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: Dawnrca@earthlink.net
"Starsky?" Hutch strode into the ER, his pale hair wispy and disheveled. Keeping pace with him, Caress wore her usual serenity like an armor, but Starsky could detect a few chinks in the shield. She was very concerned for her lover. That Hutch looked far more upset was almost comical. "What the hell happened?" Hutch demanded.
"Where's Lisa?" Caress asked.
"In the exam room. She's got a couple cuts, but Davies said none of 'em were serious," Starsky explained. He hadn't been able to get a hold of Hutch or Caress until he and Lisa had driven over to the hospital. Lisa told him one of the reasons she often worked late certain nights of the week was because Caress had clients or students such as Hutch and she didn't answer the phone or even pick up messages until after sessions were over. That was one of the reasons Lisa had phoned Starsky first. Luckily Starsky had gotten through to Lisa's Mistress while Hutch was still there.
"Waters attacked her in her office?" Hutch asked shoving his hands into his pockets.
"She called me when she saw him walking through that maze of cubicles. Anyone could get lost in there--you and I did." Starsky shifted his weight on the poorly padded waiting room seat. He'd been wearing the plug under much more adverse conditions than usual and wanted it off an hour ago, but knew that wasn't likely to happen any time soon. "He'd already knifed the lobby guard. She was able to hide from him for a while, but he finally cornered her and tried to rape her, but Lady Caress had applied some precautionary--uh--measures that thwarted his unnatural desires." Starsky blushed when those dark almond shaped eyes centered on him.
"Oh!" Caress cried out softly, then smiled with supreme joy when she understood what he'd inferred. "I see my mission to keep my slave safe was successful." Hutch stared hard at Starsky as if trying to understand what just went on, but the arrival of a starched nurse stopped any further discussion into bondage wear.
"You're next of kin for Miss Hartman?" she asked.
"Jeanne Tatsumi," Caress gave her seldom-used name in a firm voice. "She has no living family. I'm her housemate."
"That's what she said; will you come with me?"
"Caress, we can wait here for you if you need me to drive you home?" Hutch offered.
"No, thank you, Ken. I'll give you a call when I know more, but thank you so much, David." Caress put a hand up to Starsky's cheek, her emotional, vulnerable self showing briefly. "I owe you a debt of gratitude for this one."
"Hey, I just showed up," Starsky shrugged. "You'd already done most of the work." He winked with cheeky bravado, "And if it makes her feel better, when you get the chance, tell her I was wearin' one, too."
"Very good, I'm glad your master was paying attention to my tutelage," Caress nodded, her mistress persona very evident once again. "I believe you will have a wonderful, difficult, and very enlightening weekend with Ken as your Dom. He has learned much, and will prove himself as an excellent master for a slave such as you." Although the nurse was standing a few feet away Caress' voice was pitched low and intimate, for Starsky's ears only.
"Thank you, ma'am. Is it okay to send Lisa a big buncha flowers tomorrow?"
"I think she will welcome being pampered and fussed over for a few days," Caress smiled. "I think I'll enjoy it, too." With that she turned and followed the waiting nurse beyond the ER doors.
Turning to Hutch Starsky wanted nothing more than to be swept up in those strong arms and hugged until he couldn't breathe, but even in this particular hospital where Simon Davies welcomed patients with society's more unacceptable kinks, he didn't think it was wise to flaunt his affair with his male detective partner.
"You ready to go?" Hutch asked quietly. "Caress said she'd call with news."
"Yeah, I know..." Starsky slipped under the arm Hutch slung across his shoulders in comradely fashion. He liked having that weight there, a solid reminder of Hutch's friendship and love. It was a close as he was going to get to a hug for the moment.
The rain had finally let up but the parking lot was booby trapped with puddles invisible in the dark. The sky was inky without visible stars and the sickly moon seemed to be hiding nervously behind ominous clouds.
When they got to the Torino, Starsky turned to face his lover, trying to gauge Hutch's reactions to the whole situation. Hutch didn't look like he was fuming so Starsky turned on the charm, extending his wrists like a felon waiting to be arrested. "Detective, give it to me straight, if I'm in trouble, cuff me now and get the sentencing over with quick so my tush can get used to the added demerit count. What's it gonna be now? Twenty-five, 26?"
"Starsky," Hutch laughed, just what Starsky had hoped he'd do. "If you're referring to going to see Lisa behind my back, there were definitely extenuating circumstances here. You saved her life, I think that cancels out demerits in my book."
"Yeah? That's terrific." Starsky jangled his keys happily. "Where's your car?"
"Back at Caress'. You don't argue with a Mistress in full dominance mode about who's going to drive when she's just learned her lover has been stabbed," Hutch shuddered slightly. "It was a sight to see."
"Man, I had enough to see on my end." Starsky got into the car, waiting until Hutch was buckled up before starting the ignition.
"You want to talk about it?"
"Hutch, that bastard was loomin' over her, ripping her clothes and stabbing her! I mean--stabbing me is one thing, but tryin' to rape a woman..." Starsky trailed off, his fists clenched around the steering wheel, unable to put his anger into words. "Where does this guy get off? What makes him want to pummel a woman into submission, force her t'have sex?"
"It's not sex, it's power," Hutch answered so softly Starsky could hardly hear his voice over the roar of the engine. "It's domination, but of a totally different stripe than what you and I do. It's violent, unadulterated control without any regard for the feelings of the other person. And, so help me, Starsky, if I ever..."
"Never!" Starsky interjected. "Hutch, it ain't the same thing. What's between us is always consensual, even if you're the one in control, I agreed to put you there."
"I get scared, Starsk, that I could turn into some person I don't even know intent on dominating your every move."
"I'd never let you, you know that, don't you?" Starsky reached out to find Hutch's hand in the dark. He drove one handed for several blocks, his palm resting on his best friend's. "You worry too much."
"You give me so much to work with." Hutch raised their hands up to his lips, bestowing a kiss so solemn and sweet that Starsky was glad it was too dark for Hutch to see the well of tears in his eyes. "Glad you brought that bastard down, Starsk."
"Hutchinson! Starsky! In my office! NOW!" Dobey's bellow was even more blustery than usual. Hutch made eyes at Starsky over the rim of his coffee cup, drowning a smirk with a long swallow of hot brew. They had been in the squadroom less than five minutes and were apparently already in hot water.
Starsky waggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, using a maple log as a cigar. "And the magic word is...?"
"Prevaricate?" Hutch guessed.
"Now you're scarin' me."
"Put on your song and dance, Starsk." Hutch led the way to their superior's office. "Fifty says he wants to know why you went to Lisa's rescue without backup..." He held open the door with a sly grin.
"I HAD backup," Starsky insisted for the second time to Captain Dobey's face shortly thereafter. "I called before I even went inside the building."
"You should have waited for them," Dobey said with a glower. "You were off duty, without your partner. Why did she call you in the first place? She should have called the cops."
"She did--she called Starsky," Hutch put in helpfully. He hadn't quite finished thinking up an adequate distortion of the truth to put forth as to where he was at nine-thirty on a Thursday night, but he was certain it would come to him in the nick of time.
"Hutchinson, I meant an emergency operator who could send over a patrol car..." The captain harrumphed several times, tapping a sheath of papers together against his desk, obviously aware that he wasn't getting anywhere with the united front of Starsky and Hutch. "You were able to save assistant D.A Hartman's life, and apprehend a known rapist..." he began after clearing his throat.
"Again," Starsky added taking a bite of the maple log he'd managed to hang on to.
"Fine work, son, but don't let it go to your head. Use your brain and wait for backup!" Dobey nearly roared. "Waters is behind bars for a while now, no bail, no get out of jail free card. With that in mind, give your statements to IA..."
"Aw, Cap!" Starsky protested, the bite he'd just taken from the pastry still unchewed and on display.
"Close your mouth and don't talk with your mouth full," Hutch reminded with a saintly smile. "Chew your food 30 times."
Snapping his jaw down on the food, Starsky chewed furiously with a glower.
"So saying, when you get that done and the paperwork on your desk cleaned off, I don't want to see you again until Tuesday."
"Tuesday?" Starsky repeated.
"Monday is President's day," Hutch said with something akin to awe. They'd been going full tilt to get ready for the fisting, he hadn't really been paying much attention to the calendar. That gave them a day longer than he'd originally anticipated, which was all for the good. When they'd sat down and discussed a few ground rules for their sessions Starsky had mandated two days off after a major pain or punishment session. Hutch had basically expected that Starsky to call in sick on Monday if he was still hurting enough, but now that wasn't an issue anymore.
"Washington or Lincoln's birthday?" Starsky asked but the glint in his eyes said he was thinking exactly the same thing as Hutch. One more day to play in their personal playground.
"Both of 'em together." Hutch answered. "If you go over the partially finished reports, I'll start typing up the interrogations and witness interviews and we can be out of here early."
"Starsky," Dobey leveled his dark glare at him. "I went down to the cafeteria when I arrived this morning. Edith wants me to eat more fruit, but I just can't take bananas without some cream..."
"I like 'em with chocolate myself," Starsky said, glancing at his breakfast as if he suddenly wished for a different flavor. Hutch choked on the raunchy image filling his head and covered it with a cough into his fist.
"Low fat cream," Dobey continued. "And I overhead some conversation. I only listened because I heard Starsky's name."
"Of course, Captain," Hutch agreed earnestly. He glanced over at Starsky's wantonly slack-legged slouch in the adjacent chair. Starsky nearly always occupied a chair like it was a malleable object he could twist and shape into anything he wanted. He rarely sat up primly as Hutch had been taught as a child; back straight, eyes forward, knees upright. He lounged; one leg swung over the armrest so his other leg partially hid his erection from Dobey's view. But Hutch could see it very clearly. When a phone call distracted Dobey's attention Starsky winked lecherously at Hutch, stickling out his tongue to lick the icing off his maple log. Hutch was instantly hard. He coughed, crossing his legs, all the while scowling at his partner.
"Now, where was I?" Dobey replaced the phone.
"People are talkin' about me?" Starsky swung his sneakered foot, looking completely unrepentant for his behavior. "In the cafeteria."
"That you and the attorney were an..." Dobey searched for the correct term. "Item."
"They think we're dating?" Starsky giggled.
"Looks that way," Hutch agreed, very glad that the ridiculous idea had reduced his boner.
"And does this have any bearing on the news you gave me a few weeks ago during the Carlysle murder investigation?" Dobey questioned.
"Cap'n, nothin's changed on that front, relationship wise," Starsky said obliquely. "Lisa called me 'cause she was scared and she knows I wear a gun. She wasn't thinkin' straight with a rapist breathing down her neck. The guy nearly killed the lobby guard and he woulda killed her, but I got there before it happened. End of story."
"And where were you during all this activity, Hutchinson?" Dobey asked formally.
"I was off duty, Captain..." Hutch sat up straighter, wondering why he always felt like he was in the principal's office when Dobey got like this while Starsky rarely let these things get under his skin.
"Hutch is takin' a class, Cap," Starsky finished his breakfast with a smack of his lips. He reached over to snatch the handkerchief from Dobey's chest pocket to wipe his fingers and leaned forward as if imparting a secret. "He's learning some discipline."
"Well, then, that sounds uplifting." Dobey grabbed the now sticky hanky back with a growl.
"It is for me," Starsky agreed solemnly, ignoring the strangled sounds coming from Hutch. "Every time I think of him in that class, hitting the books..." Any further comment was squashed when Hutch hauled Starsky out of the small office by the collar of his jacket.
"What the hell was that all about?" Hutch hissed.
"The whole song and dance," Starsky grinned at him. "You owe me 50 bucks by the way."
"Didn't I win that bet?"
"You were right, which is not exactly the same thing, but I saved your pretty ass with my prevarication there. You never could lie to Dobey."
"Swindler," Hutch muttered digging two twenties and a ten out of his jeans and handing them over.
"I could buy you a drink..." Starsky offered, waving the money in his face. "Maybe an appetizer."
"I don't need an appetizer when I've got you," Hutch made a sound low in his throat. They were virtually alone in the squadroom, with only a lone detective hunched over the phone at the corner desk nearest to the door. Even so, Hutch didn't want the foreplay to get anymore out of hand than it already had. He pulled out his chair to sit down in front of the mountain of paperwork that seemed to have doubled in size since the day before. "Don't you need to get over to Simonetti's office before he comes in and drags you there?" Hutch inserted a sheet of foolscap into the typewriter carriage.
"Oh, yeah," Starsky sneered. "I'll see you in a few, if I'm not thrown into the brig first."
"Oh, but Starsk, think of all those pirate fantasies you could play out," Hutch teased. "The evil Simmonetti locking you in the damp, dark brig until he pulls out his peg leg..."
"Don't even go there!" Starsky admonished with a horrified expression. "You'd better be the rival pirate king who comes to my rescue."
"It is, it is a glorious thing to be a pirate king," Hutch hummed a snatch of song from "Pirates of Penzance" as Starsky stalked out.
Despite Dobey's hopeful words that they could leave early, Starsky and Hutch ended up spending most of the day in the squadroom, but they did manage to get out on time, which was a rarity in itself. The rain was falling only fitfully when they splashed their way to the car and headed home to grab a light meal. The weekend was upon them and they didn't want to waste any time getting into their 'other life'. It not might be a piratical one but the fantasy of BDSM still held them in thrall and they both had eager anticipation for the weekend, even if Starsky knew he'd be in pain a great deal of the time. The reality of that had been on his mind most of the week. Each time Hutch handed over the increasingly larger butt plugs Starsky was reminded of his position in their hierarchy. He'd come all over scared, excited, and every emotion in between in a matter of seconds, sweat tickling his underarms at the sight of those toys. He was willingly going to subject himself to situations that would hurt like hell, without morphine or any of the painkillers he'd used after he was shot. Was that insane? It was weirdly thrilling in a way he couldn't even begin to explain.
There had been a time, especially while he was in the hospital just after Gunther's goons nailed him, that the idea of enduring any more pain was so terrifying Starsky had nearly lost his resolve to reclaim his place on the police force. He'd never admitted that to Hutch, but the wound pain had almost been his downfall. Even now his chest hurt more often and worse than he ever let on. Luckily, most of the time a single aspirin or just a longer than pre-shooting rest restored him. But that he now was willingly walking into the tiger's den was oddly revitalizing. Pain was no longer his enemy. In fact, he knew from other sessions with Hutch that it could be so easily coaxed into pleasure. The pain/pleasure concept was one that had never entered his mind a few years ago. Gunshot wounds just hurt like hell, but for whatever reason, a leather strap on the back was a different animal entirely. It hurt, but also brought along a myriad of other sensations riding on its coattails. Pleasure was only one of them. And just thinking about it made him horny. Wonder what Pavlov and his dogs would have thought of that?
"You ready for this?" Hutch held out the gym bag after they'd cleared away the dinner dishes and all his plants had been watered. Starsky also insisted on checking up on the wounded lobby guard, who was resting well after surgery to reinflate his punctured lung. Caress called to report that Lisa had come home from her overnight stay at the hospital and loved the flowers, but she would be incommunicado for the rest of the weekend. There was nothing else to delay them from their own plans, now.
"I guess so." Starsky had just finished his nightly enema, which was another thing that no longer held the connotation it had in the hospital. While he'd never view the tangle of plastic tubing with anything but distaste, it did help to focus him in on what would happen tomorrow and center his submissive headspace. But other than that it was a messy, distasteful ritual that he'd be glad to abandon.
Hutch seemed already in his dominant role and Starsky had to resist the sudden urge to kneel at his feet. "This evening will be a little bit preparation, and a little bit of fun. After you're all suited up, I'm going back to my place to get ready, too. I'll leave an envelope with specific instructions and an address. From now on, we're on the clock."
"Yes, master." Starsky sank to his knees when his legs wouldn't hold him up any longer. Hutch's words had slammed him into his slavery so fast his head swam. He longed for the touch of those big, broad hands, needed to feel them roaming over his body possessively. His cock bobbed upward, ready to play.
First came the usual ceremony with the leather collar. Starsky listened solemnly to the words he'd come to cherish in his heart. "When you wear this collar, who do you belong to?" Hutch asked.
"You, Hutch, body and soul."
With his hands tangled in Starsky's long hair Hutch pulled him into a loving kiss until Starsky was standing on his feet again.
"This is the largest plug you will wear, and it won't be removed until tomorrow morning." Hutch displayed a thick, black rubber plug the size of a playing card spade on steroids. Starsky's anus tightened reflexively at the sight, his belly clenching. That monster was too big by half.
"It will be hard to insert, that's certain, but we've stretched your muscles all week, so it won't be the same as putting it in virgin. You can do this, I have total faith in you, little one. Have faith in yourself." Hutch rubbed his knuckles along Starsky's jaw line, then traced the contour of the tight leather cincture around his neck. "I love seeing you like this. Your eyes go dark and needy; I just want to fill you up."
"With that, you will," Starsky quipped, but he didn't have as much faith as Hutch did. The plug was huge, far larger than any they'd used before and the black color gave it an ominous, mysterious air. "Please, go slow?"
"On the bed, on your side," Hutch pointed. "Are you lubed up inside?"
That was another part of the preparation that Starsky had learned was absolutely essential for ease of insertion and comfort, what little there might be. "Yes," he agreed, laying down facing away from Hutch. He'd dumped the velvet bedspread in the dirty hamper to be washed so he was lying naked on the blanket, which was itchier than he'd expected.
"I will take it at your speed, but Starsky, there is no stop here. This is my decree and a necessary precursor to the fisting." With that Hutch widened the tiny anal opening as much as possible with his fingers and began pushing the plug into place.
"Ohdamn," Starsky gulped frantically, his whole body suddenly against the entire idea. Despite the experience of the past week his sphincter clenched up tightly, the muscles fighting the intrusion of the thick black invader. The rectum was a canal built for expelling not for welcoming in large foreign bodies.
"Relax, remember to breathe," Hutch whispered, letting the plug slide out a millimeter or so. The top end was still inside Starsky's body, but that was the narrowest part and least likely to hurt. Hutch spread Starsky's legs farther apart, pushing the right one up until it was bent nearly up under his chin. With soothing strokes he gently slid one hand up and down the tender underside of that leg, not rushing, but waiting until Starsky's fear level reduced.
When his trembling had slowed, Starsky took in a big breath to prepare for the onslaught. This was the big time, no wimps allowed. Hutch had total faith, so why didn't he? Because Hutch didn't have to have that bottle stopper shoved up his ass. "Can I ask a question?"
"Sure." Hutch pushed the plug back in a tiny bit.
"You ever had anything like this in you?" Starsky gasped as the wider portion began to stretch his inner walls.
"Not like this. Vanessa went in for dildos mostly, which are long but not usually so wide." Hutch took the opportunity for advancement until Starsky cried out.
"That hurts, it hurts, Hutch..." Starsky didn't want to beg, he really didn't, but this wasn't going to fit, that much was obvious. Agonizing bolts of pain were shooting down both his legs and up his spine, leaving his whole lower body tingling. Starsky squeezed his eyes shut so Hutch wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. "This hurts too much." He hadn't said the word stop, but it was a close thing.
"No, it doesn't," Hutch soothed, going back to stroking Starsky's leg. The plug was not completely seated, but it was nearly all the way inside. "It hurts just enough and that'll fade soon. Accept it, Starsk, pull it inside you and ride it out. This gets so much better." He gave the last push, which left just the flat black base sticking out and fitted it into the leather harness.
"Just give me a few minutes," Starsky pleaded, waiting out the hurt. As much as it surprised him, Hutch was right. His stretched muscles did loosen up a fraction while still gripping the plug tightly. This one would be murder to walk around with, but after only a few minutes, he'd grown accustomed to the pressure and incredible fullness. "Thanks," he said, thumbing a stray tear out of his eye. "It's all behind me now."
"Always the comedian," Hutch laughed, buckling the belt into place.
"So Vanessa liked dildos, huh?" Starsky gingerly sat up, wincing as the plug shifted inside him. That was the part he hated the most. Even the smaller ones would shift and move creating the strangest sensations. This one felt like he'd stuffed a bowling ball up a drinking straw. He was sure his balance was going to be affected. "She have one of those belts to wear it in the front like a guy?"
"That's the idea." Hutch nodded, his cheeks a cherry red.
"I made you blush?" Starsky grinned, managing to ignore his present predicament.
"It's just hot in here, and I had to work hard to get that thing in."
Starsky placed a cool hand on Hutch's blazing cheeks, sensing the tension in Hutch's body. "You didn't like her being the aggressor," he said astutely.
"Starsky, this isn't the time."
"If it gets in the way of us, it is."
"How is it getting in between us?"
"Because a lot of your need to dominate comes from her." Starsky kissed the worry lines between his lover's eyebrows. "You couldn't control Vanessa and I won't let you completely control me. But Hutch, we're not the same. I would never play you for a fool. I love you."
"Anybody ever tell you you're a lot smarter than you look?" Hutch teased, but his voice was unaccountably tired. "At first I liked that independent streak of hers. Van knew what she wanted and went after it. I didn't realize for a long time that I was one of the things she wanted. I went with the package--A big house, a good-looking husband and a high paying job. So what did I do? Became a cop and she got no money, no prestige, and a lousy little rented cottage. She was angry and I didn't even see it coming."
"And she hurt you bad." Starsky rose up on his knees, which had the combined benefit of taking some of the strain off his backside and making him taller than the seated Hutch. "After all this time it still rips you up inside." With his cheek on the top of Hutch's bent head, Starsky could feel the rasp of Hutch's stubbly beard on his chest especially across his nipples. He'd meant to comfort, but the constant irritation was surprisingly arousing. "Would it help to imagine smackin' her with a long tailed whip?"
Hutch chuckled without moving from his comfortable position. "I love you, too, you mushpot."
"Listen, either we start something right here or I'm gonna have to take a cold shower..." Starsky joked pulling away just enough to look Hutch in the eye. "You okay?"
"Nothing starting something wouldn't cure," Hutch replied with a twinkle in his sky blue eyes. The melancholia was gone, but he still looked haunted by the memories. "What time is it?"
"Then you take that shower. I've got a few errands before we start the evening out right. I'll meet you at ten thirty at the address I left on the table." Hutch scrambled off the bed with purpose, patting his pockets for his car keys.
"We going to the Estate?" Starsky asked hopefully. Maybe he'd earned the honor of knowing the address.
"Nope. No more questions, just follow those instructions exactly and don't be late. There could be consequences."
"I'll bet," Starsky muttered. "Don't I even get a good-by kiss?"
Hutch reversed his course and planted a distracted one on Starsky's ready lips before running out the door.
Wondering if the shower was part of the instructions or just a teasing response to his own suggestion, Starsky got off the bed to retrieve the envelope in question. Walking did take far more effort than usual and it took him several attempts before he could move without shuffling like an old man with hemorrhoids. Damn, this was going to be harder than he thought. Hopefully the end results would make up for all the prep work.
Slitting open the innocuous white envelope with a letter opener Starsky removed the missive and silently read his master's orders. This always gave him a kind of Mission: Impossible thrill, like he was embarking on a dangerous assignment. He almost expected the paper to burst into flames after he read it.
Starsky was directed to dress similarly to what he'd worn the week before to Leather Jungle and the café for lunch, but with a slight change. Included in the envelope was a fine linked gold chain with two tiny black loops at each end. After experimenting with the elasticized loops for a moment, Starsky understood their use. Each one slipped over his nipples like a miniature lasso leaving the gold chain suspended in between. Hutch wanted him to go out in public like this? Because the address on the paper was not of a private meeting place, as he'd expected, but a fairly well known leather bar just outside of Bay City. Starsky swallowed hard, staring at the delicate jewelry in his hand. His master had decreed this and if he refused now, things would never be the same between them. He closed his fist around the cold metal, walking resolutely into the bathroom.
Scanning the all male crowd with a cop's eye, Hutch found himself checking the occupants of the room for illegal substances. That was not such a good idea when he should be gearing up for meeting his lover. He'd arrived a mite early and was starting to feel nervous and uncertain. What if Starsky didn't come? Had the nipple chain been too much? Hutch had tried it on himself; the loops hugged the nipple, but didn't apply pressure or pain like clamps did. But he'd never asked Starsky to so publicly display himself before. Should he have allowed his slave to wear a shirt to cover the jewelry? Taking a sip from his soda water, Hutch looked up in time to see a vision walk through the door of Rawhide and pause just inside. Starsky was a delectable bonbon decked out in black leather, the light from the outside neon sign outlining him in red like Lucifer out for a night on the town. This was not the whimsical Starsky who sometimes teased Hutch out of a crummy mood; this Starsky was hard and fine, an aphrodisiac on two legs
Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Hutch watched his wet dream head over to the bar. The black leather motorcycle jacket was zipped halfway up so the gold chain was only partially visible. It winked and teased from its nest of chest hair as Starsky passed the little cones of light illuminating each patron's table. Nearly every eye in the room was on that tight ass enrobed in smooth black leather. Although Hutch could see that Starsky wasn't walking with quite his normal grace, he still had the sinuous stalk of a panther in the jungle. With his hair once again pulled back into a small knot, the diamond earring and the tight slave's collar were prominently displayed. Those symbols of ownership were visible to everyone in the place and while they would not know who his master was, it was obvious that he had one.
Watching like a predator sizing up his next catch, Hutch sat back to enjoy the spectacle. He was aware that several men at adjoining tables were just as interested in the beautiful creature as he was. Starsky stood at the bar, eschewing the barstools, and spoke to the bartender. Hutch had already given the coffee-skinned man special instructions and slipped him a fifty to do just what he asked. It looked as if it were working perfectly. A tall glass was set in front of Starsky along with a note.
After taking a sip from his soda, Starsky read the note with the air of someone who didn't give a damn what it said because he received anonymous notes everyday. He inclined his head to the bartender once more and Hutch suppressed a grin when the African-American indicated his table with a jut of his chin.
Turning, Starsky gazed at Hutch with hooded eyes, his whole body an advertisement for sex. He reached up with a lazy hand, teasing the zipper of his jacket down to his navel to reveal more of the nipple chain, then dropped his fingers down to glide down the slick smoothness of his leather pants, skimming around the bulging mound at his groin. He never actually touched himself but it was a close thing. Hutch was hard as a rock knowing Starsky was following his orders perfectly. While in his submissive headspace Starsky's cock was for his master alone and he was forbidden to even touch it. Caressing the bulge in his own pants that was threatening to cut off his blood supply Hutch fervently wished he hadn't set up such an elaborate charade. He wanted to throw Starsky down on the floor and ravage him right then and there.
A man wearing an outfit so similar to Starsky's they could have been twins sidled up to the bar. The man was huge, topping Starsky by four or five inches, but far too large bellied to pull off the tight pants and Harley jacket. He leered at Hutch's slave, a bushy mustache hiding his lips, but Hutch didn't have to be a lip reader to know what he was saying to Starsky.
Starsky shook his head, taking another drink from his cola. After he'd drained the glass, he set the glass down on the marble countertop, making a little show of tucking the note into his jacket pocket. Motorcycle Man made another attempt, grabbing Starsky by the arm when he started to leave, but the icy stare Starsky shot at him would have frozen the sun. He was not for sale, bud, stop wasting his time. Hutch savored the knowledge that Starsky was all his. Starsky didn't have to act out this little show to prove anything. He would have come willingly to Hutch, with or without orders. It just gave the whole session more of an edge this way, the adrenaline rush like a snort of cocaine to an addict.
Starsky drove as fast as he dared on the dark streets. The rain had stopped but nearly invisible puddles left the roadway treacherous this late at night. Luckily, he knew exactly where he was going. The address on the note the bartender had slipped under his cola was for a cottage very dear to Starsky's heart. The location of his first BDSM encounter with Hutch.
69 Robinson Lane.
Both the number and the name amused him all over again, and he hummed the Simon and Garfunckle tune as he turned his car into the driveway. "What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson, heaven holds a place for those who pray..."
Starsky winced getting out of the car, the plug poking uncomfortably inside him. There were moments he could almost ignore it and other times he wanted to rip it out with both hands. Just the thought of Hutch's loving blue eyes stopped him, though, and the phantom feel of those big hands cupping his buttocks. Taking a deep breath, he stood looking up at the front of the house. He always arrived on a rainy day, it seemed, but this time the shy moon peeked out from behind a bank of dark clouds so that he was able to examine the place more closely. It was a lovely little cottage, probably built in the '30's, with those little touches of gingerbread molding and fine craftsmanship that just weren't included on modern houses. The door was still painted a jaunty red that matched the mailbox down by the road. The gravel driveway was just long enough that the house was nearly hidden, a line of evergreens giving the impression of a secluded hideaway. With the closest neighbor a half-mile away, the loudest sound on a summer's day was probably the drone of bees amongst the flowers. City boy Starsky liked the slightly rural feel to the place with the safety of a small town only ten minutes away. He was glad they would have a longer visit this time, so he could get to know the place more intimately. Maybe it would dry up enough on Saturday or Sunday for a walk. Hutch's friend Joel, a flight attendant, must be on one of his long flights to Europe again.
But enough stalling; Hutch might be coming at any moment and Starsky was far from ready. Having memorized the instructions in the note, he reached up above the scarlet door for the key. This hold over of Hutch's Minnesota childhood always made Starsky laugh. In their line of work it was patently dangerous to leave the house key out in plain sight, but it never seemed to worry Hutch any. Sure enough, Starsky closed his fist around the key on the first pass. It was the work of seconds to slide it in the lock and step inside. The interior looked less magical than his first impression. There were no flickering candles, and Hutch was not waiting, wearing a luminous pale blue silk shirt looking both sexy and powerful. The house seemed expectant, patiently waiting for what would happen on the morrow and Starsky again took a deep breath of the calm, quiet air. Then he stripped off his leathers. The pants had been difficult to get on--he'd had to use talcum powder to slide the second skin up his legs, and they were equally trying to remove, but finally he stood in nothing but his collar, the belt holding the plug in place and the gold chain slung across his chest. The tiny loops fit snuggly around his nipples just tightly enough to be very noticeable. He found the movement of the links tugging on his flesh disconcerting, however.
After stowing his clothes in the front closet Starsky knelt down, assuming presentation position just as Hutch had taught him the week before. The training served him well, pulling him down into that wonderful tranquility he'd begun to savor. This was so far from the dirty streets where teenaged prostitutes shot up and little old men were beaten for a few bucks. Being in this house, outside the Norman Rockwellian hamlet of a town, was like taking a vacation in an old fashioned movie; albeit one with a very kinky plot. He grinned, his whole body flushing at the memory of Hutch watching him from across the room at Rawhide. Knowing he was the object of such intense scrutiny and that he was turning his lover on from afar was completely arousing and he'd barely been able to breath with a hard on taking up all available space in his painted-on leathers. Starsky stared at his stiff penis, imagining Hutch standing in front of him, so close, but not touching the throbbing organ. If it were possible, his erection blossomed even wider and he longed to relieve the ache centered in his groin. It wouldn't take that long and it would make it so much easier to wait if he just took the edge off. Raising up one hand to grasp his cock, Starsky's heart slammed into overdrive when he heard the whine of Hutch's engine grind to a halt. No mistaking the sound of that car.
Placing his palms flat on his spread thighs Starsky willed himself to remain frozen in place even after Hutch came through the door. He was now a slave, with no rights or privileges except those given to him by his master. No speaking out of turn, no looking directly at his master, and he was to be on his knees or back unless told to stand.
The anticipation was driving him crazy as he listened to the sounds of Hutch opening the front door and stepping inside. Was he sitting straight enough? Would he please his master? Had he done anything to deserve another demerit? His throat as dry as the Mojave, Starsky kept his position, barely noticing the tingling in his feet or the cramping in his knees. In a strange way, he loved this. It gave him a crazy mixed up feeling of bad little boy and much adored plaything. Which would it be tonight?
"Very good, Slave," Hutch said softly, touching his hair. Starsky shuddered from the barely-there caress, his entire being physically craving Hutch's nearness. "Don't move, stay just as you are for a little while longer."
Starsky could have wept when Hutch walked away, stowing his belongings as he always did when they first entered the house on a weekend. Hutch always had provisions, toys and props for every occasion. He planned for everything, seeming to leave nothing to chance. For that Starsky was grateful. So much could go wrong, there were so many times when the slightest slip up could cause injury but he trusted Hutch implicitly. Hutch was so prepared that Starsky felt safe enough to venture out each session into the unknown, blindfolded and bound. BDSM was like a treasure trove, an exotic oasis in a far-off land that took some time to get to and could be frightening as hell, but also a magical place that held some of the most passionate moments of his life. To think that he might never have gotten into this enchanted circle was tragic and, now, whenever Starsky folded himself into proper presentation like the perfect slave he wished he could be, he gave thanks to the late but not forgotten dominatrix, Carlysle, who had been his catalyst. Maybe he should make a small shrine for her--the patron saint of dommes.
"What are you thinking about that puts such a sweet smile on your face?" Hutch asked gently.
"Carlysle," Starsky answered shyly. His voice sounded odd in the little house and he realized he'd been there over half an hour and never spoken aloud.
"Yeah, I was, too." Hutch buckled a leather cuff around each of Starsky's wrists. "Stand up, I want to take a look at you."
Getting to his feet, Starsky glanced over at Hutch from under his eyelashes, wanting to get a look at him as well. Hutch filled the snug jeans he wore like a runway model, the fabric hugging those long thighs like it had melded to his body.
"Eyes down," Hutch commanded with amusement in his voice. "You can look later." He toyed with the nipple chain, tugging experimentally on it until Starsky stiffened. Like any slipknot, when pulled on, it tightened. Now the pinch on his nipples was considerable, but he didn't move as Hutch twisted the chain until the abused nub was fiery red and throbbing in time with his heart. Hutch then slid the loop off and sucked ever so gently on the blushing tip, taking it into his mouth like a breast-feeding baby. Starsky arched forward, giving Hutch as much skin as possible. He was under a spell cast by a blond wizard; there was no other way to account for his complete and utter capitulation. As Hutch suckled, one hand anchoring Starsky around his waist, the other pinched and crimped his other nipple like it was as malleable as a lump of Play-doh. Starsky cried out once but then lips covered his, a succulent invader probing deeply inside, divining his secret desires. His tongue coupled with the newcomer, dancing a mating ritual that was pure instinct. Nothing on earth mattered more than those lips locked together, arms now cradling bodies, cocks held out like dueling swords. But there was no battle to be waged and no conquering army, just two generals engaged in the oldest field engagement there was.
Starsky was never quite sure at what point during their ritualistic dance Hutch had lost his pants. One minute the jeans fabric was rough against his bare skin, the next Hutch's paleness was accented by Starsky's darker coloring.
"Bed," Hutch whispered, but that was enough. Starsky didn't need any more instructions than that to follow. He nuzzled against the nubby softness of the raw silk shirt Hutch was wearing, both of them walking like Siamese Twins joined at the hip back to the bedroom. It was just as Starsky had remembered; a big bed covered with a dark velvet bedspread and a huge, ornate metal frame. He'd had some good times in that bed.
Kissing, cuddling, and good old fashioned necking continued for some time after the partners made it to the bed, but nothing more than what any red blooded teenaged boy might do after Homecoming dance. Starsky didn't care, it was wonderful. He lived to follow his master's orders and he had no problem complying, even under these extreme circumstances.
"I wanted to take you right there on the floor at Rawhide," Hutch chuckled, still burrowing his fingers in Starsky's chest hair.
"I'd have done it in a heartbeat if you'da pulled out this telephone pole."
"Not going to happen, studpuppy," Hutch laughed again, his cock vibrating against Starsky's in a most delicious way. "But how are you doing down there?"
"S'okay," Starsky shrugged, cuddled against Hutch, unwilling to move.
"No, Starsky, this is no time to be evasive. I need the truth."
"It's all mixed up, Hutch." Starsky rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. Less distractions. "Part of me hates this ramrod. It hurts, and I want it out so bad it's all I can think about and the other half knows it's just a hunka rubber but tomorrow real flesh, your real flesh will be up there and I can hardly wait." Starsky smiled to himself when Hutch's hand crept back into the tangle of chest hair across his torso. He liked that big palm covering his torso, all five fingers spread from nipple to nipple, taking possession of his body. It made him feel very wanted and very loved. "It's an extension of you--so I think about you all the time, and that makes me happy."
"Any regrets right now?"
"Not a one," Starsky sighed happily. "You?"
"Can't get any better than this right now."
"Now, tomorrow, I know I'm gonna regret every single thing I did to earn a demerit--any chance I'll get a reprieve?"
"None whatsoever." Hutch propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing a hank of wiry chest hair between his thumb and forefinger. It made a crunchy, crackly sound. Starsky watched lazily, surprised to see that one end of the nipple chain was still attached on the left. He'd never noticed once the pressure was released.
"Are you going to mark me?" Starsky asked somberly. "Like Caress did to you?"
"How long do they last? Can I see yours again?"
"Just a couple of days, I hardly feel 'em anymore. Then it's time to get some sleep, 'cause Saturday will be one for the record books."
"I haven't seen the BDSM version of Guinness book of records," Starsky teased. "But I'd sure like to know who could keep it up the longest."
"Or who was the longest," Hutch added.
"Probably from Africa, those guys are really tall."
"Starsky, everybody knows size doesn't matter." Hutch flopped over on his belly, butt up.
"Tell me that tomorrow when you're squeezing your fist into my tight space," Starsky countered. He examined Hutch's backside with empathy, once again tracing the fading welts Caress had placed on his master. Had these weals been the result of some brawl, he wouldn't have taken a second look at them, but in this context they were rites of passage, brands of a special significance. And it would probably be the one and only time he ever saw stripes crossing Hutch's rounded ass. He was humbled and awed that Hutch had gone to such lengths to prove his worthiness as a Dom and Starsky could do no less than to emulate his master.
Gently tucking the blankets over Hutch's scarred derriere, Starsky curled up beside him, almost instantly asleep.
He awoke with a howl of pain, the epicenter on his right nipple. "What?" Starsky croaked, reaching up to pluck off the offending object dangling there.
"Hands at your sides," Hutch commanded darkly, already slipping off the chain loop and replacing it with another of the most insidious nipple clamps Starsky had ever encountered. They bit down viciously on his tender flesh like needle sharp talons digging into his chest. "These are on until breakfast."
"They hurt," Starsky hunched his shoulders, trying to lessen the pain but it didn't work. "I can't wear these for that long!"
"You can and you will." Hutch left a loving kiss just above each silver vise, as solicitous as someone who had just soothed a wound, not inflicted one. "The plug comes out and the clamps stay on."
"Why?" Starsky asked plaintively.
"Because I want it that way, my prince." Hutch tenderly caressed his arms, hair and cheeks until Starsky was putty in his hands. Centering on those heavenly blue eyes, Starsky sought solace from the hurt and found it. Just Hutch's gaze and the hands petting Starsky's body helped ease his complaints. "I'm not being mean, Starsk," Hutch whispered.
"I know, but you woke me up. Did I do something wrong...? These hurt, Hutch, a lot!" Starsky protested but made no further attempts to dislodge the shiny metal clasps tightly compressing his nipples.
"These would never be used as a punishment. I like to see them on you, half hidden in all this hair." Hutch lightly circled each breast with his finger, then licked it and repeated the shape leaving a hot, wet mark behind. "Why do you think I do this? Do you think I like to hurt you?"
"No..." Starsky hedged, but he was confused, and still half-sleepy. It was quite a shock to wake up with his master putting him into bondage before he even had his eyes open.
"I do it because you are mine and I want to. I want to adorn you with jewels. To cover you with silver and gold, each clipped to a little fold of bare skin. I dreamed about you last night, all covered in tiny clamps, your body moving under me, so beautiful, Starsk. And every time I removed one of 'em, I kissed the pinch and you laughed." Starsky lost himself in those words, dazed by the seemingly opposing concepts of love and cruelty. His cock responded to the sensual visions with a prominent thrust. Hutch grabbed the straining organ in one hand, chuckling with delight. "Yeah, I'll even put a few here. Because I can--and someday I will. The pain is an unfortunate side effect, but it serves a purpose by focusing you, anchoring you to me. I give it and I can take it away." Hutch drew his fingers down the center of Starsky's chest, equidistant between the twin pinchers. Starsky hitched in a breath, totally bewitched by his Top. "I love you more than I can say. And I love to see you decorated just for me." Hutch pulled his slave to his knees, their bodies so close together the clamps brushed Hutch's chest sending a wave of electricity through Starsky. Fireworks exploded in his brain, working the alchemy that could turn pain into incredible pleasure. Unfortunately, that wonderfulness only lasted a few heartbeats because Hutch moved around behind him.
Starsky sucked on his lower lip as Hutch worked on his backside. How did that happen? Going from bliss to agony in a few seconds. God, the damn clamps hurt, but at least he was trading one colossal pain for another. The anal plug had been in so long his body almost didn't want to release hold. There was a brief struggle before a rush of amazing relief left him shivering and sweaty as if he had to use the restroom but couldn't find an open stall. His anus felt as gaping as the giant maw of the space worm in "Empire Strikes Back" and as usual, Starsky's quirky sense of humor came to his rescue. At least he wouldn't have the Millennium Falcon flying up his ass. Now that would be a pain in the butt.
This was the first challenge of the day. How long would he hold out before buckling under? Would he continue to discover the pleasure in all this and if he didn't, would just the knowledge that he was giving Hutch pleasure be enough?
When Hutch was in the bathroom cleaning the rubber toy, Starsky couldn't resist bringing his hands up to gently press on his throbbing chest. Big mistake, that only exacerbated the intense ache. He bit down on his lip to keep from groaning aloud.
Still trying to come to terms with enduring the erotic version of clip-on earrings for an extended period of time Starsky was caught off guard when Hutch grabbed one wrist, yanking it behind his back to meet the other and locking them together with a loud snap. It was clear just exactly why he'd buckled on the leather cuffs the night before.
"No touching my handiwork," Hutch reminded.
"I can't help with breakfast this way," Starsky wheedled, wiggling his wrists.
"I'll cook, you can clean up later." Hutch brushed a kiss over his lips, eyes full of promise.
Following Hutch into the kitchen, Starsky watched contentedly while his master prepared a simple repast. He loved the feeling of domesticity that filled the room. The blue tiled floor beneath his feet was cool, but not cold enough to chill him while walking around naked. Blue Willow plates were lined up on a decorative shelf above the sink and a pattern of Delft tile ornamented the area above the stove giving the place an Old World charm. It was such a pretty, ordinary kitchen; out of sync with the kinky behavior performed in the house. Starsky idly fantasized about screwing around on the same table where they would soon eat. Maybe they could try for a different position in every room in the house? How many rooms were there? He realized he'd never explored the entire place--the previous time he'd been here they'd ended up in the hot tub and watched videos in the den late into the night before falling asleep. He hadn't been in any kind of mood to poke his nose into every room when he could poke it into Hutch. Besides the house wasn't all that big.
Hutch chopped fruit and slipped bread into the toaster, humming absently to himself. He set the table for one, tucking a place mat on the floor next to a chair before opening the refrigerator to retrieve the orange juice. Belatedly Starsky remembered he wasn't supposed to be standing idly around, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be allowed to sit either, from the looks of things.
On your knees or back at all times.
Except the floor was hard. He lowered down carefully, sitting on his haunches, admiring the way the over-head lights caught the highlights in Hutch's pale hair, creating streaks of gold like veins of pure ore in a mine.
Almost blurting out a question, Starsky remembered his rules and frowned. This not speaking until spoken to was the hardest one in his opinion. And he couldn't even raise his hand the way he had in grade school. Made things damned difficult. Shifting his weight, he flexed his shoulders carefully to relieve the strain on his linked arms without disturbing the evil clamps.
"Got a question, Starsk?" Hutch asked without turning around. Just like when they were on the streets, there was some freaky connection between them that defied definition. It had always been there, right from the first, but Starsky was relieved that their present departure from normal activities hadn't severed the connection. In some ways, he almost thought it was stronger than ever.
"Can I ask when the fisting will be?"
His stomach lurched at the news, little wings suddenly battering inside him as if trying to get out. "I don't think I can eat anything," Starsky said shakily.
"At least some toast and juice to keep your blood sugar up." Hutch served up the food after releasing Starsky's hands from confinement. "I don't want you to get light headed."
"I already am."
"Starsk, there's nothing to be afraid of. This will be one of the most awesome experiences, for both of us." Hutch held out a plump grape, popping it into Starsky's mouth. "I peeled it just for you."
"Isn't that my job?"
"Only if I was Caesar. In this century, I can peel a few grapes on my own. Keeps my fingers limber." Hutch snaked his toes between Starsky's spread knees, insinuating them under the thick penis and up against the rounded grapes hanging there. "I always had a fondness for grapes on the vine, as a matter of fact."
"Only Italians pick grapes with their feet." Starsky widened his thighs to give Hutch more room, his breath quickening,
"They crush 'em," Hutch was now rolling the ball of his foot over Starsky's balls, encouraged by some very enthusiastic sounds. "But if you let them tumble around just a little, it makes them so much sweeter and juicier."
"It's working," Starsky crowed, as his cock rose upward, leaking pre-cum. Hutch slid the other foot under the first, lifting Starsky up off his heels so that he could toe the taunt skin of the perineum and tease the puckered hole behind. Starsky was already so sensitive there the merest touch sent a paroxysm of desire through him.
"You're definitely primed," Hutch said with satisfaction, his feet retreating to a more neutral position. "Eat some toast and we'll move into the back bedroom." He forked a slice of melon into his mouth, followed by another grape, chewing with a smirk.
Taking a bite of the buttery toast, Starsky swallowed nervously. No matter how much he had been primed as Hutch said, this was new territory and as always, he was uncertain and half-way to scared. What if he hated it? Admittedly he'd been fantasizing about Hutch's arm half-way up his colon for a week now, but reality was always a great deal different than fiction. Would this hurt, a lot?
"Starsk?" Hutch broke into his reverie. "What's your safe word?"
Leave it to his partner to know exactly what Starsky needed, every time. "Torino," Starsky answered.
"And if things get too much for you, you use it," Hutch said firmly.
"I don't think I'll need to."
Hutch opened the door to the room he'd transformed with a great deal of hard work and long hours. Starsky would never know how long he'd been preparing for this, stealing free time, hammering his own thumb, and dreaming of the games they'd play inside these four walls. He was more than satisfied, though. The room had turned out perfectly. Letting Starsky walk in past him, he watched his best friend's face blossom with joy and awe at the furnishings.
"Hutch! This place is amazing! Your friend--Joel? Is he in the scene, too?"
"Not exactly, but he said I could do some redecorating, so I did." Hutch got a kick out of seeing Starsky prowl around examining all the special modifications and erotic toys displayed. The back bedroom faced the yard, with a high fence beyond shielding it from prying eyes. Even so, a sheer curtain drawn across the mullioned panes created a discrete barrier without reducing the morning light. Long sunbeams streamed across the parquet floor, picking out the deep red of the area rug. Like Caress's chamber, this one didn't immediately bring to mind a traditional dungeon or torture chamber but the hooks studding the ceiling and the array of bondage accoutrement tucked away in an armoire revealed it's actual purpose. The most intriguing device was a leather sling chair hanging in the middle of the room near the day bed.
"You did all this? For us?" Starsky squeaked, giving the sling a push to start it swinging. "Joel won't mind? He'll figure out what's going on for sure."
"Don't worry about Joel. He's on a different continent." Hutch advanced on his prey, capturing Starsky against the wall. "You're the only man I want to discuss right now."
"Discuss away, I got all the time in the world," Starsky joked.
"No time at all, little one," Hutch nuzzled his slave in that warm, perfect junction of shoulder and neck, the aroma of leather collar and Starsky sweat like sweet perfume in his nose.
"Hutch..." Starsky let out a passionate moan. "Slide that big dick up inside me."
"Nope, no sausage for you today, before or after. Fisting can be dangerous, no matter how carefully we do it. First, another go round with your friend the rubber nozzle," Hutch might be saying some fairly unromantic things, but he continued to pepper Starsky with kisses, his hands roaming possessively across the hairy chest.
"He's not my friend," Starsky muttered, near to swooning.
"Brace yourself, I'm going to take these off," Hutch warned, but Starsky still yowled as each grip squeezing his abused nipples was removed. "You're getting to be an old pro at that, had 'em on for 45 minutes."
"Thank you, master," Starsky said meekly but there was a level of mutiny in his eyes. Hutch could read him like a book. Starsky wanted a pay off soon or he'd be hell to live with, and all the kisses in the world wouldn't jolly him into a better mood if he didn't want to be jollied. "Explain to me why we can't do it the old fashioned way?"
"I want all my concentration on the fisting and if I'm pumping your ass, I'll lose my momentum." Hutch gently propelled Starsky into the attached bathroom, not making any effort to chastise him for talking out of turn. He liked hearing Starsky talk, most of the time. "Besides, even with a lot of lube and rubber gloves you may be scraped and bruised inside. It's unsanitary for both of us to follow up a fisting with my dick."
"Boy, that really puts me in a romantic mood," Starsky groused, bending over for his second cleansing in 24 hours.
"Don't worry, gypsy prince, I'll romance you up one side and down the other before we get started," Hutch promised. He had all sorts of ideas brewing and was excited to get started on all of them. This was the culmination of everything he'd been working towards. When he'd first proposed inserting his whole hand up Starsky's rectum on a cold windy beach just about a month ago, Starsky hadn't been very enthusiastic. Hutch just couldn't get the picture from a book on anal sex out of his mind; the photo of a man with his arm up another's ass had sent shivers of desire down his spine the first time he'd seen it. The wish to replicate that maneuver had grown stronger each time he'd opened the book since. He seduced Starsky with vivid descriptions of how good it could be, down playing, at first, the inherent dangers of the procedure. There was no doubt that the human anus was an elastic organ, but not really meant to have a male fist thrust up inside. After all, the muscles in the rectum were designed to propel matter out, pushing things in wasn't quite in the original layout. Then there was the panoply of bacteria living up that narrow canal. But despite that, every article and book Hutch read depicted fisting as an amazingly spiritual joining of two people, one that would be forever remembered and not for the unhygienic component.
With a flutter of excitement vibrating in his groin, Hutch stood back a moment to admire the long lean line of Starsky's back as he bent over. The way his waist dipped in and then widened to the round perfect curves of his buttocks. All his, all for Hutch to play with. What a gift. He only hoped that this next journey in their voyage of discovery in the land of kink would be a gift for Starsky as well.
"Lay back, Starsk," Hutch encouraged once the sanitary portion of the morning was concluded. He helped steady the sling as Starsky climbed in. "This will be the best time you've ever had in a swing."
"You sure about that?" Starsky joked, wiggling into place. He slid his legs into the stirrups until the leather bands were supporting his knees, with his feet hanging down loosely. "Suzy Castalucci gave me my first kiss in second grade on a swing."
"Then, this will be the kiss that blows your mind." Hutch demonstrated just exactly what he meant, stroking Starsky's underarm lightly with the back of his hand. "Arms up." Hutch murmured getting back to work after a long, very pleasant interval. Starsky giggled as Hutch continued tickling the sensitive skin of his arm while he raised his hands into position. Using the 'D' rings on the cuffs Starsky already wore, Hutch linked them to the side chains which attached the sling to the ceiling. "How's it feel?"
"Way more comfortable than I expected." Starsky jiggled his arms. He was restrained, but there was no pull or tightness. With precise care Hutch checked the fit of the cuffs and the stretch of Starsky's arms to ensure that there was sufficient blood flow and no nerves were pinched. This had to be perfect, for both of them.
Hutch took his time putting Starsky into a mellow, sublime mood, utilizing all the tactics at his disposal. Using a fur muff, he covered Starsky in fluffiness until his victim was sated with laughter, then applied his tongue to the broad, hairy expanse of thigh held wide open for him by the sling. The contrast of salty skin and wiry hair was a pleasing one and Hutch washed every inch of both thighs like a cat with its kitten. Starsky's head lay limply on the pillow, his neck bare and elongated, the slender column emphasized by the narrow band of leather cinched tightly around. Hutch couldn't resist breaking away from his current area of interest to linger over that beautiful neck. He seeded Starsky with kisses, planting love, before dipping down to suck and nip the tight skin over his rib cage.
"Huuuutch..." Starsky cried out when his master's teeth bit down sharply just under his armpit. "I can't wait much longer...I need you inside me."
Hutch cherished the moment when Starsky started to beg. His heart leapt with joy knowing Starsky wanted him and only him and that desire mirrored his own. Nobody else had ever given him what Starsky could and with so little conceit. They were blessed to have found one another in a world of mismatched souls and he intended to hang on to his one and only for the rest of forever.
Gliding his palm down the middle of Starsky's belly and circling the now completely erect cock standing at attention like a soldier on guard duty, Hutch reluctantly parted with his lover and willing slave for the few moments it took to don a surgical glove and grab the container of Crisco. Strange as it seemed, all the manuals recommended the homely shortening as the lubrication of choice for fisting.
"Gonna make French fries?" Starsky joked, craning his neck to watch the preparation. He sighed longingly when Hutch liberally applied some to his needy anus.
"Gonna French fry your heart, partner," Hutch vowed.