This story is the fourth in a series. The first story is Bound to the Law, which is in the Classics section. The second story is Bound to the Law II: Pierced by Circumstance in Late Models. The third story is Bound to the Law I II: Working Out the Kinks in Late Models. Comments on this story can be sent to:



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'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."


"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 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.