangers of the procedure. There was no doubt that the human anus was an elastic organ, but not really meant to have a male fist thrust up inside. After all, the muscles in the rectum were designed to propel matter out, pushing things in wasn't quite in the original layout. Then there was the panoply of bacteria living up that narrow canal. But despite that, every article and book Hutch read depicted fisting as an amazingly spiritual joining of two people, one that would be forever remembered and not for the unhygienic component.

With a flutter of excitement vibrating in his groin, Hutch stood back a moment to admire the long lean line of Starsky's back as he bent over. The way his waist dipped in and then widened to the round perfect curves of his buttocks. All his, all for Hutch to play with. What a gift. He only hoped that this next journey in their voyage of discovery in the land of kink would be a gift for Starsky as well.

"Lay back, Starsk," Hutch encouraged once the sanitary portion of the morning was concluded. He helped steady the sling as Starsky climbed in. "This will be the best time you've ever had in a swing."

"You sure about that?" Starsky joked, wiggling into place. He slid his legs into the stirrups until the leather bands were supporting his knees, with his feet hanging down loosely. "Suzy Castalucci gave me my first kiss in second grade on a swing."

"Then, this will be the kiss that blows your mind." Hutch demonstrated just exactly what he meant, stroking Starsky's underarm lightly with the back of his hand. "Arms up." Hutch murmured getting back to work after a long, very pleasant interval. Starsky giggled as Hutch continued tickling the sensitive skin of his arm while he raised his hands into position. Using the 'D' rings on the cuffs Starsky already wore, Hutch linked them to the side chains which attached the sling to the ceiling. "How's it feel?"

"Way more comfortable than I expected." Starsky jiggled his arms. He was restrained, but there was no pull or tightness. With precise care Hutch checked the fit of the cuffs and the stretch of Starsky's arms to ensure that there was sufficient blood flow and no nerves were pinched. This had to be perfect, for both of them.

Hutch took his time putting Starsky into a mellow, sublime mood, utilizing all the tactics at his disposal. Using a fur muff, he covered Starsky in fluffiness until his victim was sated with laughter, then applied his tongue to the broad, hairy expanse of thigh held wide open for him by the sling. The contrast of salty skin and wiry hair was a pleasing one and Hutch washed every inch of both thighs like a cat with its kitten. Starsky's head lay limply on the pillow, his neck bare and elongated, the slender column emphasized by the narrow band of leather cinched tightly around. Hutch couldn't resist breaking away from his current area of interest to linger over that beautiful neck. He seeded Starsky with kisses, planting love, before dipping down to suck and nip the tight skin over his rib cage.

"Huuuutch..." Starsky cried out when his master's teeth bit down sharply just under his armpit. "I can't wait much longer...I need you inside me."

Hutch cherished the moment when Starsky started to beg. His heart leapt with joy knowing Starsky wanted him and only him and that desire mirrored his own. Nobody else had ever given him what Starsky could and with so little conceit. They were blessed to have found one another in a world of mismatched souls and he intended to hang on to his one and only for the rest of forever.

Gliding his palm down the middle of Starsky's belly and circling the now completely erect cock standing at attention like a soldier on guard duty, Hutch reluctantly parted with his lover and willing slave for the few moments it took to don a surgical glove and grab the container of Crisco. Strange as it seemed, all the manuals recommended the homely shortening as the lubrication of choice for fisting.

"Gonna make French fries?" Starsky joked, craning his neck to watch the preparation. He sighed longingly when Hutch liberally applied some to his needy anus.

"Gonna French fry your heart, partner," Hutch vowed.

~~~

Starsky wasn't sure any longer if he wanted Hutch to hurry up or slow down. This was it--Hutch was going to stick his entire hand up inside a hole that didn't measure a full inch from one side to the other. Certainly, the inside was larger than the outside--kind of like the time machine on that weird British series "Dr. Who" the PBS station had started showing, but not as big as his master's hand. When Hutch first proposed fisting, Starsky had been completely against the idea, but after reading some of the books bought at Leather Jungle, he'd started to come around. One aficionado of what was termed "the ultimate in hand jobs" had described the practice in such glowing terms Starsky had become much more interested. The whole thing took on the mystique of a parlor trick--abracadabra, the hand disappears, where could it be?

"Oh, yeah... " Starsky shuddered as two fingers entered his hole, twisting and thrusting against the first tight ring. He let his head drop back on the leather pillow, staring up at the beveled skylight above. Fractured rainbows dappled the room as the sun climbed higher in the sky, painting Starsky's naked body in nature's hues. He hummed happily as Hutch's thumb joined the rest of its siblings, crowding all five digits into the narrow space.

"You doing all right?" Hutch asked, petting Starsky just behind his knee.

"Yeah, you've gone this far before, haven't you?"

"First time I've gotten the thumb all the way in." Hutch wiggled his hand, sending off tiny vibrations inside Starsky's rectum. "This is really tight."

"Keep going, Hutch," Starsky insisted. He didn't move as the pressure increased on his sphincter, whimpering as Hutch pushed steadily inward until his palm was completely inside. "Stop, stop..." Starsky panted. "I need to get used to it." His rectal muscles were ripping apart, separating fiber by fiber, held together with nothing but gristle and bands of tendons, but it wouldn't last forever, he just had to ride out the burn.

Hutch froze, his arm severed at the wrist, the rest of it tunneled into Starsky's core. Shifting rainbows shimmered around him like some archangel from Michaelangelo's masterpiece in Rome. Starsky locked his gaze on that of his beloved master, using all his waning powers of concentration to drag his mind away from the stretching pain in his anus and onto that beautiful man. He felt diminished in the presence of such perfection. What had he done to deserve Hutch in his life? He was filled up with such love for him that it spilled out across the room in a swell of emotion.

"Ready?" Hutch asked.

"Yeah," Starsky breathed in and out, but he couldn't quite draw in enough air. This hurt, there was no way around the fact. It wasn't agonizing and in fact, once Hutch had completely penetrated the rectum, it wasn't even a bad pain. Just exquisite pressure, an elephant settling between his legs, threatening to rend him asunder. Fingers writhed against his inner walls, creating strange tingling sensations that jangled his nerve endings. Indecipherable signals leapfrogged across the synapses--pain and unimaginable pleasure spiraled Starsky up into unparalleled heights. He was flying.

Far from hurting, all of a sudden Starsky wanted to throw back his head and laugh. Phenomenal, that's what this was. A fucking miracle. Sweat dripped down his face, wetting the collar that bound him to Hutch. "Do it, now..." Starsky pleaded. He had to know what it felt like, to experience one of the true marvels of his life. Coming back from the dead was a kiddie ride at the park compared to this bliss.

Starsky cried out as the fingers inside him rotated, bunching into a fist that dilated his center exponentially. He was well and truly reamed, opened like a flower in the sun. LSD had nothing on fisting. Starsky could see vibrant colors dancing in the air, flashing streams of brightness that had to be fairies flitting around him in joyful celebration.

"Oh, god, Hutch, can you feel it?" Starsky gloried.

"I'm holding your heart," Hutch whispered in awe. "I can feel it beating in my hand, all around me, through me, inside me. Handfast..."

"What?"

"Once people who got married were said to be handfast... I love you, Starsk."

"I promise to love, honor and obey, forsaking all others, 'til death do us part." Starsky vowed, his voice trembling. "I do, I love you."

"Forsaking all others, 'til death do us part. I do, I do." Hutch echoed, openly crying. "I'm going to move my fist."

"Yes, yesyesyes," Starsky screamed when knuckles grazed his prostate, a battering ram hammering inside him. Hutch seemed to be boring into his very soul, injecting his life force into Starsky's. The strong muscles of his rectum clenched violently, tensing down on the intruder, spasming relentlessly. This time Hutch screamed, his face contorted in ecstasy, his breath coming in harsh snorts as he yanked his wrist in wild jerks. That's when Starsky understood the amount of control he had over his master. He surrounded Hutch, held him fast. He was Hutch's world, alpha and omega. He gave Hutch power, pleasure and devotion, which was then returned tenfold. How could anyone claim that the slave was an abused pawn in such an alliance?

Near to passing out, Starsky shouted his beloved's name, feeling fingers bunching and scrabbling along the slick walls of his intestines. The orgasm hit with the force of a pile driver, leaving him trembling in the afterglow, his chest heaving with exertion. He couldn't speak just then, but lay back, listening to Hutch's sharp breathing.

"You didn't come," Starsky said finally, grief overtaking him.

"It's okay," Hutch said wearily.

"But this was what you wanted. Your special fantasy."

"It was more than I ever hoped for, Starsk." Hutch reached up to touch Starsky's face, wiping away a drop of sweat from his upper lip. "I think we got married."

"I know we did," Starsky grinned shyly. "And you didn't even kiss the groom."

"Wait'll I get you into a more comfortable position," Hutch leered. "Then there'll be some kissing." He began a series of small twisting motions, backing his hand minutely out of its sheath. "This may hurt even more than going in."

"You're not kidding," Starsky hissed, trying to spread his legs even further apart. The wide part of the hand was poised at the junction where his muscles protested the most, sending shock waves of pain up both limbs. Biting down on a strangled yelp, he shook his head at Hutch's questioning glance. "Don't stop, just get it out. I loved the ride, but the to and from could use some serious replanning."

"You just about crushed my wrist near the end there," Hutch grimaced, then his palm popped free, followed by the five family.

"So that's fisting, huh?" Starsky asked dreamily. "We may have to do it again sometime. Maybe once a year, on our anniversary."

"It's a date."

~~~

"Who said you were the groom?" Hutch teased, curled against Starsky on the day bed.

"I don't think I qualify as the bride," Starsky lazily stroked his lover's shining hair, twining the short locks around his fingers then letting it fall like wind blown straw.

"And you think I do?"

"You're much prettier than me."

"Not from where I sit." Hutch looked up at his slave lover, admiring those midnight eyes surrounded by lashes most models would have died for. Starsky was probably not what was considered classically handsome, but Hutch liked the sharp angles of his jaw, the way the mole below his left eye gave him an asymmetrical appeal.

"Then we're both the grooms," Starsky grinned, going in for a kiss like a guided missile homing in on the target. There was much languid petting and kissing but both were sleepy and succumbed to slumber curled around each other, dark hair mingling with light, fingers interlaced.

Hutch woke only because he had to use the toilet. He took the time to shower, shave and dress lingering over his clothes to find just the right outfit. It was important to uphold a certain level of power, to give the illusion of authority. To play the part to the hilt and see his dominance reflected in the respect in Starsky's eyes. There were times when he seriously wondered what had happened to the college kid who protested the war and promoted women's liberation. Did that old Ken Hutchinson still reside inside of him? How had he so seamlessly evolved into the man who easily became a master to his best friend? How strange that he could savor the erotic rush of domination that swept through him every time Starsky submitted to him. Yet, once they were shoulder to shoulder, knee deep in the scum of Bay City's streets, they became equals again, able to work effectively as a team. Their deep abiding love and mutual understanding, distilled into the essence of their partnership, grounded them no matter what the situation so that even in a relationship as outwardly unequal as master and slave they were able to find a balance and operate within that framework. Hutch was fully aware of how precious and rare his connection to Starsky truly was.

Coming back into the chamber of delights he sat carefully on the bed, not wanting to wake Starsky. He couldn't admit it to his partner without losing his status as dominant, but the promised punishment scared him. Even after Caress' tutelage he was still terrified that truly marking Starsky with a crop might change things between them. That night after Carlysle's murder Starsky had been so angry, lashing out with accusations that had scored Hutch to the quick, all because he'd taken the strap to Starsky's back in a consensual session of pain play and mild punishment. This one would be ten times more brutal--could he really do this to Starsky? The anger Hutch had felt with each disobedience was long gone, leaving only the demerits behind. In a way, that was why Hutch first decided to schedule punishment sessions on different weekends from the original offenses, so that he didn't lash out with anger and violence. Like a presiding judge, he had to be impartial about what was meted out.

Folding his legs into the most well known of Yoga postures, Hutch took a deep breath, voiding his mind of all distractions. All doubt and fear drained out until he was clean and new again, ready to take his chosen rank. He was the Master, he controlled the scene and what he said was the law. Starsky had railed against those rules and deserved a just and reasonable punishment. As Gilbert and Sullivan once said, "Let the punishment fit the crime." And in the world of BDSM, a flogging gave the slave a double gift, those eternally opposing forces of pain and pleasure delivered by the hand of his master. It was an intimate dance, binding them together with each end of the whip. Giver and taker, top and bottom, blond and brunet, Starsky and Hutch. Every one separate and yet infinitely linked, only balanced because each had a perfect antipode for counterweight.

When Hutch surfaced from his meditation, Starsky was watching him silently but he didn't flinch away or display any sense of wariness. Instead, he seemed to be memorizing every line of Hutch's body, as if he would never see him again and wanted what Hutch's grandmother used to call a 'mind picture' to store for later.

"You got dressed," Starsky said softly.

"Yes."

"I liked you naked," Starsky smiled, reaching over pull Hutch closer. "Like we were the same."

"But that's never going to happen today, Starsk," Hutch said, with a twinge of regret. Was all this wrong? Did lording himself over Starsky smack of despotism and colonialism? The old fashioned conviction that one man had the right to tell another what to do? All the doubts he had so carefully disposed of returned in a rush. "Does that bother you? Sometimes I..."

"Stop--cause if you're going outta character, like you used to accuse me a' doing, then it all breaks down." Starsky narrowed his eyes, regarding Hutch critically again. "You're the master, I'm the slave. That's the rules, and I don't have any problem with that. Hutch, I drove myself here. I knew the score. You're always straight with me. This whole world is like one big Indiana Jones movie--all action and never knowin' what's around the next corner, but weirdly enough it's addicting. I always thought it was just snapping on the cuffs and play acting the sheik and the virgin until you told me to kneel down in front of you, and I realized what kind of power we both held." Starsky took a breath, and Hutch could still see the tiny red marks the nipple clamps had made on his chest. "You can't be master if there's no one to order around and...I can't explain it, but being the slave ain't demeaning, it's sorta empowering in a weird way. I feel strong, free..."

"Starsky, I will never understand how your mind works, but yeah, " Hutch laughed, the yoke lifting off his shoulders. "What you said."

"So much of it is mind games," he waggled his eyebrows comically. "Like you getting to wear clothes and I don't. And your jewelry ain't so tight." Starsky slipped a finger under the delicate chain around Hutch's neck causing the tiny moon and star charms to wink in the sunlight coming straight down from the skylight. "S'been a long time since I saw this."

"Yeah--after you were...shot, actually when you were recovering I took it off." Hutch bent his head, resting his cheek on Starsky's hand still holding the chain.

"Why?"

"Cause some girlfriend, I can't even remember her name, gave it to me. She insisted on buying it for me and said I had to wear it because I reminded her of the moon." He rolled his eyes at the memory. "That I glowed."

"You do." Starsky moved his hand enough to tousle Hutch's thin hair, gazing into his master's eyes in open defiance of the rules. Hutch caught his breath at the sheer perfection of the moment, reveling in the feeling of Starsky's fingers lightly massaging his scalp. "The sun lights you up like a star." Starsky said romantically, then laughed unexpectedly, breaking the mood. "But that doesn't explain why you stopped wearing the necklace."

"No." Hutch moved back, now toying with the charms himself. "Did I ever tell you how Simon Marcus described you in one of his insane dream poems?"

Starsky recoiled almost comically, grimacing, "No, an' I don't I want to know. Just thinkin' about him gives me the heebie jeebies."

"You were the stars," Hutch explained. "Dobey figured it out. Stars for Starsky."

"So?"

"You just said the sun--a star--made me glow," Hutch held out his hand, cutting into a band of brilliant sunlight like a knife parting butter, the resulting shadow crossing Starsky's legs. "You're my star. Whatever glow I have is a reflection of you."

Starsky stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "And you just accused me of not makin' any sense."

"I took it off because I loved you, not her," Hutch said quietly. "Then, just recently I found it in a tangle of jewelry. I needed a chain to bind me to you. It didn't mean her any longer, the star and the moon--they're you and me."

"Ah," Starsky crawled forward like a creature of the plains, all muscle rippling under furred skin, to kiss Hutch in the hollow of his neck. "It all makes a certain kind of logic. You're the moon, must be why sometimes you're all bright and easy to get along with and other times you're dark and formidable."

"Talk like that could get you in deep trouble, slave," Hutch smacked Starsky's bare butt all the while kissing him on the mouth with a resounding smack.

"I'll be good, master." Starsky tucked himself into presentation pose with all speed, but Hutch glimpsed a wicked smile on his turned down face. "What's next on the agenda, sir?"

Hutch knew without asking that Starsky was hungry, Starsky was always hungry, but also that Starsky was nervous about what was coming soon. It was only natural. Even so, they had to maintain some normalcy here, establish a routine to fall back on. Food worked on so many levels--it comforted, it filled the belly and created a lull to relax into, so that one was refreshed and ready after a meal.

"It's time for lunch," Hutch decided. "I've brought sandwiches."

"What kind?" Starsky inquired climbing off the bed to kneel at Hutch's feet.

Hutch loved seeing him there because Starsky was so truly humble for those few seconds when he knelt. It never lasted long. Too quickly the natural Starsky kinetic energy reasserted and he'd begin to fidget, unconsciously rebelling against the constraints placed upon him. And that, to Hutch, was pure David Starsky. He was unique, never allowing the conventions of life or their job to pound him into a bland, lifeless automaton. Starsky was always freedom, a breath of fresh air, an original amongst those who went by the book and slogged themselves into inescapable ruts. Starsky was beauty and vitality. That he then would lower himself willingly in front of a man who should be his lessor; not his master, infused Hutch with a sense of awe.

"Salami--I gave in and got you salami, all right?"

"Oh, god, now I know it's gonna be a rough afternoon if you're giving in to me!" Starsky tried unsuccessfully to look demoralized, but the twinkle in his eye dazzled Hutch. He'd once seen Starsky's spirit dimmed, after the shooting, but it had never gone completely out. He hoped there would never be a day when David Starsky lost his sparkle. It would truly be like losing one of the stars in the sky.

~~~

"Hands up," Hutch said, and without preamble Starsky knew the punishment was about to begin. He'd been fed, cuddled, even had a nice long shower that included some energetic hand play once he'd convinced Hutch to get in with him. They'd lingered under the cascading water, sliding wet bare skin together in a wrestling match that resulted in both landing butt first on the slick tile. But now the time had come for more serious matters and there was no more procrastination. They were in the chamber once more, but the comfortable leather sling had been taken down, and an ominous black frame stood in its place, taking up almost all available space from one wall to the day bed.

Taking a deep breath, Starsky complied, glancing up to watch Hutch attach the left leather cuff to the sturdy metal whipping frame above his head.

"Eyes down. You are in full submission as of this moment." Hutch clipped the right cuff in place, then got to work on Starsky 's feet. When it was done Starsky was almost suspended, his feet not flat on the ground, which gave him the unsettled feeling of trying to balance on the tilted floor of a funhouse. He was stretched wide, open and ready to be beaten for his disobedience. Despite that this was not the first time he'd been flogged, the experience would never become familiar. He had flaunted the rules given to him by his master and this was the accepted punishment. Unfortunately Starsky knew this wouldn't be the last time he'd find himself in this predicament. He was too much of a rabble-rouser to stop pushing the envelope. He'd long ago resigned himself to an afternoon of pain, that came with the territory, and frankly, he always relished the beginning, being cuffed and restrained. What was it about bondage that held him in such thrall? Even now, his initial fears were falling away, pushed aside by the arousal of being captive and under Hutch's dominion.

"As we talked about, there will be 22 strokes. You were given the chance to choose which implement you wanted used," Hutch spoke formally, walking in a slow circle around his slave. "You chose the paddle first and then the strap. You'll get eleven with the strap and eleven with the paddle, then I will give you four more with the crop."

Starsky drew in a startled gulp of air, remembering the two red welts X'd on Hutch's ass. He'd have four. Twice as many. He'd wanted dozens but just now that prospect wasn't as tempting in reality as it was in fantasy.

"When I use the crop it will not be to punish but to mark you as my own. My own, whom I love dearly. This isn't a trial to cause you more pain but to reinforce your understanding of slavery." Hutch cupped a hand under Starsky's chin, raising it up until they were looking into each other's souls. The words were harsh, almost cruel, but Starsky found himself melting under their power. He wanted to beg Hutch to begin this very minute, to score his flesh with the prescribed blows until he was black and blue. "Tell yourself that this gives you pleasure, even if the pain is bad." Hutch kissed him lightly on each eyelid, a blessing. "If you can't find actual pleasure inside you then embrace the pain because I gave it to you. Let it lead you through the fire to unimaginable joy."

"Yes, oh, yes, please." Starsky whispered just before a thick blindfold eclipsed the sight of his love. He couldn't help shivering, even though temperature in the room was perfect. Neither too hot or too cold, so as not to chill a naked slave. Still, Starsky trembled, straining his ears to hear what Hutch was doing. The anticipation was always even more of a knife-edge when he wore a blindfold. Senses remained on high alert, adrenaline shooting through his veins with such force Starsky could hear the coursing of his blood in his ears. How long would he have to wait? He couldn't breathe, couldn't keep still, couldn't predict what would happen next. He'd once told Hutch that the first things he thought about when he was bound were anticipation and hope. They were both a curse and a salvation. Not knowing what was going to happen was the main hook that had snared Starsky to BDSM. It was the clench of the belly before a big bust, the exhilaration of a high speed chase and the ultimate thrill of winning the gold medal. But today, he did know what was going to happen. He was going to be struck hard, with leather and wood 22 times. Make that 26, with the additional four from the crop. That's where the hope came in. Hope, hope, hope that he could ride out the session without making a fool out of himself and screaming.

The touch of Hutch's warm hand on his back wrenched a cry from Starsky, but the hand only skimmed the curve of his buttocks, traveling up the dip of his lower back and spanning the breadth of his ribcage. "You can cry, or scream, whatever you need to get out, Starsk, but nothing will stop me once I have begun. 'No' and 'stop' have no meaning and for the next half hour, even your safeword won't work." The fingers dug into the tight muscles of Starsky's neck, strained from his awkward position, and massaged a knot at the base of his skull. "I will give you a slight reprieve between each set, to catch your breath, but believe me when I tell you, Starsky, I know it will hurt."

The thwack came all too suddenly, without warning, landing squarely on his left buttock, driving the air from Starsky's lungs. He was acquainted with the paddle. It left a blunted, dull ache that thudded against the gluteus maximus, dispersing through the rounded globes to the hips and legs. After the first few blows, Starsky began to feel the heat rising, radiating off his body like a furnace. But he didn't cry out, not yet. The paddle was child's play compared to the strap. He suffered silently until the eighth swing of the paddle, only allowing himself a small whimper of pain as the last three smacks found their target, his buttocks sizzling like mushrooms sautéed on a skillet.

The strange thing was, his cock hardened into a granite shaped missile. He was aroused, very much so and the sound of Hutch panting behind him was more of an aphrodisiac than oysters or strawberries dunked in champagne.

"Eleven," Hutch said simply, when he had finished. Starsky listened as Hutch drank noisily from a glass, his wet gulps like exotic music. If only he would offer some of that liquid to the slave, make him drink from the exact place on the glass when his master's lips had touched. Starsky groaned, more from the image than the dark ache in his backside.

He could hear the swing of the strap and feel the brush of air seconds before it hit his skin. Enough of a warning to try and cringe away from the snap of leather, but he couldn't escape the searing pain that flared up his spine, not bound as securely as he was. This was worse than the paddle and it was only the first strike. Ten more to go.

Starsky flinched when the second one came, trying to breathe around the pain, but the third caught him unprepared and he howled, protesting the impact on his already blistered derriere. That was his capitulation. This hurt too much to keep silent any longer. Blow after blow rained down on his unprotected flesh, the thick leather strap falling in a wide descending arc wielded by the hand of his master. No longer consisting of anything but nerve endings flayed open and raw Starsky gave up his consciousness to the pain, feeding it all his unresolved burdens, self-hatred and recriminations. Not just the petty wrongdoings he'd perpetuated to earn this beating but all the myriad sins from childhood on. He let the strap strip away the guilt of not rescuing Lisa in time to prevent Waters from hurting her. He unmoored the memories of shooting Lonnie Craig, watching Terry die from a bullet he should have taken, blinding Emily with his own gun. All that was burned from his soul, scoured by the cleansing properties of the strap. This pain was so pure, so righteous he cried, tears streaming from his eyes to mingle with the sweat from his brow.

This wasn't a punishment, it was an awakening. It was the place fantasy was made of, because he knew it wasn't heaven or hell. He wanted to stay here, sure he would go crazy from the pain if the strapping continued much longer and equally sure he'd die if Hutch stopped just then.

Except his skin was on fire, a conflagration of epic proportions burned across his back, feeding his arousal like oxygen to a flame. He needed Hutch now, wanted that smooth body against him thrusting inside him to find the pilot light that fueled his fervor.

God, it hurt. "God,oh, God,ohgod..." Starsky wasn't even aware he was screaming aloud, tears streaming, his voice so raw he wondered if his throat had caught the last lick of the strap. He couldn't last any longer, and then it was over.

"There, there..." Hutch whispered, warmth suddenly enveloping Starsky from the front so that now he was a blazing inferno, his skin scorched on one side and blanketed with suffocating heat on the other. Sweat dripped down Starsky's face into his eyes, stinging. "You did it, little one. You did it, 22 strokes, Starsky." Hutch cooed, embracing him with tender care.

Allowing himself to be cuddled and cherished Starsky could still feel the rigidity of Hutch's cock against his bare leg, even through the velvety cords Hutch wore. Hutch was as turned on as he was, his breath still coming fast and furious after the workout.

"How'd I look?" Starsky asked when the blindfold was removed. He could hardly keep his head up, loving Hutch's big hand against the back of his neck providing solace and strength. Waves of heat spiraled off his skin, the pain from the beating profound and oddly comforting at the same time. He didn't mind being nude now, there was no way he'd put clothes for a week, at least. But he felt absurdly proud; a conquering hero who had survived the battle and maybe even won the prize, the love and honor of his adored one.

"You look fantastic," Hutch smiled proudly at him; his pale Nordic skin flushed a ruddy hue that made his blue eyes nearly pop from his face. "That was phenomenal..." He traced the trail of a tear, his finger sliding up and down the little mole just below Starsky's right eye. "Just a little longer, gypsy, my mark to remind you of what you mean to me and then it will be over."

"More of a break?" Starsky cajoled. He was so tired, so weary now and the strain from holding himself upright sent agonizing shards of pain up his torso centering on his shoulders and arms. If he relaxed his whole back went into spasm, so the only thing to do was keep his back stiff enough to support his upper body, but it was growing harder with each passing minute. Surely Hutch needed relief from that boner?

"You had a break, Starsk." Hutch reminded, holding up the whippy little crop Starsky had selected at Leather Jungle.

Why hadn't he picked something less lethal looking? Remembering the wicked sting left behind after he'd flicked it experimentally across his palm at the shop Starsky kissed the crop solemnly when Hutch held it to his lips. And he didn't do it just for show. Despite the already considerable pain he'd endured, he wanted those marks across his ass, proof of Hutch's ownership. Hutch had owned him body and soul since the day they'd met. Having the tangible evidence to show for it was like grabbing the brass ring on a merry-go-round.

Hutch held the crop flat on his palm as if contemplating its use, giving Starsky time to look at him before the next assault. He was flawless, every part of him a sculptor's dream, from his long muscular legs up the flat belly and across the wide expanse of chest. Even dressed in ordinary clothes he looked mythic as he took a quick practice snap with the slim length of leather.

"You're Thor." Starsky couldn't take his eyes off his Hutch, his master, even if he earned another demerit for flaunting the rules. His blond hair was almost colorless in the direct sunlight, the color bleached from his eyes so that they looked like transparent jewels.

"Thor had a hammer," Hutch reminded, stepping out of Starsky's view as he raised his right arm.

The crop was as different from the strap as an owl is from a sparrow. They were both leather implements to inflict pain, but that was where any resemblance ended. The first slash poured liquid fire across Starsky's abraded skin, driving all rational thought out of his head. He yowled from the shockwave, the swat blistering his backside. Weirdly, a suffuse joy spread through his system, leaching away some of the agony. He screamed wildly again, but that didn't stop Hutch for a moment. Three more strokes followed, scoring Starsky with thin stripes of blazing intensity. The pain buried deeply, imbedding itself in his tissue like a small animal finding a good place to spend the winter. It would be a long time before the damage inflicted would disappear from sight.

Starsky let his head hang between his suspended arms, utterly exhausted, but jubilant all the same. He wasn't exactly sure why he was so happy, considering his current position and wondered if the beating had somehow addled his brain, but he felt supremely giddy. The inferno that was his skin hardly mattered, although he knew he'd feel it for days to come. He wanted to see those four marks cutting into his skin, wanted to feel the true meaning of Hutch's devotion and domination. He was still gulping air, trying to get his respirations under a count of 100 when Hutch placed a smooth hand on Starsky's soreness. Just that touch, as light as angel wings, was too much. Starsky wailed, needing to be let down now, needing to cool the heat. He felt feverish, achy and incredibly horny, wanting to go down on his master in the worst way. "I'm yours," he whispered over and over. "I'm yours, yours..."

"And I'm yours," Hutch vowed, touching his lips on Starsky's shoulder to place a sweet kiss on the pointy knob there.

"Oh, man, that was...fiendish," Starsky said, hoping he'd be let down now. This had gone on long enough, he wanted some serious cuddling and maybe to lie on a bed of ice for about a year.

"It was supposed to be." Hutch came around in front so Starsky could see him. "So you'd remember." He rapped a knuckle on Starsky's forehead before bestowing little kisses everywhere he could reach starting with the temple and working his way down.

"Huuutch," Starsky moaned. He was like a candle, hot and dripping down into a molten pool. Surely he wasn't still hanging by his wrists because he felt formless and indistinct, no longer separate from Hutch but simply an extension of him.

"You ready to come down now?" Hutch asked when he'd kissed down Starsky's full length and knelt at his feet. It was the work of seconds to unlock the ankle cuffs and then the wrist ones. Starsky wavered, his muscles still gelatinous. Hutch steadied him, walking him the short distance to the daybed to lay prostrate. "Rest for a while, I've got something for you," Hutch suggested. "I'll be right back."

Closing his eyes, Starsky drifted weightlessly, still half in the thrall of the beating. What a strange, unexpected experience that had been. He'd never expected to feel altered by the discipline--simply royally punished for his misdemeanors. What is it Catholic priests always said in those old "Bells of St. Mary's" type movies? "You are absolved, go and sin no more."

He was so totally submerged into his submissive space he could barely remember the stress and tension Detective Sergeant David Starsky usually carried with him at all times. He yearned to stay like this, just be, removed from day to day pressures and totally without responsibility. His back still hurt but he barely cared, because the pain had transported him to this magical place.

In the back of his mind, however, there was the absolute certainty that this couldn't happen regularly. Not just because he'd be unable to work if he were constantly covered in bruises and welts. This--the whipping, the fisting and even just curling on the bed with Hutch, wearing the leather collar and cuff that denoted him a slave--this all had to be kept special, so that it was a privilege to kneel down before his master, not an every day occurrence. Hutch had said that keeping the BDSM sessions to occasional weekends would stagnate them, but Starsky disagreed. Having to wait for holidays were what made them all the more exciting, like the exquisite thrill of opening a beautifully wrapped gift and taking the paper off slowly to play out the suspense just a few seconds longer. That was BDSM to Starsky. The unknown all wrapped up in leather and velvet, waiting to surprise him. Now, all he had to do was convince Hutch to change his mind. This was definitely one of those discussions that was best held in a neutral place without sex toys or handguns. Starsky chuckled to himself, picturing the two of them in an open field, pacing out ten steps apart so he could yell his decision to Hutch across the gap and avoid any repercussions.

~~~

Unable to keep from smiling, Hutch collected the items he needed before hurrying back into the session chamber. It wasn't just his lips smiling, either. His cock hadn't deflated since he'd begun swinging the paddle. It was a true mystery what the whole thing had been so erotic, so intoxicating for him. He'd been awestruck at the sight of the strap snapping across Starsky's vulnerable flanks, inspired by the streaks of color that infused that unmarked skin. What made this so kinky and arousing? He couldn't have explained that one if given a year to prepare his answer. Flogging Lisa hadn't turned him on and there hadn't been a glimmer of interest watching Caress deliver blows to her corpulent sub. So how could he possibly be turned on by doing it to Starsky? Because Starsky was?

There was no doubt about it, despite the obvious pain he'd suffered, Starsky was as stimulated as a stallion on racing day and Hutch couldn't wait to get back in there and revel in their mutual desire. Who cared how weird it might seem in a less provocative moment?

"How you doing?" Hutch asked, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed near Starsky's vibrantly colored ass.

"Rough isn't the word for it," Starsky was resting his head on folded arms, appearing to be almost asleep. "I don't think there are words to describe it."

"Just lie still for a while," Hutch opened a jar of sweet smelling ointment, scooping out a small glob to smear on his slave. Starsky sucked in a startled breath when the cold gel landed on his overheated flesh, but settled down with a sigh of relief as the soothing mixture cooled his skin but not his ardor. That was still poking out prominently between his spread legs.

"Oh, yeah..." Starsky mumbled into his arms. "That's great, Hutch."

Hutch had to agree. He loved massaging Starsky's body, sensing the muscles softening under his touch, gliding his fingers through the slippery ointment and rubbing hurts away. Maybe this was why he got so aroused by the punishment session, because he knew there'd be a prolonged cuddle afterwards. And with him and Starsky, cuddling almost always led to more sex. Like a wonderful ride through the Tunnel of Love at the county fair, there were the wild moments and the slow, intimate ones. He wasn't sure which he liked best. He simply let himself bliss out on the feel of skin touching skin, enjoying the peaceful interlude.

"Hey, it didn't rain," Starsky observed after a while.

"Hmmm?" Hutch realized he'd been at the massage longer than expected and it was time to move on to other things.

"Weather man kept sayin' it was going to rain all weekend, and it's been sunny, at least from what I can see." Starsky twisted his neck to peer out the window just past the end of the bed and saw Hutch pulling on a leather driving glove. "What's up your sleeve now?"

"Just something else to cool you down," Hutch replied.

"I'm a whole lot better. But you got that look in your eye..."

"You're too nosy for your own good. See the blindfold on the table there?" Hutch diverted his attention, pointing to where he'd dropped the blindfold earlier. "Put it on."

"Yes, master," Starsky answered with a smirk, his eyes twinkling merrily before he donned the black satin sleep mask again. "Want me to tie myself up, too?"

"No, this is good enough. You're still in deep submission and bound by the sound of my voice. You can't move a muscle, even if you wanted to." Hutch felt omnipotent, knowing Starsky would strive to do exactly as he commanded. When they returned to their real lives, everything would be so different, so he allowed himself a small measure of self-satisfaction. He was a powerful dominant, with a willing slave who hung on his every word--mostly.

"Hutch?" Starsky asked in a stage whisper.

"Yes?"

"Can I talk or just make strangled noises?"

"You can talk," Hutch grinned. Starsky had stretched out his arms so they no longer pillowed his cheek, gripping the top corners of the sheet-covered mattress instead.

"For now."

Opening the bucket he'd brought in from the kitchen Hutch extracted an ice cube, holding it over the perfectly spaced welts on Starsky's butt. The melting ice dripped freezing cold water onto the one place Hutch had not applied gel. Starsky gasped, muscles rippling across his rounded cheeks, but he held his position, never pulling away when Hutch placed the ice squarely over one of the ridges and held it there.

"Th-that's c-c-cold!" Starsky protested without moving.

"Heat and cold, Starsk, tempers steel. Makes you strong." Hutch made swirling patterns with his icy marker, covering every inch of buttocks with cold. Starsky was panting with the exertion of keeping still, his fingers clenching the sheet. Hutch found him own breath rate speeding up in time with Starsky's, his aching cock swelling with need. When the cube had decreased in size so much it was difficult to hold onto, Hutch gave a final sweep over his beloved's bottom and dropped the sliver into the bucket. Placing his hands on Starsky's thighs Hutch pushed his pliable slave up until he was on his knees with his chest still resting on the bed. His remarkable erection stood proudly between his legs, throbbing with blood.

"Remember, whatever happens, you can't move unless I say you can." Hutch whispered, his own cock wanting desperately to delve into that pink puckered opening that winked and spasmed every time he teased it with a new cube of ice. He knew the dangers of infection, for both of them, if he thrust into that tight little wonderland so soon after the fisting, but what if he used a substitute?

"Hutch, I'm turnin' into a Popsicle here!" Starsky gulped, his legs shaking from the strain of remaining so still with such erotic torture.

"Doesn't look that way to me." Ducking his head Hutch licked a long hot path up the veined backside of Starsky's cock, wrenching a shout of encouragement from his victim. Then, in the wake of his body temperature tongue he sent the ice cube and Starsky screamed, his cock jumping as if it could escape the demonic treatment. Hutch laughed, the sight of Starsky's dancing dick a pure delight. He wrapped his tongue around the quivering thickness, feeling the cool skin warm up immediately. Starsky was humming with pleasure, almost vibrating in place.

Poking around in the ice bucket without breaking contact with the honey stick in his mouth, Hutch identified his specially prepared icicle by touch. It was long and slender, frozen inside a condom. Lapping the sweet skin of the perineum, Hutch then laved Starsky's buttocks with sloppy licks and little sucks, riding the crest of one welt and then sliding down in between before flowing up the side of another. Starsky's half giggle, half yelp assured him that he was making the right moves.

"Incoming, little one," Hutch warned, wrapping his gloved hand more firmly around the icy stick. "Remember, you're frozen in place."

"That's no lie," Starsky chuffed a laugh.

Carefully Hutch slid the glacial dildo into place, taking his time. Starsky was used to much larger plugs, but this one was solid ice and shockingly cold.

"Oh, SHIT." Starsky tried to arch forward, away from the intruder, but Hutch held him in place with a firm hand on his hip, sliding the dildo back and forth. "God, that's cold," Starsky hissed, his teeth beginning to chatter. "Keep going, keep going. It feels great."

"I don't want you to get frostbite," Hutch chuckled, even with the glove on his hand was practically chilled to the bone. Starsky must be numb inside, with that deep cold that almost aches. "Time to warm you up again." The frosty condom was beginning to melt by the time he tossed it into the ice bucket and rolled Starsky over on his side, wrapping both arms around him. "This any better?"

"Much," Starsky purred burrowing into Hutch's warm body as Hutch removed the blindfold. "You wouldn't happen to have a cup of hot coffee in your bag of tricks, would you, Mr. Wizard?"

"No stimulants for you." Hutch loved the feel of Starsky's soft curls against his neck; the wet slurps of Starsky's tongue darting out to taste his skin. "You're already higher than a kite."

"I've been flying all day," Starsky agreed, still snuggled against Hutch's chest. After unbuttoning the shirt he had vigorously begun sucking and kissing chest and nipples. "But your balls must be purple by now. I can't believe you haven't gotten your rocks off once. Shouldn't the master get first choice, not last?"

"You've never gone by the rule books, why should I?" Hutch laughed as Starsky wormed his way further down his body, now working on opening the zipper of his pants. "It was more fun watching you, watching your body respond to what I was doing to you."

"You've got a devious mind, I'll say that much," Starsky remarked, the last word mumbled as he mouthed Hutch's aching cock, delicately pushing his tongue under the foreskin and blowing.

"Starsk!" Hutch gasped, the whole concept of master over slave ripped completely asunder as Starsky completely took control. He was slipping into a warm, wonderful cocoon, sliding down slippery slopes to rest in a sensual bed with undulating wet walls. With the single brain cell that continued to work Hutch wondered if this was what the womb felt like. Protected, comforted, cosseted and so very alive. Starsky's mouth performed amazing feats of magical prowess, bringing Hutch to the brink of madness and then backing him down. However, he had been primed all day long and only his own self control kept him from pumping his load down Starsky's willing throat in the first minute. Hutch was enjoying the ride too much to have it end after a few seconds, so he thrust and parried, then thrust again, screaming his pleasure to the gods before finally succumbing in an almost painful rush. He shuddered in the aftermath, his whole body slack with exhaustion. He barely opened his eyes, subliminally aware that Starsky had collapsed onto his chest, already asleep.

~~~

"Do you like the night or the day better?" Starsky asked.

"I've never thought about it much." Hutch considered the question popping another chunk of beef into Starsky's mouth with a skewer. By the time they had finally roused from the bed it was getting dark, a cold wind picking up out of the north. The little house shook from the force of the wind and there was a high probability that the weatherman's prediction of rain would come true before midnight. Following a leisurely shower and a couple of aspirin for Starsky they had settled in the den with two fondue pots. After lighting the little Sterno cans under the bright red enameled pots Hutch chopped beef and Starsky stirred melting cheese until dinner was prepared. They fed each other bits of bread dipped in warm cheese and meat sizzled in hot oil with the long handled forks, alternating with sips of deep red wine. "When we're on the street, the night is the enemy because it gives the bad guys the advantage, so I'd have to say the day. But here, when the sun goes down, the moon comes out and all the stars..."

"It almost always rains when we're here." Starsky teased, waving a cube of beef he'd cooked in the boiling oil until it was just brown on the outside and still red in the middle.

"It won't always," Hutch closed his mouth around the tantalizing tidbit, releasing it from the fork with his teeth and chewing without taking his eyes off Starsky. This was how he wanted it to be forever, but he knew that was greedy. This was like the best of Christmas, birthdays and Fourth of July all rolled into one, a glorious celebration of love, life, and sexual orgy. A moment meant to be savored and cherished. As much as the thought of living daily with a willing slave was a complete and total turn on, if he were honest about it, he knew it wouldn't work. Neither he nor Starsky would be able to keep up the role-playing constantly, which would spoil the perfection of their time together. He'd always known that, deep down. He had just needed to work through the idea to its rightful conclusion, that they remain occasional master and slave, to spice up their already fantastic daily relationship. And he would bring up the subject very soon. "Here the night is magic, full of whispers and surprises, the dark folding around our house and giving us a secret hideaway for these games."

"You're a poet and don't know it." Starsky dunked a piece of bread in the cooling cheese with his fingers. He'd extinguished the little Sterno flame but the cheese was still liquid enough to coat the bread and the tips of his fingers, too. He slurped up the cheesy bread, his hand slathered in creamy orange.

"Let me." Hutch caught up one of the messy digits and sucked it clean, washing up the rest to Starsky's delight.

"D'you know how many germs there are in the human mouth?" Starsky admonished playfully, tossing a hunk of bread at him.

Hutch caught it easily out of the air and ate it. "More than in a dog's."

"I thought so. Think I'll need a rabies shot now?"

"Hardly likely. But just in case..." Hutch gently poked his best friend's belly with the fondue fork. "You're done."

"I'm blazing," Starsky winced, shifting around to take the weight of his buttocks. Still nude, he was sitting on a flat, fur-covered pillow, but was obviously in some discomfort.

"You okay?" Hutch asked sympathetically.

"Hutch, it's fine. It's more than fine. This is just the way it is, and it'll hurt, but I don't care because it makes me remember how good it was. So much of you and me is bound up in all this, and...I was flying. It was like one of the weirdest and wildest dreams I ever had, but this was real."

"Everything about this day was special, perfect..." Hutch pushed aside the two pots, scooting nearer to Starsky to share the pillow. "I wanna give you something."

"If it's got a long piece of leather and a handle, I'm past my quota."

"No, it's a present. Just wait and see." He snagged the strap of the gym bag that he always kept nearby with his foot and dragged it closer.

"Again with the bag," Starsky said in an exaggerated Jewish accent. "Whatcha got? It's not my birthday or anything."

"Something I think you'll like very much." Hutch fished around amongst the sex toys and whips. "I finished paying for it the other day."

"This BDSM has bought out a whole new side of you. Shopping Hutch." Starsky watched curiously but stayed submissive, not reaching out to grab the bag and search for himself. Hutch was impressed since they had essentially dropped their roles at dinner and he hadn't enforced his dominance. Still, maybe submission had taught Starsky a small lesson of patience, which was all for the good if that one thing bled over into their real world. "You must spend all your money down at Leather Jungle." Starsky said.

"Not all of it," Hutch smiled when he finally felt an envelope under the leather backed paddle and pulled it out. "Some of it I spent on this."

"What?" Starsky accepted the manila envelope, turning it over in his palm.

"Open it!"

"I will." Starsky regarded him with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. "Give me a minute. Will a snake jump out at me?"

"Starsk, that's your schtick. Besides, it's a flat envelope."

Releasing the back flap Starsky flipped it open and pulled out the thick sheath of papers. "What's this? A deed?"

"I bought this house, Starsk." Hutch pointed to the relevant line. "But I put it in your name."

"You bought this house?" Starsky echoed, in disbelief. "For me?"

"It's your house," Hutch said softly falling in love all over again from the way Starsky looked back at him with such incredulous devotion, dark blue eyes wide with shock. He'd well and truly surprised Starsky, who probably never expected Hutch to give him such an intimate gift after years of unsentimental ones.

"Oh, my god, Hutch," Starsky whispered. "I never owned a house before. But why?"

"Because that way, you're the boss of what goes on here. I may be the master, but you're in charge. If you want the whips and the cuffs, it's your decision. If you want things to go back the way they were, that's okay, too."

"What about the contract Lisa was going to draw up?"

"I think we need to talk more about that."

"No, we don't." Starsky shook his head, folding the documents proving his ownership of two acres of land and a house on Robinson Lane back along the original lines and reverently slipping them into the envelope again. "Unless I miss the mark completely, we're both in agreement on that."

"You don't want it either?" Hutch asked, a rush of relief leaving him goosebumpy. Sometimes he and Starsky were in such perfect accord it was scary.

"It sounded sexy as hell." Starsky kept touching the papers as if he couldn't quite trust they were real, turning them around and around until Hutch finally had to pluck the envelope out of his hand and place it on the lowest ledge of a nearby bookshelf. "And Caress and Lisa make it work, but..."

"We're not them," Hutch nodded. "We live by our own rules and we'll figure out what works for us in time."

Starsky threw his arms around him shouting babbled thank yous, and Hutch felt his heart literally jump for joy as he kissed his favorite slave full on the mouth. "See, there," Starsky licked his lips. "That's the kind of thing I want around here. I think I'm gonna have Lisa draw up a whole buncha rules for conduct in my house." He cocked his head. "Sounds terrific, doncha think? My house."

"Sounds pretty good to me."

"And rule number one is the master has to kiss the owner of the house as often as possible."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to break that rule." Hutch laughed as Starsky smooched him soundly. "You really still want a master? Are you ever interested in switch hitting?"

"I dunno, I don't think so." Starsky pressed his body so close Hutch could feel the jut of a thick penis on the curve of his hipbone. "Which means rule number two is nothing changes--we keep doing what we've been doin'."

"In other words, if it's not broken, don't fix it?"

"Damn--at this rate you'll never earn a demerit," Starsky pretended to fume, rubbing his cock against Hutch's thigh just to the west of another very interested penis.

"That's okay with me, 'cause if nothing changes, you'll earn a few."

"That sounds about right." Starsky raised up on his knees, so near Hutch could feel the ripple of muscles between his ribs when he took a breath, but Starsky was no longer resting his backside on Hutch's lap. "I'll feel your marks all week long," he said in a husky voice that oozed passion.

"That's the point." Hutch ran the flat of his hand down the slope of Starsky's rump, gently fingering the four raised marks he'd put there. Starsky stiffened with a sex-drenched sigh, straddling Hutch's legs, as physically close as two people could be without being inside each other. Except they were inside each other, all the time, each carrying the other's heart inside his body. "I'll feel them, too," Hutch whispered into the wealth of dark curls so close to his cheek, wrapping his arms around the taunt, wiggly body by his side.

"Thank you, Hutch." Starsky said more quietly, his head on the other's shoulder. "Even if we're not doing the whole full time routine, d'you think...?" He paused as if uncertain how to finish the sentence.

"What?"

"Well, I was just wondering. Is this house for just weekends, or all the time?"

"Starsk, it's your place," Hutch reminded, so overflowing with happiness he didn't ever want to leave this room again. Maybe if they pulled the phone closer so they could order the occasional delivered food to keep their strength up, then they wouldn't have to get off the furry pillows for at least another couple of days.

"Well, what about living here all the time?" Starsky asked, almost shyly. He tipped his head back, gazing into Hutch's eyes. "Together. Then we could do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted."

"Live with you? We did just get married today," Hutch said, even happier now than he had been one minute before.

"Hey, that means tonight is our wedding night, huh?" Starsky grinned. "Got any plans?"

"I'm not carrying you over the threshold, if that's what you're thinking. Other than that, you're the boss around here."

"Then I propose that you find a couple of those cuffs we left in the chamber and put 'em to good use." Starsky held out his arms with a saucy wink like a cheeky felon about to be arrested. "It's not gonna be an every day kind of thing around here, but we still got a few days left on our weekend and I want to christen every room in the house."

"Three bedrooms, living room, den, kitchen, one and a half baths and a hot tub," Hutch rattled off as he leapt to his feet, nearly tripping over Starsky's in the process and grabbed onto the bookshelf for support. Suddenly he could think of a half dozen things to do with two leather cuffs and a few other select items from his bag of tricks. He trotted down the hall, snatching the discarded cuffs from the day bed. Starsky still wore the brown collar buckled and locked around his neck, but was otherwise unfettered while they were eating dinner.

"Hutch, can we still go to the Estate, even though we got this place now?" Starsky carried the fondue debris back into the kitchen, shouting his question over his shoulder.

"Only if you're really, really good at being very bad." Hutch came up behind him, capturing Starsky around the middle to turn him around so they faced one another.

"Great!" Starsky enthused. "There has to be a way to figure out the address of that place."

"You do and you'll be polishing the strap with your butt again."

"I could find a topographical map..." Starsky mused, tapping softly on Hutch's shirtfront. "It's not that far out of Bay City...If we went back and I set the timer on my watch the minute we got in the car and stopped it when we got to the cabin, then I'd know the distance..."

"Starsky, you're just trying to earn demerits!" Hutch shook his head in bemusement, cupping his hand around Starsky's left arm to buckle the first cuff back into place.

"Not trying so much as--maintaining the status quo." Starsky rotated his wrist like he was testing the fit of the cuff while Hutch decorated the right wrist identically to the left. "No wonder you said your friend Joel wouldn't mind the remodeling you did in the back room. Where'd he go, anyway?"

"He flies overseas, met a girl in Germany and relocated there." Hutch admired his slave once again attired properly. The brown leather adorning Starsky at neck and wrists suited him which just went to show he'd been born to sport bondage wear. The diamond glinted in the lobe of Starsky's ear like a firefly in the night. He had given Starsky a diamond and a house, but Starsky had given him so much more--love, devotion, and a kinky sex slave ready for adventure.

Still trying to decide between several attractive scenarios playing out in his head, Hutch leaned back against the kitchen cabinets absently rubbing the fine polished wood. Hooks would be useful in any number of ways in the kitchen, from hanging pots and coffee mugs to securing recalcitrant slaves for a little domestic discipline. He made a mental reminder to buy a few boxes of heavy-duty hooks on his next trip to the hardware store. "Joel sold this place for a great price because it does need some work. The outside has been painted recently, and I fixed up the chamber, but there's dry rot in some of the window frames and the plumbing isn't up to code. And the electrical system was put in by Edison himself. I still plan to make a few more renovations."

"Special modifications?" Starsky waggled his eyebrows. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"Just some hooks, maybe reinforce the doorframes to make them weight bearing..." Hutch said, with an elaborate shrug.

"Hutch, you got any regrets about all this?" Starsky asked.

"What brought this on?"

"I dunno, it just seems like we were at a crossroads, but we chose the fork in the road and, now we're wearin' leathers ridin' tandem on a big black Harley." Starsky laughed as Hutch curled his long forefinger through the 'D' ring in his collar and pulled him closer. "But you never answered my question."

"Not a one, how about you?" Hutch kissed him, in accordance with Starsky's first house rule.

"Just wish we'd started all this a whole lot sooner. Now, don't you got some rules I can break?"

FIN