PART TWO

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.