The door of the proper white shuttered house opened revealing a woman who could only be described as magnificent. Clothed entirely in leather, she looked both formidable and controlling. Her face was as beautiful as a carved statue of some goddess or queen, perhaps Aphrodite or Cleopatra, but her sleek blond hair betrayed a Scandinavian heritage. Everything about her was perfect from full sensuous lips, a long straight nose and wide eyes the color of a windy sea. Her smooth platinum hair was pulled back into a tight chignon, the twisted bun caught up in an intricate cage of gold wire skewered with a wicked gold pin to secure it. The leather bustier covered her body like armor, encasing curves Helen of Troy would have begged for, but she wore tight leather trousers below, ending with red spike mules. Flat footed, she would have been about Starsky's height, but in the four-inch heels, she stood just taller than Hutch. Webster's Dictionary could have used her to define the word dominatrix.
Taking one step back, Hutch flashed his badge, looking her square in the eye, an unusual occurrence for him. "Elizabeth Carlysle?"
"Simply Carlysle," she corrected coldly, her eyes two chunks of glacier, pale blue and nearly see through.
"Uh." Starsky finally found his voice, the heat rising in his body in vivid contrast to her icy superiority. "We've received complaints from some of your neighbors about men coming and going at all hours."
"You're accusing me of prostitution?" she asked frigidly, focusing her full beauty on him.
It was staggering; just her gaze aroused him, his jeans suddenly restrictive around the hips. Starsky had a fleeting fantasy of easing himself into the moist dark cave between her leather encased thighs and wondered if it would be as cold inside as her attitude suggested. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, but he was willing to experiment just for educational purposes.
"I am a licensed sex therapist," Carlysle said haughtily. "I counsel men-sometimes it is late at night, but that is the nature of my profession."
"Well, ma'am, there h-have been complaints and this neighborhood isn't zoned for business," Hutch replied, trying to keep his tone neutral, but he couldn't help swallowing audibly, his mouth dry as dust. He longed to reach over and liberate one of those perfect mounds rising like soft, ripe peaches above the edge of her bustier.
Sneaking a look at his partner, Starsky was amused to note that Hutch looked as uncomfortable and aroused as he did. How did such glacial calm start a fire burning in two experienced detectives?
With homicides at an all time city low the past few weeks, Starsky and Hutch had been assigned to vice cases. Carlysle was a new face in the area and neither had encountered her previously. Starsky had to bite down on his tongue to quell the urge to call her mistress and bow at her feet. He thought she'd no doubt approve if he did so, however.
"Officer, I call myself a businesswoman, not a...whore." Her emphasis on the last word indicated her utter disdain for the call girl profession. She gave him a perfect smile, her vampire red lipstick startling against snow-white teeth.
"Nevertheless." Hutch tried to maintain control but all the blood had fled his brain for more southern regions. He hadn't been with a woman in over a year, probably closer to two, since he'd committed himself to one man but Carlysle was seriously tempting his resolve. Her stark blondness and swollen lips made him crave her touch. He wanted to caress that translucent skin, draw her against his own smooth paleness.
"We'd like to take a look around your..." Starsky took a steadying breath, shifting to relieve the uncomfortable fullness in his groin. "Establishment."
"This is my home, I live alone and there is no one else here." She pursed her lips, turning them both to stone with her lethal gaze. "If you want to come in in an official capacity, you'll need a warrant."
"If there's another complaint, we'll get one," Hutch answered, trying to match her toughness, but he didn't think he quite achieved it. She made him feel dizzy and intoxicated, without a drop of alcohol in his blood. "We could still bring you in if there's evidence of a monetary exchange for sexual favors."
Starsky silently applauded his partner's linguistic prowess. At least one of them sounded like a competent, trained officer of the law.
"Detective..." She raised one blond eyebrow, obviously demanding their full attention, and expecting nothing less. "Hutchinson." She placed one red painted nail against his tan leather jacket. "I welcome all men who need help for sexual dysfunction."
She chucked Starsky under the chin, looking down at him from her fetish-heel enhanced height, "Starsky. I don't suppose either of you have any difficulties in that area?"
Starsky was mortified to have a blush rise up from his chest and spread it's warmth across both his cheeks. "No," he said firmly, his voice only squeaking slightly. Carlysle pressed her palm against his cheek, her touch soothingly cool on his heated skin. "Never," Starsky reiterated.
"We'll be in touch," Hutch said hastily, wrapping strong fingers around his partner's upper arm, squeezing tightly on the biceps. "We'll be going now."
"I've always enjoy a close working relationship with law enforcement in the past. I hope that will continue to be the case here," Carlysle purred now that they were leaving, "If I can be of any help, insert my self into the body of any ongoing investigation, don't hesitate to call. I'm in the yellow pages, right below Caress and above Domi-trex. Just one call and I'll be on top of your...problem the same day." With a deep breath that threatened to free her breasts from their confinement, she closed the colonial style front door.
Starsky was unaccountably overcome with giggles. As Hutch hauled him off the front porch and down the brick lined walk, he sagged drunkenly, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up from his belly. "Damn. You?"
"Get in the car, now." Hutch could hardly contain his arousal. His full erection made it decidedly difficult to walk and he needed relief immediately.
"Where to?" Starsky sprawled in the seat of Hutch's beater car; his legs splayed wide to accommodate his stiff cock. Once the door was closed, he loosened the zipper on his pants just a little. It wouldn't look good to be called out on a bust with his pants undone.
Hutch thought frantically, his heart pounding when he remembered the perfect place. "Huggy's. The bar is closed while he's in Detroit and it's closest."
"Then drive, babe, cause we need to have some private time, if you know what I mean." Starsky grabbed up the mike from its hook on the dashboard, logging them out for a meal break. Luckily, since it was nearly eight p.m., halfway through their eight-hour shift, it didn't look in any way unusual. They were even going over to the Pits, a bar they frequented most nights. Hopefully dispatch didn't know the place was closed.
Hutch had to concentrate to keep his mind on driving and forced himself to stop stealing looks at the hard-on straining the fabric of his partner's jeans. They usually didn't allow themselves take a quickie in the middle of a shift like this, but this pit stop was a necessity. Otherwise, neither would be able to do their jobs in a professional manner for the rest of the night. They'd probably have no time to actually eat, but the lust Hutch saw in Starsky's eyes, directed at him, was food for the soul.
Parking in the alley behind Huggy Bear's establishment, Hutch could barely get his fingers to coordinate enough to insert a key in the back door and let the two of them inside. Standing in the hall next to the kitchen, Hutch pressed Starsky up against the wall, forcing him into a lip lock before the door had even snicked shut.
Snaking his tongue past Hutch's lips, Starsky responded enthusiastically, exploring the warm, pliant depths of his partner's mouth. This was a far better cave to slip into than any Carlysle might possess. He molded himself to Hutch's broad chest, wanting nothing more than to be inside the other man, to be joined soul to soul with him.
Hutch's big hands roamed Starsky's long torso, seeking the zipper of his jeans. He'd seen Starsky open the top button and loosen the zipper, so it should be no difficulty to ease the zip the rest of the way down and free Little Davey residing inside. The problem was how close their bodies were pressed together, and the fact that he couldn't stop the kissing long enough to pay attention to other matters. He was dizzy from the intoxicating scent of arousal coming off Starsky's skin like an aphrodisiac. The need to breathe finally broke them apart for an instant, but Starsky moaned in disappointment, diving back in for a repeat performance before he'd barely gulped a lungful of air.
Hutch pressed against those tempting lips, flicking his tongue along Starsky's upper lip, feeling the bristly stubs of hair where his mustache would be. He bit down on the irresistible target, Starsky's tongue darting out to tease Hutch's lower lip. Hutch continued his ravage lower, nipping and sucking the skin just below Starsky's sharp jaw line, producing a husky moan of desire from his partner.
"H-hutch, I'll get a hickey," Starsky managed, pulling his head away for an instant.
"You already got one." Hutch laughed, kissing the reddened mark he'd made. For discretion's sake, he started in on Starsky's chest where he could hide any further marks by buttoning his shirt, nibbling on a now exposed nipple.
Starsky buried his face in Hutch's silky blond hair, luxuriating in the smell of shampoo, leather jacket and gun oil that made up Hutch. He jerked at Hutch's shirttails, freeing them from his wide leather belt and discovering the firm muscles of his partner's back. Running his fingernails up Hutch's spine, he shivered from the ministrations Hutch was giving his tingling nipples.
Hutch caught the nipple between his front teeth, then licked the tight nub, rubbing the twin between his thumb and forefinger. He twisted just hard enough to make Starsky stiffen, feeling Starsky's fingernails rake the sensitive skin of his back. He reversed his focus, giving the left nipple a sharp bite, Starsky's erection jutting into Hutch's crotch with undeniable insistence.
"We need to get upstairs," Hutch panted, pushing Starsky away just enough to get at his fly.
"You got all the fun!" Starsky pouted, nuzzling into the nape of Hutch's neck, the blond hair tickling him, but he followed where he was being lead.
"There's more for you." Hutch slipped his hand under the waistband of Starsky's jeans, pulling him up the stairs without breaking contact. It was hard to walk backwards up stairs, but he couldn't take his hands off his sexy partner. He wanted to touch every inch of that hard muscled body, tweak and tickle the curly hair on his scarred chest. Stopping on the stair, one riser above the dark haired man, Hutch leaned down and gave him a much more chaste kiss, thanking Starsky for being there with him.
Starsky's arms reached up, encircling his lover's waist, deepening the kiss until his brain was on overload. If there had been an earthquake at that moment, it wouldn't have separated the two. Starsky was bent backwards at an uncomfortable angle, his arms around Hutch the only thing anchoring him and any forward momentum threatened to topple them both down the stairs.
Steadying himself on the stair railing, Hutch tightened his hold on Starsky's pants.
The zipper slid down further revealing the throbbing cock wanting to be set free, but Starsky was able to lean forward and finally precede Hutch up the stairs.
The race to the little room Huggy maintained ended in a giggling heap on the bed, Starsky rolling over onto the larger man and pinning him to the mattress.
"Always wanted to do that," Starsky laughed with delight. "C'mere, Stud, show me what you've got." He swiftly unbuckled Hutch's belt and attacked the pants fly with enthusiasm.
Hutch was content for the moment to watch admiring the way Starsky's powerful chest rippled with every breath. Once, Hutch had shivered and moaned in pain from heroin withdrawals on this very bed, wrapped in the security of Starsky's loving arms. Now, he shivered in desire as Starsky wrapped his fingers around the steel hard red cock that he pulled from Hutch's pants.
Scooting backwards so he was level with Hutch's crotch, crouched between the long outstretched legs, Starsky bent down, taking his partner's penis in his mouth. He loved giving Hutch head, licking and sucking on the long thick cock. It was like a flesh Popsicle, only warm and moving inside his mouth. The tip brushed against his palate, sending sizzling waves of desire straight to Starsky's own cock and he sucked harder, savoring the salty, earthy taste. He reached down, cupping the testicles in his left hand, rolling them around like worry balls between his fingers. Hutch gave a strangled cry, the sensation sending him up like the jolting ride of a wooden roller coaster.
Thrusting his hips, Hutch fucked Starsky's mouth, riding the orgasm up the long exhilarating crest of the roller coaster and then plunging down into freefall, his mouth open and screaming incoherently. Starsky accepted nearly the full length of his lover's rod, gulping when the semen shot out, flooding his throat. He swallowed reflexively, releasing Hutch's balls to clutch the strong thighs that bracketed his head, feeling like he'd fall into space without something to hold onto. His own erection had hardened until just the brush of Hutch's foot against it sent Starsky spinning straight out on his own amusement park ride, the whole room whirling about like a tilt-a-whirl.
"Man," Hutch whispered with a dry throat. "Too bad we don't take dinner breaks like this every day."
"Couldn't." Starsky crawled up the big body, curling himself against Hutch's side, still trembling a little from the post-coital release, "We'd never be able to get back to work."
"True." Hutch splayed his fingers over Starsky's chest, toying with the dark hair that grew over his heart.
"Maybe we should go back over there. To Carlysle's." Starsky squirmed from the sensations the tickling fingers were creating. It Hutch wasn't careful, there'd be a repeat performance on the bed. "See what she really does in the back of her house."
"No, can't set ourselves up for a harassment suit." With effort, Hutch pulled himself back into police mode, and stood, assessing the rumpled damage of his clothes. Luckily, neither of them had any embarrassing wet spots, since Hutch's cum had gone down Starsky's mouth and Starsky's had landed on the faded chenille coverlet on the bed, "We can bundle up the sheets and wash 'em tomorrow," he said, rebuttoning his shirt and tucking it neatly into his pants.
"I used to go to the laundromat to score." Starsky grinned impishly, still sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Ask some leggy blonde which detergent to wash my shorts, whether I should use a dryer sheet to get things soft..."
"A leggy blonde, huh?" Hutch chuckled, tugging at the edge of the coverlet to bundle it up. "Get off. You don't need go to the laundromat to score big."
"No?" Starsky asked with interest, flipping the edges of the sheet into the middle of the bed so Hutch could ball it into a big pile.
"The grocery's the best. Lotsa chances there to squeeze ripe..." Hutch reached down as if to catch up the last corner of the sheet, but grabbed Starsky's still exposed cock, hanging limply between the flaps of his unzipped jeans. "Bananas, and cucumbers."
"That could get you in a lot of trouble," Starsky snarled low in his throat. "Bananas bruise easily."
"Sometimes they're harder than you think." Hutch kept his hold as Starsky stood so they were millimeters apart, their lips so close they were breathing each other's air. "Ready for peeling."
Starsky gulped, Hutch's fingers stroking the length of his manhood, creating tiny vibrations in his groin resonating throughout his skeleton. If Hutch didn't stop soon, Starsky would no longer be responsible for his actions. "We can't." He clamped his own fingers around the wrist that held him. "Got to get out on the street."
"Most groceries give a rain check when the produce isn't available." Hutch released him, zipping up Starsky's fly with a quick flick of his hand.
"Just come back anytime." Starsky's pulse was still half in his cock and he gathered up the bedding to have something to occupy his hands and hide his groin. "When we're off duty."
"Tomorrow then, while the sheets are in the wash?" Hutch gave him a slow, wicked smile that promised heat and action.
Grabbing bags of chips and soda from the pantry before locking up the door, the duo stowed the bedding in the trunk and logged back in. Hutch pulled the car out into traffic, cruising slowly around their usual beat, prowling the night for the criminals and low lifes who came out in the darkness. Vampires might not exist, but the bloodsuckers of the modern age were the drug pushers, pimps and rapists that Starsky and Hutch vowed to hunt down.
It was an average shift. There were domestic disputes to control, and bar fights to break up. Starsky ignored the cluster of underage prostitutes on a low lit corner, knowing if he arrested them, they'd only be out on bail by the morning. It was their pimps he hated; rough, greedy men who used the woman's bodies like cash.
"You think she really is a licensed sex therapist?" Starsky asked, watching the nightlife pass by the car in a never-ending parade of drunks on the sidewalks and pickpockets casing the rich folk coming out of the multiplex.
"Oh-Carlysle?" Hutch laughed shortly, but just her name conjured up images that made his blood run faster. "I don't know if there's such a thing, Starsk, but she was no ordinary call girl."
"That's for sure." Starsky rubbed the reddened welt on his neck, remembering Hutch's mouth on his skin. His nipples still ached from the bites. "I really wanted to get in there and take a look around. See what she had in the back room."
"No, y'know, see if there was any kinky stuff- whips, maybe...leather..."
"Starsky, you've watched porn before, you know what they do with that stuff."
"I was just wondering what...she...did with 'em." Starsky looked away, suddenly embarrassed.
"You want to go try her out," Hutch said, glancing away from the road to catch his partner's retreat. "Have you ever been with a woman like that?"
"No, not like her." Starsky was glad of the covering darkness, hiding the blush that heated his cheeks for the second time that night. What was is about Carlysle that did this to him? "A dominatrix. It just...yeah, I wanted to try it."
"Don't go to her, buddy, she'll eat you alive." Hutch chuckled again, throaty and intense.
"Thanks a lot. You don't think I could hold my own?"
"No." Hutch reached over, capturing the jean covered thigh so close beside him. "I just don't want you to go to her."
"I didn't mean anything, Hutch," Starsky apologized. "I'd never leave you. Just-just wanted the experience." The idea of all that leather caressing his naked skin, while he stood, hands clasped meekly behind him. She would be wearing leather gloves, a long tailed whip in one hand and her icy blue gaze would signal him to kneel... Starsky's penis stirred with the fantasies
"If you really want the experience, don't go to her," Hutch repeated, pulling the car in front of the precinct building. He stroked Starsky's thigh, amused at the obvious bulge growing once again in front of his pants. "I've got leather pants."
"I've always liked those pants." Starsky slid down as Hutch's hand continued up his thigh. "But what do you know about the other stuff?"
"More than you think." Hutch pinched him hard up close to the groin, catching Starsky unawares. He reared up in surprise with a yowl, rubbing the offended area.
"What was that for?"
"The unexpected." Hutch kissed his fingers and soothed the injured spot, "I never knew you had a yen for kink."
"I never knew you did, either." Starsky regarded him warily, uncertain how he liked this turn of events. He thought he was privy to all of Hutch's secrets, both the dark scary ones and the rainbow hued dreams, but this was new. "When?"
"Mostly before we met--and while I was married." Hutch cast his mind back to the chaotic days of his marriage. There had been little in the way of wedded bliss, but Vanessa had had an appetite for sexual diversion that had even given Hutch pause, and he had rarely been one to say no to experimentation.
Their only real connection, therefore, had been in the bedroom, and the playroom and anyplace else they could get naked. He'd tried bondage a few times back in Minnesota, but Vanessa introduced him to a wide array of sexual toys. The first year of their marriage had proven diverting as long as they were acting out fantasies but unfortunately, Vanessa bored easily. She was the ultimate consumer, tossing out her toys after using them only once or twice. Hutch ended up just another cast off toy. When she left him, he'd put the games she'd played behind him. Most other girls he'd dated hadn't been interested in much more than a quick roll in the hay with a gorgeous blond man, and he'd welcomed the anonymity of casual sex. No strings, no commitments. There had been the occasional foray to dark, heady smelling leather bars, but they hadn't amounted to much and his taste for kink had been carefully locked up. It wouldn't look good for a police detective to get caught in a compromising position which could be construed as perverted or obscene.
When he and Starsky had finally connected on a sexual level, after Starsky's recovery from his nearly fatal shooting, Hutch had thought all his dreams had come true. He'd found true commitment with a person he adored, who loved him back and was open and honest about his feelings. There hadn't been any room for kink. It was enough just to be with Starsky and explore their new relationship. Even after two years, it still felt fresh and exciting. He almost was afraid to admit to the allure of the dangerous, thrilling world of kinky sex games.
"How was it?" Starsky asked hesitantly, feeling like a complete virgin in the woods, and afraid he sounded like one. "Do you like...?"
"Bondage?" Hutch said the word effortlessly, the whole B/D/S/M world thrusting into the forefront of his brain once again. He could almost feel the cold steel of chains sliding through his hand and the hard, unforgiving length of a leather strap. "It's almost indescribable to someone who hasn't experienced it."
"That sounds like bull, like a cop out." Starsky snorted. He got out of the car, mentally throwing cold water on his raging hard-on, so he could finish the night's arrest reports in relative comfort.
"Wait a minute." Hutch nearly ran around the car, grabbing him by the arm. "What do you want? You want to try it?"
Starsky gazed up at him steadily, not sure what he really wanted. It sounded sexy as hell, alluring in a nasty, dangerous way. "Did you like it?" He was very aware that they were standing in front of the police department and shouldn't be having this discussion at the moment, but the subject refused to die. "Just tell me and we can talk about this later."
"Yes. I did." Hutch spaced the words out carefully so there was no confusion about what he said. "If you want to try it, I would do it with you."
"Yes." Starsky was captured in his partner's sky blue eyes, unable to look away. "I want you to show me how." With supreme effort, he turned away, starting to walk into the building.
Hutch swung his hand, landing a hard, open palm slap on Starsky's rounded right buttock. It stung. Even through his blue jeans, Starsky could feel the reddened imprint of Hutch's hand on his skin, like a hot brand marking him. His breath catching in his throat, he turned around in shock.
Hutch held up one finger, "Think about that feeling for one night. We'll talk about it tomorrow. If you want this, we do it right, seriously, so nothing goes wrong."
Nodding, Starsky continued on into the squadroom to type his reports. He wasn't at all surprised that Hutch never followed. There had been a whole shift in their universe since they had first encountered Carlysle. She had been a catalyst to project them into a completely new chemical equation. Hutch had to adjust to his new status. Starsky knew without being told, without one word passing between them about it, that Hutch was the Master, the dominant one and he was the...he didn't even know for sure what his role was. Slave? Submissive? It was like stepping off into space, the rules of behavior had changed so completely he had to learn to walk, or more to the point, to have sex all over again.
The switch from women to men had been enough of a-well, challenge wasn't quite the right term, more like exploration. What was different in seducing a man as opposed to a woman, and what remained the same-apart from the obvious. And it wasn't as if he no longer wanted a woman, Carlysle had certainly proven that. But Hutch made him deliriously happy and fulfilled in life. It wasn't a relationship he could publicly proclaim in front of a justice of the peace, or even some of their friends, but it had worked for he and Hutch for going on two years now. What if he had completely mucked up everything now by introducing whips and handcuffs?
It bothered him more than he was willing to admit that Hutch had never owned up to this side of his life. Sure, when Vanessa was around, even though he and Hutch had hung together more often than not, Hutch had made an effort to spend time with his wife. Now, Starsky knew what they had been doing and he was both unnerved and intrigued by it.
His fantasy of icy blond Carlysle standing over him, dressed in black leather, securing him with restraints altered slightly to his blond lover, chest bared above skin tight leather pants. Hutch was holding the butt of a whip under Starsky's chin, forcing it up so he couldn't move while a finger dipped down into his...
"Finishing up, Sergeant?" the night duty officer asked, his voice loud in the quiet of the deserted squadroom. "I can file anything, if you need to get out of here."
"Thanks." Starsky stacked the last of the reports on the desk; surprised he'd been able to work at all with his mind completely elsewhere for a whole hour. He stood, sure he could still feel the phantom impression of Hutch's hand on his buttocks. It no longer hurt, but it had left its mark on his psyche.
Hutch loaded Huggy's sheets into the washer at the Laundromat around the corner from Venice Place. He'd had sweaty, amorous, erotic dreams starring Starsky the entire night long. He wasn't even positive he would be able to say hello when Starsky finally arrived, since all he wanted to do was jump his bones. But they needed to talk, and ignore their physical urges until things were hashed out. Could Starsky really want this? Was he really aware of what he was getting himself into?
Bondage. It wasn't something to be started blindly. It required discussion and planning to make the experience safe and satisfying for both the top and the bottom. Hutch wasn't all that sure he could totally dominate his beloved. What if he proved to be a wimpy master? Starsky would be disgusted with the whole affair and want out, maybe permanently.
All of a sudden his heart was thumping wildly in his chest and he broke out in a sweat. What if this destroyed the relationship they had built up? Could he survive Starsky leaving him? Leaning against the agitated washer, Hutch felt like his whole body was trembling in tandem with the appliance.
"Hey!" Starsky called out, swinging in through the open door, holding up a bakery bag. "You started without me. I brought breakfast-well, more like brunch I guess, since it's after ten a.m., but I was sleepin'...Had some strange dreams."
"Kinky?" Hutch laughed, his fears evaporating at the sight of his irrepressible friend. Just the sight of Starsky's springy curls and gleeful face made Hutch happier. The whole day improved whenever they were together. He wanted to go over and pull Starsky into a clinch right then and there. There was no one else in the Laundromat on a Tuesday morning. All the old ladies and college kids who used the place off living their lives, leaving two off duty cops to have the space to themselves.
"More than just a little." Starsky ducked his head over the bag, "I brought you a plain bagel, since you never want the danish."
"Not good for you." Hutch patted Starsky's rock hard abs, astonished as always that Starsky could eat like he did and still maintain such an incredible body. He let his hand linger, tracing the shape of his partner's musculature, never quite dipping down as far as either of them wanted to go, since they were in a public building with huge plate glass windows. "Make you fat."
"Not so far." Starsky bit into his sweet roll, "But if you keep feeling me up, that's not the part of my anatomy that'll get fat."
"Maybe I could make room for a little more fat in my diet." Hutch grinned, closing his fingers around the bagel instead, devouring in a few bites. He hadn't realized he was starving until he started to eat.
"Hungry, are you?" Starsky asked with an arched eyebrow, amused.
"For more than just bagels." Hutch swallowed the last of it, filching the cup of coffee Starsky had placed on an empty dryer.
"Hey, get your own."
"What's yours is mine, babe." Hutch drank half the cup, then handed the rest to his partner. That's how they usually shared everything. Fifty-fifty. How would they work it out in the unequal world of BDSM? As the dominant, Hutch would have complete control, and he wasn't sure Starsky was ready to relinquish his rights. Starsky was a very head strong, stubborn guy who never backed down from a fight. Could he really behave himself and submit, meekly accepting whatever Hutch decided to dole out? That was the scariest part, was he ready to dole out what was necessary to sexually dominate his best friend? They had to establish guidelines and conducts. Maybe a visit to Carlysle wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. She presumably knew what she was doing, after all.
"Where'd you go?" Starsky inquired, pulling the heavy, wet sheets out of the washer to lug them over to the dryer. "Looks like you're a million miles away."
"Planet of the Bondage Babes in Chains?" Starsky quipped, "I watched that once on the late, late show-this red headed chick had bazookas that must have stuck out..." He gestured with his hands, miming enormous breasts, "Would have hit me in the eye."
"This has a real serious side, Starsk. It's not all fun and games." He shrugged with a slight smirk, "Well, it can be, but we have to talk about it, lay out ground rules."
"Can't just pull out the ol'handcuffs and chain me to the bed?" Starsky laughed with a trace of nervousness, glad Hutch had brought the subject out in the open again. At least he knew what he was doing.
"That's another thing. If we really go through with this, I'll have to go shopping."
"Need the right equipment?" Starsky brushed a teasing hand against the front of Hutch's butter soft cords, "Looks like both of us came with all the right parts, no assembly required."
"That's the next thing." Hutch caught Starsky's wrist in his fist, applying just enough pressure for the other man to feel a slight twinge of pain. "You have respect me-obey me totally, at least when we're playing the roles, or it won't work. I could punish you for touching me like that."
To say Starsky was aroused was an understatement. He would have done anything for Hutch at that moment, just to have him continue holding him as he was. His cock had swelled to uncomfortable proportions just with the tightening of Hutch's hand around his wrist. He wanted those fingers fisting his manhood with an uncontrollable desire. "I won't do it again, Hutch, just can we go to your place now, maybe continue this a little later?"
"You don’t get to plan the action, I do," Hutch said with authority, amazed at his own bravado. He released Starsky's wrist, momentarily mortified that he'd left a faint red mark on the lightly tanned skin, but toughened his own resolve. This dominance wasn't as hard as he'd feared "When the dryer is done, we go upstairs, and later we have to hash this out."
"Much later." Starsky risked more imaginary punishment by licking his lips with a languid tongue and then leaning forward to plant a brazen kiss on the blond man's bemused mouth.
Once inside Hutch's cluttered little abode, the lovers resumed their seduction, leaving the cleaned sheets just inside the door and moving immediately to the bedroom. Clothes were left where they were dropped and both were nude by the time they climbed onto the bed.
Starsky had a goal, he wanted to be inside Hutch's ass just as soon as humanly possible. With that in mind he reached out for the turgid organ standing up between Hutch's thighs. Both were sitting on their heels, facing one another. It hadn't been planned, both had just taken this position, admiring the other's physique. Placing his hand around Hutch's cock, Starsky ran a slow finger up the underside, eliciting a moan of pleasure from his partner. Hutch's breathing quickened, but he didn't move, letting Starsky make the first move, just enjoying the sensations as the fingers tightened, stroking the steel hard length with loving tenderness. He let his head fall back, not even watching the maestro playing his chosen instrument like a virtuoso. Those fingers tapped out a staccato scale down his penis, alternating with a steady, rhythmic motion that matched his heartbeat. Hutch's body tuned into the resonance of the lovemaking, tendons and ligaments vibrating to the inner music that only he and Starsky could hear.
Adding just a hint of fingernail pressure to the mix, Starsky grinned joyfully as Hutch stiffened, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Bending down, Starsky kissed the now throbbing cock, flicking his tongue out to tickle the head as cum spurted forth. It splattered down the side of Starsky's thighs, warm and sticky. Laughing, he planted another kiss on his lover, but this one higher up, at the base of the penis, on the sensitive skin of the groin. He could feel Hutch's lifeforce pulsing under his lips, celebrating their union.
"You can do that to me anytime." Hutch smiled when he could form words again, "But your little buddy looks like he's being neglected."
"Not really." Starsky pushed gently against Hutch's hip, "Over on your side, I've got more in store for you."
"You doin' all the work this morning?" Hutch looked up into the face that gazed at him with such adoration.
"It ain't work, schweetheart," Starsky joked. "It's all a pleasure, now turn over on your side, you big lug." Jumping off the bed just long enough to retrieve a tube of KY jelly from the bedside table drawer, Starsky squirted some of the smooth lubricant into his palm, warming it with his body heat before lightly stroking the puckered opening in Hutch's backside.
Hutch lay on his side facing away from Starsky, with his lower leg straight and the upper leg bent, knee against the bed for support. It was a comfortable position for anal penetration, for both partners, although it prevented them from looking at each other, a distinct disadvantage.
Chuckling with pleasure, Hutch welcomed touch of Starsky's hand on his butt cheeks, the warmed lubricant soft and sensual as he felt the pressure of Starsky's fingers on his sphincter. Aiding their entrance by rocking his pelvis, he forced the fingers deeper inside. A third finger joined the other two, widening the opening.
"Now, Starsk, now..." Hutch breathed, reaching back to touch his partner's flat belly. His whole body was nothing more than a receptacle for his lover and he needed to be joined together, to sense the oneness of their beings.
When Starsky had deemed his partner relaxed and ready for the finale, he lightly greased his now painfully stiff cock, positioning himself behind Hutch. The minute Starsky pushed into that tight tunnel, rockets started going off in his head, their explosions echoing in his ears as he thrust deeper and deeper. His own heartbeat was pounding, his penis throbbing with desire as the head rammed Hutch's prostrate gland, giving Hutch a jolt stronger than caffeine. Grabbing Hutch's hipbones. Starsky shoved in, fast and hard for the last few centimeters, howling as Hutch's muscles contracted around his member, squeezing him until all he could see, feel, hear were the booms of fireworks sparking around him. Starsky shuddered, his breath coming in panting gasps, his soul shooting up into the middle of the amazing display of multicolored lights, dancing with Hutch's in a celestial celebration of love.
It took a few long minutes before either could move, disconnecting themselves from the other's body. Hutch rolled over to face Starsky, curving his hand up to cup his lover's face in his palm. "That was worth the wait."
"I kinda lost control at the end there, did I hurt you?" Starsky asked anxiously. He was surprised when Hutch laughed, leaning forward to kiss him hard on the lips. "Did I say something funny?"
"Sort of. You're worrying about hurting me and you want me to...what was it you said? Pull out the ol' handcuffs and chain you to the bed?"
"It's all different, Starsk. Yeah, there's always that twinge of pain with anal penetration. It's always there, but it's so insignificant in the whole gestalt of the arousal and the..."
"Sex, Dr. Freud?"
"Make that Dr. Jung. The collective unconscious and archetypal myths."
"Huh?" Starsky raised up on one elbow to stare at his best friend in confusion.
"Nevermind, as Emily Lytella would say." Hutch smiled, tracing his finger down Starsky's hickey marked throat to the tiny bite marks all around his nipples. "I hurt you yesterday, you still have the marks."
"That wasn't hurting, those were love bites."
"But admit it, it hurt."
"Yeah." Starsky leaned forward to claim a kiss of his own, sucking on Hutch's lip before letting go, "You're talkin' about that pleasure and pain thing."
"That's essentially what bondage and all the stuff that goes with it is all about. The fine line between pleasure and pain. Sex makes it almost indistinguishable."
"You can say that again." Starsky stiffened as Hutch's fingers tweaked his nipple, still slightly bruised from the treatment it had gotten yesterday. Hutch rubbed the hard nubbin between his fingers, pulling and twisting enough to wrench a gasp from his partner. Starsky didn't dare move with that much tension on his chest, hardly daring to breathe. It was undeniably arousing though, sending thrills of desire through his body as Hutch's grip on his wrist had done earlier.
Watching his partner's face, the slightly open mouth, the hooded eyes signaling sexual need, Hutch put out his tongue to lick the painfully stimulated nipple, then released his hold. He kissed the tortured area all around, lapping his warm tongue up to Starsky's collar bone, soothing the little red love mark on his neck. Starsky relaxed bonelessly onto the bed, the TLC just what he wanted after the display of pain.
"See?" Hutch rested his head on the dark haired man's shoulder, "You liked that, even though it hurt, a little."
"You made your point," Starsky agreed, threading his fingers through his partner's blond locks. The top of Hutch's head was against his cheek, so he couldn't see the other's expression, but he knew he'd read love there. "There's that feeling of danger that revs up the adrenaline. It makes everything..."
"Brighter, clearer," Hutch finished his sentence. He'd never craved danger like Starsky did. Starsky liked the fast, the unknown, the thrill of the adventure, while Hutch wanted more order, more structure, to be in control, but he still understood Starsky's addiction to the natural speed of life. It also explained why they both had easily slipped into the roles of dominant and submissive. He controlled, Starsky anticipated the dangerous unknown. But would Starsky be able to simply submit without fighting back? That was the question.
"What if...?" Starsky started, rubbing his cheek on the silky fair hair.
Hutch smiled, trust Starsky to start with the 'what if's?' "Go on."
"What if, after you've done all the shopping and all the prep work, I don't want to do it again?" Starsky closed his eyes, unaccountably frightened of this idea. His groin contracted with the thought, afraid that Hutch might not want him any longer if he turned away at that point.
"Then, at least, you'd have experienced it correctly instead of some fantasy rape scenario where the girl wants you to tie her to the bed."
"I've done that. It was really awkward. I couldn't get into it-she was fakey screaming and then forgot who I was or somethin' and yelled out 'Jerry!', twistin' around like I was hitting her and I couldn't even get...."
"This will be both more real, and more what both of us need, together," Hutch promised, slipping one hand under Starsky's ribcage to bring him even closer. "But I need to know what you want, exactly."
"I'm not sure I do." Starsky laughed abruptly, the sharp intakes of his breath setting up a wavy sea on his chest muscles, bouncing Hutch's head in time to the laughter. "Aren’t you s'pposed to be in charge of that?"
"Yeah, but let's see...I think without even discussing it that infantile play would be a turn-off."
"Right on the money. Do people do that? "
"Some people masturbate over women's shoes."
"I knew that one." Hutch laughed himself, petting Starsky's chest hair. "You want handcuffs."
"Yeah, I guess." Starsky had that freefall sensation of space walking again, nothing was safe anymore, nothing was certain. He trusted Hutch implicitly, using his love and experience as the net when he cast off the line holding him safely to the normalcy and gave up control of his destiny. "Whips are usually involved?"
His throat tightening, Hutch looked up at Starsky. They'd never turned on the lamp when they'd come in from the laundromat, it had been barely 11am, but the sky was overcast and now only an hour later, it was dark and shadowy in the little bedroom. He could just make out the expression on his face. Starsky looked scared and exciting at the same time. Like he did when they were on a particularly tense bust. "That one, I don't know if I could."
"You already smacked me on the butt and it wouldn't be the first time you've thrown a punch at me," Starsky said reasonably.
"If we go on past the first time, maybe there might be pain play, but that's for later," Hutch resolved, wanting the whips to be far in the future, "Now it's the basics, and I want you to know what's going down, the outline anyway, in advance."
"No surprises?" Starsky pouted.
"Oh, there'll be surprises, I'm not telling you everything. I want you to trust me to make the evening perfect."
"That one is a given." Starsky captured his mouth again, lengthening the kiss until both had used up their stores of oxygen and had to come up for air.
While rain pattered on the roof, the rest of the afternoon was spent in questions and answers, both men revealing their fantasies, wants and desires in the kinkier realm of sexual play.
Saturday was to be the day, but Starsky still had to get through three more days of waiting. He cajoled Hutch on more than one occasion as to the specifics of what would unfold, but Hutch remained firm, his demeanor, when they were off duty, becoming more and more domineering every day. Instead of going with Starsky to Huggy's on Wednesday afternoon before their late shift, Hutch left on his mystery shopping expedition. Starsky was told in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to ask about the items purchased or to attempt to look for them. All would be revealed on Saturday and not until then.
Starsky alternated between a giddy anticipation of the day in question and a dread that kept him awake at night. What if this were all a big mistake? Had he gone too far, telling Hutch all the things he'd kept so long inside, those dark, slightly scary dreams that blossomed in the night when his bed was empty. Hutch hadn't been revolted, far from it. In fact some of his fantasies had matched Starsky's, startling both of them with their similarities.
The job he did every day, the crimes and deaths he faced should have been enough to turn Starsky away from wanting bondage and deliberate pain. It frightened him, but he also could see that using those same things that he had to fight against as a cop could empower him. They wouldn't hold such negativity for him. Was that a good or a bad thing? Starsky couldn't even fathom an answer. But he'd been captured for real and tied up on more than one occasion by criminals intent on using him as a hostage and even planning to kill him. The terror of those times was still a palpable thing in his nightmares. So what made this...bondage play different? Why did this arouse him as nothing had in a long time? Being tied up had never been sexually stimulating before. Was it because of Hutch? Why would he have such a strong desire to be physically dominated by a man he loved more than life itself? Why did he lie awake in the long hours before dawn imagining Hutch restraining him, holding his hands behind him?
Sex with Hutch had been perfect up until now. They did their share of experimentation, since neither had a great deal of experience with other men, although Hutch had a bit more than Starsky did. So why throw handcuffs into the mix? There was no answer to a question he barely understood, but Starsky knew this was what he wanted, deeply, strongly inside.
The long discussion of that rainy afternoon had laid a general groundwork of what was allowed and what wasn't. Both had agreed that even if the session were a rousing success, and they wanted to continue, it would never be every day. This would be a special time, to be cherished, if that were the right word, and anticipated. Perhaps once a month, maybe less, maybe more. Obviously, they had to keep that time secret, but since few people knew of their relationship beyond that of detective partners, secrecy wasn't a major problem.
Hutch was having a case of nerves about his ability to control Starsky. He was so afraid of going too far, hurting him accidentally. And the whole pain play thing. He had deliberately not purchased anything to strike his partner with. Except that in the right hands spanking was a very erotic form of foreplay. It didn't necessarily hurt that much, and Starsky seemed somewhat surprised he didn't want to include whips. Remembering his experiences with Vanessa, he'd never liked the part much, although she had. She'd used a whip liberally once, drawing blood, not his favorite memory.
Being in control, that was what Hutch liked. He could shape the encounter to his specifications, keep the play safely in strict boundaries which would still be mind-blowingly arousing. His groin ached every time he imagined Starsky kneeling naked in front of him, waiting for his command. Starsky would obey him, looking up with such love and trust in those indigo eyes, and then open his mouth as Hutch slid his dick down his throat.
Both Starsky and Hutch just had to wade through the usual crime sprees, murder and mayhem that boiled every day on the city streets, biding their time until Saturday.
Friday morning, Hutch spent his time setting up the scene to his exact specifications. Rather than using either of their familiar and comfortable apartments, he had chosen the country cottage of an old friend who conveniently worked as a flight attendant and had offered the house to Hutch for a weekend retreat when ever he was on a flight. It was perfect for Starsky's first time: out of their usual milieu, giving it a somewhat foreign appeal and secluded, giving the appearance that they were alone in their own world. He set up all his supplies and some food for the weekend, then carefully wrote out a set of instructions to be given to his supplicant.
As often was the case, Friday night was a free for all, with high school kids roaming the streets drunk, drug dealers openly selling their wares on the corners and micro-mini skirted girls wearing too much makeup and the world weary expressions of women twice their ages while displaying their bodies to anyone who would care to shell out the money. Starsky and Hutch were called in to break up a bar fight that extended onto the street and ultimately involved several street walkers, two rival pimps and a drug dealer who got shoved while making a sale, spilling his nickel bags of cocaine all into the gutter. Several of the combatants scrambled wildly after the drugs, prompting the dealer to draw the semi automatic pistol he kept under his coat. He fired into the crowd, wounding two high school seniors who'd just downed an entire six pack each, and lacked any sort of ability to get out of the way of the bullets. With ammunition flying through the air, Starsky dropped, grabbing Hutch by the tail of his tan leather jacket and they hid behind the red Torino, watching for an opportunity to defuse the now overly volatile situation.
"You with the gun!" Hutch hollered, "Put down your weapon, this is the police!"
This proclamation was met with a volley of shots, "They be stealin' my stuff." The dealer, a slight, mocha skinned boy with swirls of black tattoos decorating both arms yelled indignantly. "I just be protecting my own stuff!" He aimed the pistol at one of the prostitutes who was keening shrilly, her voice rising and falling like some ancient religious chant. "Shut the fuck up, Pussy!"
"Well, this is getting us no where fast," Starsky commented out of the corner of his mouth.
"What do you suggest?" Hutch glanced away from the scene for long enough to catch Starsky's fearless expression. It sent waves of terror through him.
"A little of the element of surprise." Starsky grinned fecklessly. He gestured with his forefinger, indicating he was going around the end of the Torino and along the line of parked cars, which would put him at the far end of the motley group of street brawlers, most of whom were now spread eagled on the sidewalk. The drug dealer squeezed off another clip, catching the keening girl in the chest. Her singsong chant stopped in mid syllable replaced by anguished cries of pain. The sound of an approaching siren only added to the cacophony, increasing the crowd's stress level tenfold. The second prostitute began inching towards her fallen sister, weeping.
"Starsky!" Hutch hissed, wishing he had any sort of dominance over his partner right that moment. The dark haired man ran in a semi crouch around the cars, crossing the street in a flash when the drug dealer's attention was diverted by the oncoming patrol cars. Hutch would have given anything to grab his partner back from the fray and turn him over his knee for such a dangerous stunt. Despite his rising anger, he admired Starsky's take charge attitude. Something had to be done before the poor girl bled to death, not to mention the two boys who hadn't moved in the last few minutes.
Hutch gave a sigh of relief as Starsky dove for shelter on the opposite side, no longer out in the open. There were trashcans, mailboxes and the remains of an old refrigerator to use for cover. The dealer had caught Starsky's movement out of the corner of his eye and directed a flurry of bullets into the discarded fridge. Nobody cowering on the sidewalk moved, and luckily no one was hit.
Sighting his Magnum up over the hood of the Torino, Hutch called out. "Put down your weapon!" He fired one shot over the heads of the wary crowd just as back up finally arrived.
Starsky skulked down the sidewalk littered with prostrate bodies, until he was only yards away from the gun-wielding dealer. The boy was barely seventeen if he was a day, but he had the hardened face of a career criminal, a knife scar above his eyebrow giving him a rakish, mean look. He wore an expensive pair of basketball shoes and his jacket bore the colors of that year's Superbowl winners. He held his arm out straight, a deadly weapon clutched in his fingers, pointing the gun at the Torino. Starsky sprang from his hiding place behind the fridge, sweeping his gun in a tight arc that caught the boy on the back of his shaved skull. He dropped instantly, the blow knocking him out before he even hit the pavement.
His was heart trip-hammering so fast Hutch had the kind of buzz that usually meant he'd drunk too much coffee but he dashed around the car, signaling to the blue uniforms to take over the scene while he and Starsky arrested the dealer.
It wasn't difficult, the guy was still out cold and they had to wait for the paramedics to check out his head wound before they could cuff him. Hutch took the opportunity to push Starsky up against the alley wall, a furious expression on his face.
"What the hell did you think you were doing out there? T-trying to get yourself shot again? That guy had a semi-automatic, look what it did to that poor girl!" Hutch's words tumbled out in a rush, speeded up by his still racing heart.
"I was tryin' to save her!" Starsky growled savagely, adrenaline speeding out of control through his veins. He always hated when it finally dissipated, leaving him spent and weary, but he was like Superman until then. "And I did it without firing my piece, so even IA'll be happy. What the hell's the matter with you?"
"Starsky, at this moment I'd just like to knock some sense into..."
"Save it for tomorrow," Starsky hissed, but as he turned away his eyes flashed in such a seductive manner Hutch could feel his cock jump in response.
"That an be arranged," Hutch muttered to himself, then went to help mop up the crime scene.
The small white envelope lay on the coffee table where Starsky had left it the night before, unopened, It drew him like a siren song, but Hutch had told him not to open it up until noon. It was nearly that now, since he'd slept most of the morning. Neither detective had gotten away from the squadroom until nearly four a.m., with all the statements and reports the brawl and shooter had generated.
Just as the Torino had pulled up in front of Venice Place, Hutch had handed Starsky the envelope with the instructions not to open it until twelve noon. He'd then left without another word.
Watching the hands of his clock inch upwards until they met at twelve, Starsky nervously attempted to tidy his house, circling the coffee table each time he walked by with a load of dirty clothes or a pile of week old newspaper for the recycle bin. How did fifteen minutes stretch out like taffy to what seemed like fifteen hours?
Just as the last second ticked off, Starsky grabbed up the innocuous looking envelope to rip the flap off. Thinking better of that action, he rummaged around on his desk until he found the letter opener his mother had given him for his high school graduation, and carefully slit the top of the envelope. Inside were two folded pieces of paper, just like any average letter. Except, Starsky knew this was no average message. It was one which could possibly change the entire course of his life and how he lived it.
His hands were trembling as he pulled out the papers, smoothing them to read Hutch's neat handwriting. The note gave explicit instructions on exactly how to prepare himself for the evening's encounter, down to when to shower, what to wear and not to wear and what to eat for lunch. Starsky bristled slightly at the menu, what right did Hutch have to order him to eat a nutritious meal consisting mostly of vegetables? Then he shivered, realizing he'd given Hutch every right to do just that. He'd given Hutch the right to order him to do what ever the hell Hutch damn well pleased, on this particular Saturday. Until Sunday morning, he had no responsibilities except to please his master, and no rights at all. Hutch could have sex with him, beat him or order him to eat broccoli, and Starsky had to obey. He was rebellious enough to wonder how Hutch would know whether he had eaten broccoli or not, since it wasn't something he usually bought at the grocery store.
With a sudden jolt to his stomach, he ran into the kitchen, yanking open the refrigerator door. Hutch would know because he had laid out the ingredients for the meal on the top shelf himself. Starsky pulled out what he was supposed to eat, laughing. Hutch was probably the only dominant who used his power to get someone to eat more healthily.
After crunching his way though lunch and washing it down with lemonade, Starsky showered and changed, selecting the clothes described in the letter. Red pullover shirt with the tiny white square on the front, blue jeans so faded and soft they were like wearing pajamas, except for the fact that they were skin tight and threadbare over knees, ass and crotch. Red socks and his blue Adidas finished the ensemble. No underwear had been underlined twice in red.
Standing in front of the mirror, Starsky shaved carefully to avoid any nicks or cuts and inspected his appearance. He looked normal, but his whole body was buzzing with anticipation. What would happen tonight? Would it change him forever? What was Hutch doing right now? Was he dressing, too? Would he look the same, but be somehow changed?
At two o'clock, the letter instructed, Starsky was to consult the map to the rendezvous house, and start his drive. It would take nearly an hour. Once he arrived at the designated address, he was to knock twice at the door and wait, his hands clasped behind him. When the door was opened, Starsky was not allowed to speak unless spoken to, and was expected to obey all commands. Disobedience would not be tolerated.
Just reading those words sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. What would happen if he didn't obey? His groin had been tingling every since he'd begun dressing, but now there was a constant aching need that begged to be relieved. Each command in the letter added to the throbbing in his manhood until it was uncomfortable just standing still. Starsky reached down to rub the back of his hand over the thin fabric covering his cock, then froze. Hutch would undoubtedly notice any wet stains on his jeans if he jacked off, and that certainly wouldn't be construed as following directions. He dug his fingernails into his palms, stilling the urge to grab himself.
The last instruction on the letter said to use the drive over to think of a safeword. A word that could stop whatever action was going on at the time and end the session. In B/D/S/M, the word 'no' meant nothing. The Bottom could yell 'no', 'stop' or scream 'don't' until he was blue, but it wouldn't stop whatever the Top was doing, no matter what it was. Only two things could stop a session, the master ending it or a safeword. It was the only power the submissive had, but it was absolute. The safeword had to be agreed on ahead of time and only used as a very last resort. Starsky felt elated and chilled at the thought.
The safeword was the only possession he was to arrive with, that and the trust that Hutch would care for him, even under highly unusual and slightly scary circumstances.
Turning on the ignition, and driving down his street, Starsky wondered if it was the last time he'd feel completely in control for the next twenty-four hours. It took no thought at all to decide his safeword after that.
The rain from the day before had lingered for a drizzly, dreary morning, but launched into a full-blown storm soon after Starsky had started on his drive. It gave the afternoon the proper gothic atmosphere and he let loose a bubble of giggles, imaging himself stopping in front of some turreted monstrosity of a house, standing dripping on the front step to be let in by a hugely tall man in seedy butler's duds. Hutch would make an entrance, wearing torn fishnet stockings and a black corset like Tim Curry in Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Singing "Let's do the time warp again!" he followed the directions on the hand drawn map across the valley to a quiet, old fashioned area that gave him the impression he'd gone back in time a few decades. There were no dark, forbidding mansions filled with weird bondage aficionados here. It was more like the neighborhoods Norman Rockwell painted, pretty houses set back on well tended green lawns. He found the correct road and turned right, driving slowly enough to peer out the rain streaked windshield to see the house numbers painted on the road side mailboxes. The houses were getting further and further apart until there was a nearly half a mile without another one. He was beginning to think he'd missed his destination when he finally caught a glimpse of a jaunty red painted mailbox with the number 69 on the side.
"This be the place!" Starsky announced to the empty car, more to calm his own jangling nerves than anything else. The drive was gravel, bumping the Torino more than Starsky liked, and he was glad to pull up in front of a cozy little cottage with the red shutters. His heart in his mouth, he got out of the car, approaching the house with a mixed bag of trepidation and nervous excitement. He dashed up onto the covered porch, ran his fingers through his wet, unruly curls and knocked the required two raps on the red door. Then, clasping his hands behind him, he waited for Hutch to let him in.
When the storm had really hit full force, Hutch had begun to worry that it might cause a problem with Starsky's drive over. He was very relieved when he heard the familiar whine of the Torino's engine drive in and then the double knock on the door, precisely on time.
He was filled with misgivings. He'd never actually been the one to oversee an entire session. More often he'd been one of a group of people, all paired off to act out their own bondage fantasies. He wanted Starsky to understand this world, to enjoy it and possibly, come back for more.
With a straightening of his spine, Hutch opened the door.
Starsky looked startled, his blue eyes bright in the gray afternoon. He was dressed as instructed and Hutch could see without even unzipping his fly that he wore nothing under his jeans. He looked good enough to eat. Hutch wanted nothing more than to pull him into a bear hug, assure him that everything would be great--this was supposed to be fun! But instead he assumed his sternest face, stepping aside to let Starsky in.
Remembering the rules, Starsky didn't say a word, walking across the threshold with his heart hammering so loudly, he was surprised Hutch didn't comment on the sound.
The room was dim, candles flickering everywhere, placed on tables and tucked into every available nook and niche. It gave the whole place a transient atmosphere, as if nothing were quite solid and real.
Hutch wore a loose silk shirt of shimmering pale blue that Starsky had never seen before. The softness of the silk draped his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders and strong chest. The shirt was tucked into smooth brown leather pants, so form fitting as to be a second skin, the bulge in the front sending a siren call straight to Starsky's groin.
"Drop your eyes," Hutch commanded, seeing what Starsky was looking at. "Undress quickly and lay your clothes on that chair."
Starsky took a shaky breath, walking forward as if treading on uncertain ground. He was surprised to find himself so scared. The excitement of anticipation had made him giddy in the car, but now his mouth was dry, his whole body jittery with nerves. What if he wanted to stop right now? When was Hutch going to ask for the safeword?
"Were you listening to me?" Hutch asked sharply, his voice low and forceful, "I said take off your clothes. I want to see you naked, on your knees, in front of me."
Risking a glance at his lover's face, Starsky almost didn't recognize the stern expression he saw there. Hutch was backlit with candles, his hair haloed in glowing fire, his blue eyes deep in shadow. Starsky couldn't know how hard it was for Hutch to maintain his distance. He wanted to peel those damp clothes off the other man's body himself, stripping him bare so he could feel the ripple of skin over hard muscle when he ran his palms over Starsky's chest.
Kicking off his Adidas, Starsky fumbled with his belt, but opened his fly without difficulty. When he stepped out of his jeans, his erect cock bounced out against his leg as he bent to remove his socks. Hutch bit back a sigh of pleasure watching Starsky's muscles bunch and move as he slipped off the footwear. He piled everything on a ladderbacked chair with great care. His shirt came off last, almost reluctantly because he felt suddenly self-conscious to be naked in front of his clothed partner. Belatedly he remembered the rest of his orders and dropped to his knees, the edge of the carpet abrasive against his skin.
"Took you long enough," Hutch said quietly.
Gulping against the flutter in his throat, Starsky tipped his head up, wanting to catch his partner's eyes, to read assurance in them on what exactly was the correct thing to do in this situation. He was exposed on the floor, completely out of the comfortable and familiar. Although it was comfortably warm in the room with a crackling fire burning merrily in the fireplace, Starsky had goosebumps down both arms. It was as if he'd never met the blond man in front of him, the best friend he'd ever had. The man he'd known for fifteen years appearing suddenly strange and alluring bathed in golden light.
"I didn't say you could look at me." Hutch's voice broke the silence.
Guilty, Starsky dropped his eyes down, seeing his penis popped up between his spread thighs like some weird little puppet in a show. It just needed a script to perform. He waited, anxious to know his part, needing to please Hutch, to do what he desired him to do. Then, Starsky knew the other powerful tool he held: the key to Hutch's pleasure. The submissive did whatever it took to give his master pleasure and to make the session go where the Top expected it to go. Starsky had only to follow and learn and he would give Hutch the gift of his absolute trust and love.
"You know there are some rules. We've already discussed some of them, and you obviously read the instructions I left," Hutch said, carefully stealing himself from bending down to comfort the man kneeling in front of him. He understood now that being the dominant was more than just control, it was how to shape the scene to give the submissive the most pleasure. In doing so, he himself gained immense pleasure as well.
Starsky's body betrayed his nervousness, he knelt rigidly, his hands clenched tightly on his thighs. "Are you scared, Starsk?" Hutch asked gently.
"A little," Starsky admitted.
"Do you want to quit?"
"We haven't even started yet." Starsky grinned shyly, knowing more than ever that he wanted to go on, to explore this new world with Hutch. "I just feel really weird here...like this."
"You look fantastic." Hutch smiled, admiring Starsky's bared chest. The hickeys and bite marks still showed through the dark thatch of hair curled across his chest, the old bullet and surgical scars visible, but no longer jarring, now just part of the story that made up David Starsky. He was incredibly alluring and provocative, open and vulnerable there on the floor with the uneven flames playing games of light and shadow over his skin. Hutch couldn't wait to explore every inch as if he'd never touched that beloved body before, but he had to conduct the session correctly. "Did you pick a safeword?"
"Yes." Starsky shifted his weight onto his heels, unaccustomed to kneeling for any length of time. "Torino,"
"When you say Torino," Hutch intoned, amused in spite of himself by the choice. "It will stop the action immediately. Think very carefully before you use it. Even if something is very overwhelming, or if things are getting too much for you, think first. Do you really want to stop? That word stops whatever we're doing and we cannot continue. Do you understand?" He knew the words to say, had both read about and experienced various aspects of bondage firsthand, but it was like entering into an unknown situation as a detective. He was always worried about protecting his partner. How much would he be protecting Starsky if he were the one restraining him? Possibly even causing a small amount of pain? It was terrifying.
Except that Starsky had asked for this and Hutch had a hard time refusing Starsky anything. And Hutch had always enjoyed these kind of sex games in the past. The chance to play them with his favorite bed partner was the stuff fantasies were made of.
"I understand," Starsky agreed.
"Then close your eyes," Hutch commanded. He leaned down, his right arm encircling his lover's chest and pulling him to a stand. Reverently he placed his lips on Starsky's skin in that fragile dip where the neck meets the shoulder. Such a vulnerable spot in so many ways. Life could be cut short by a single blow to the carotid, or celebrated with a caress along the sensitive skin of the jaw. His eyes shut, Starsky shivered at the touch, his whole body craving Hutch's with an intensity that left him light headed and trembling.
Moving his lips over Starsky's warm skin, Hutch could feel the humming bird flutter of pulse against his cheek and he planted a line of kisses just above the clavicle to the tip of the shoulder. Leaving one hand encircling Starsky's neck, Hutch reached behind him to where he'd hidden an object on a bookshelf.
Starsky held himself still, barely able to initiate any independent movement on his own. Hutch's hand around his neck seemed the only thing holding him up, the thumb and forefingers gently massaging the tight muscles of his back with sensuous strokes.
Holding up a leather collar, Hutch slide the broad band around Starsky's throat, the long fingers of his hand now moving around in front to pull the collar up over the sensitive skin over the Adam's apple. Those fingers lingered for agonizing seconds before they moved around again, lifting up the curly hair on the back of Starsky's neck to buckle the collar firmly in place.
Starsky gasped, his hands reaching up to touch the thick leather collar that captured his throat, turning him into a slave. He wore Hutch's mark. A symbol of Hutch's ownership. Of his own submission.
"While we are together here." Hutch slipped his finger into the ring located on the front of the collar, tugging Starsky to walk forward, leading him into the living room. "This is the only clothing you get to wear. Remember to keep your eyes closed." He admonished when he saw a hint of blue peeking out between the impossibly long lashes. "Put your hands behind you." When Starsky had complied, Hutch snapped matching leather cuffs around each wrist and secured them together with a clip.
"Now, I think you know that you've already disobeyed the rules several times in the short time you've been here." Hutch breathed into Starsky's ear, his tongue tracing the curve of the helix down to the soft lobe, pausing there to suck gently, tasting the salty, spicy taste that was pure Starsky.
Moaning deep in his throat, Starsky swayed, weightless and unsubstantial. He was poised on a precipice, waiting for Hutch's next words to push him over the edge. What was he planning to do now?
The collar was so snug against his skin, just the slight vocalization of his moan reminded him of his submission. Every breath and sigh brought the feeling of the leather around his neck back to him. He couldn't get used to standing there, naked and cuffed, in Hutch's arms. Giving a little jerk, Starsky tested his bounds, but his restraints kept any movement to a minimum, Hutch's body against his back doing the rest.
"Not to mention what you did last night."
"Last night?" Starsky echoed, every part of him just a reaction to Hutch's actions. He had no will of his own, he was Hutch's to command in every way.
"You never consulted me, you never thought past that moment to what could have happened." Hutch rubbed the smooth skin of Starsky's rear, cupping his butt cheeks in both hands before releasing them with a quick pinch. "I told you I wanted to knock some sense into you." He had positioned Starsky near a high wingback chair. "Lean forward over the back of the chair."
This was it. Starsky leaned over, his chest hitting the back of the chair which meant he had to hang his head down, face first into the cushions. It was an awkward position with his hands still cuffed behind him but he had such a giddy thrill of excitement it canceled out any feeling of fear or foreboding.
Hutch picked up a ruler, the old fashioned kind made of wood. "Did your teachers ever smack you?" he asked in a conversational tone, the pale, rounded buttocks such a tempting target he could barely hold himself back from beginning too soon. Hot, heady waves of need were coursing through him, making it hard to concentrate. A good spanking would heat Starsky's backside to a glowing red, putting them in the mood for further exploration of those nether regions.
"Yeah." Starsky dipped into his childhood memories, conjuring up the pinch faced teacher in the third grade who'd yielded a ruler with a punishing hand, smacking the length of wood over his knuckles with a force that had left him bruised and in tears.
"This will be entirely different." Hutch flicked his wrist, the ruler just flexible enough to make a little whistling sound as it cut the air. "Don't move and you'll only get five strokes."
"Yes, sir." Starsky took a steadying breath. Would this hurt like Miss Monahan's smacks had?
He jumped when the ruler hit his skin, a zip of pain tingling across the synapses of his butt with breathtaking speed, almost too fast to comprehend. The second stroke added heat to the lightening, but it was still that quick, a spark and then it was gone, leaving no lasting impression. He anticipated the third, his cock jutting hard against the back of the chair, already leaking cum. When the ruler smacked down again, Starsky could see sparks from the building fire on his skin dart across his closed eyelids, his whole being charged with electricity.
Swinging his hand down to give another blow, Hutch couldn't believe how aroused he was by this. He was hitting his best friend hard enough to hurt, but Starsky wasn't complaining. In fact he was barely moving, his bottom sticking out, ready for each swat. Starsky let out a little explosive breath each time the wood landed on his buttocks, but otherwise accepted the blows with bravery and resilience.
Delivering the last stroke with jarring force, Hutch let out the breath he'd been holding. It was done. He almost wanted to go on, to do more, now that he'd discovered that both of them could handle it. How was Starsky doing? He'd never made a sound, never moved, just let himself be beaten without a fight.
Still holding the ruler, Hutch smoothed a gentle hand over his partner's buttocks, the skin reddened and hot to the touch, but otherwise unmarked. "Did that hurt?" Hutch asked, trying to keep the hesitancy and uncertainty out of his voice. He pulled Starsky upright, holding him when he swayed from the sudden head rush.
"Just a little." Starsky squirmed from the touch, which actually both soothed and irritated his supersensitive skin. Hutch's finger probed the tight anal opening, pushing gently inward. "I want..." Starsky remembered he wasn't supposed to speak unless spoken to, but the need was building so strongly inside him. He'd almost come with the last smack of the ruler-had there been just one more, perhaps two, he could have climaxed, something that totally amazed and frightened him at the same time. That a beating at the hands of his lover could arouse him nearly to orgasm. Now that need was pounding inside him, unrelieved and relentless.
"What?" Hutch had no lubrication on his finger, but the urge to continue pushing inside Starsky's body was intoxicating. "What do you want?" He asked, so close behind the other man that his lips touched Starsky's neck. He planted a kiss under his ear, just above the hard edge of the leather collar.
"You. I want you." It was getting harder and harder to form coherent sentences with every passing moment.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" Hutch whispered into his ear. "Beg."
"I want you...to fuck me." Starsky sagged back against the taller man, "Please. Fuck me."
"On the bed," Hutch ordered, propelling him around. "On your knees."
Since nothing had been said about keeping his eyes open or shut, Starsky parted his eyelids enough to see where he was going. The flickering candles sparkled like starlight to his unaccustomed eyes, but he saw a large bed with an ornate metal frame in the next room, covered with a velvet bedspread and surrounded by more candles. He climbed up on the bed with shaky legs, taking the position eagerly. Once again, he was head down because of his still bound hands, and most of his weight was supported on his chest. It was uncomfortable as hell, but he literally couldn't wait another minute. Spreading his knees for a more stability, Starsky waited impatient, but unmoving.
First unzipping his fly to free his demanding erection, Hutch then liberally spread his hand with KY jelly, watching Starsky with aching desire. He was so incredibly gorgeous, all muscle and dark curls. Half the time he was Shakespeare's Puck, all impish spirit and childish glee and the other half he was a dark force, dangerous and deadly on the street, seeking out those who perpetrated evil. Which of these halves knelt on the bed? Was there another side to him, proud and gloriously unafraid to be dominated by the man he loved more than words could express?
"Please, Hutch, come up my ass." Starsky turned his head, his blue eyes guileless and beseeching. Kneeling bottom up on the bed shoved his cuffed hands up into the middle of his back and pressed his cheek down hard against the velvet spread. He was open and ready to be reamed.
"That was the plan." Hutch finished coating his length with lubricant, standing behind the bed so that he was directly in line with his target. He gave no warning, parting Starsky's butt cheeks, pinning him down so he couldn't move away. Hutch pushed the head of his cock in, slowly, but with a certain amount of force. Just inside the tight ring of muscle, he paused, the tight seal just on the edge of painful around his member. It was like shooting sex straight into his veins, all of his receptors fired at once from the squeezing, urging him to push in further.
Arching with the intrusion, Starsky tried not to resist. He wanted this so strongly, but the sensations were coming at him so fast, rolling over him in waves and he could hardly keep up. Hutch gave a strong thrust, half of his length entering in one motion. A spreading burn swept down the rectal canal, catching Starsky unawares and he moaned, deep and low, clenching his teeth from the unexpected flare of pain. It subsided when Hutch slipped partway out, reentering at a slightly different angle that hit the prostate dead center. Then the pain dropped away, replaced by lightening bolts of pure pleasure arching through his whole body with sharp, muscle crunching contractions.
Starsky's orgasm gripped Hutch with a ferocious hold, pulling him completely inside with each pulsating wave. His balls slapping Starsky's butt cheeks, Hutch thrust feverishly, matching his lover's motions exactly, fitted together perfectly like a key in a lock.
The double climax dissipated slowly, leaving both lethargic and spent. Curving his arms around his bottom, Hutch lowered them both onto their sides on the bed. After pulling himself free of Starsky's ass, he scooted up closely, spooning against the other man's body.
His bound hands caught between their bodies, Starsky discovered that Hutch had never completely undressed. The leather pants slid with sensual grace against his bare legs, as Hutch scissored his legs around the smaller man, trapping him between his thighs. Hutch's fly was open and his flaccid penis lay on Starsky's palm, warm and sticky with semen. Starsky tried to close his hand around the rod so conveniently placed, but his dexterity was nil after being cuffed for over half an hour and he couldn't control his movements. Somehow, that had ceased to matter and he reveled in the way Hutch surrounded him totally, the silk shirt whispery soft, slithering over his exposed back. Every tactile sensation was exaggerated. He could feel the tiniest hairs on the back of his neck stirring with Hutch's breath on him. The aching, burn in his anus only reminded him of Hutch's love, his awesome lovemaking, and the slight irritation on his buttocks was easily dismissed next to the kisses that now peppered his shoulders and arm.
"How do you feel?" Hutch asked, teeth just resting on his lover's bicep. He wanted to take a big bite, taste Starsky's essence and hold a piece of him inside for always.
"Special," Starsky said truthfully. "Amazing. I never knew it could be so...powerful."
"There's nothing like it." Hutch forced himself to leave off his banquet of kisses, to pay attention to his Bottom's needs. He moved enough to get some space between their bodies, releasing the clip that held Starsky's wrists together. He left the cuffs on, but gently rubbed his forearms and hands to restore circulation.
"Tingles." Starsky wiggled his fingers, finally capturing the oh-so-inviting penis between his thumb and forefinger briefly before Hutch pulled it out of reach.
"Not your turn, buddyboy." Hutch flicked him playfully by the ear like a stinging mosquito. "You can get up, use the bathroom, drink some water, whatever you need. When you're done, there's a tray of canapés and some sparkling fruit juice in the kitchen. Bring it in here."
"No wine? Beer?" Starsky asked impertinently, getting up slowly, all his muscles protesting the unusual positions he'd had to assume.
"Watch yourself, the ruler's still in the living room." Hutch came around in front of him, welcoming the face of his best friend as if he hadn't seen it in years. He privately groused that the one problem with being the Top is he spent an inordinate amount of time behind his subject when he really wanted to look into those astonishingly dark blue eyes, and feast on that soft sensuous mouth. He'd have to work on better positioning from now on. "Neither one of us can afford to get drunk, it leads to mistakes."
"Ain't been any mistakes, so far, Hutch." Starsky grinned triumphantly, knowing he was skirting punishment again, but he didn't care. Everything and anything Hutch did to him was like a poem to love. He wanted to pinch himself to prove that he was here and experiencing such mind-blowing sex, but stopped himself before inflicting any bodily injury. His skin and all that it held inside was Hutch's to command, and he couldn't even pinch himself without permission.
After relieving his bladder, Starsky realized how thirsty he was. He'd been breathing though his mouth through most of the beating in particular, and his tongue felt furry. He drained the glass of water the blond had provided while padding barefoot into the well appointed kitchen. The tile was smooth and cold under his feet and he hurried to find the tray of food and drink to get back to the warmth of the bedroom. Reaching out his left hand to pick up the oversized plate of canapés, Starsky stared at the thick leather cuff encircling his wrist for the first time. He hadn't really seen it before, since he'd had his eyes closed when it was put on. Both his arms looked alien and strange, as if they were from somebody else's body. The cuffs fit perfectly, not a bit of sliding around on his wrist, and were buckled on the palm side of the hand with a heavy brass buckle. A small ring was anchored on the far side of the cuffs to bind them to each other or anything that would restrict his movements. The possibility that he could be chained to a post or ring mounted in the ceiling sent jolts of excitement and dread to his cock and clenched his balls. The sleek brown leather accented his skin in a way that was both fearsome and beautiful. They were tight, but didn't cut into his skin like metal handcuffs did. These were lined with something soft like suede or chamois, to reduce abrasions. There would probably still be a reddened mark when they were removed, and he wanted to postpone that moment for as long as possible.
He hadn't had a chance to see what he looked like with the collar around his neck, since Hutch had covered the bathroom mirror with a towel, but now he raised one cuffed hand up to the collar, touching it cautiously. It also was buckled in the back but he didn't dare put a finger on the fastenings. They seemed off limits, only for Hutch's hand. As frightening as it was to be bound, owned, subjugated in such a base manner, Starsky also felt freed. Having the tight bonds pressing in on his skin reminded him of who he was and also took him completely away from that Detective David Starsky who policed the streets in search of crime. He almost wanted a new name to go with his new persona.
"What's taking you so long?" Hutch called from the bedroom, having refreshed himself as well. He pulled back the velvet spread, airing out the shining blue satin sheets.
"I'm coming...sir," Starsky added belatedly.
"You'd better not be," Hutch teased. "Unless I say you can."
"I'm yours to command." Starsky giggled, toting the large plate carefully, with the bottle of sparkling apple juice under his arm. He stopped short when he came into the bedroom, Hutch had removed his silk shirt, but closed his fly. He looked incredibly sexy with his broad, muscled chest bare above the skin tight pants.
"God," Hutch breathed, taking in the magnificent sight before him. "Put the tray down and let me look at you." Starsky did so, feeling self-conscious. Hutch looked reverently at the naked man with his throat and wrists bound in leather, and his cock responded with such strong interest, it made him laugh. Starsky was a Greek, well, make that Polish-Russian-American god, his torso perfectly framed by the brown leather. Hutch just wished he'd bought every piece of leather the store had displayed-cuffs for the ankles, tight straps to bind the chest and scrotum, and even gags. Actually, Hutch hadn't ever considered a gag, as much as Starsky's chatter sometimes drove him nuts. He needed to be able to hear Starsky's comments, his utterances when they were in the middle of sex, to assure him that everything was going well. "You look magnificent. You shouldn't ever take those off."
"I was thinking the same thing." Starsky ducked his head, but the edge of the collar hit his chin, reminding him again that every thing he did was Hutch's to control.
"Give me a cheesepuff." Hutch pointed to the tray, "And pour two glasses of juice. Got to keep your strength up for the rest of the day."
Discovering they were both famished, the food was devoured in short order, Starsky sitting cross legged on the end of the bed and Hutch against the head board with a pillow behind his back to protect him from the twisted, decorative wrought iron.
"Talk to me, Starsk." Hutch dusted the crumbs off his hands. "You were so quiet earlier. Did you really mean you never want to take the collar off?"
"Hutch, I'll feel this in my dreams." Starsky stroked a finger over the restraining leather, feeling the hint of metal that was embedded in the center of the collar to keep its shape. "All this is so incredible, I can barely describe it."
"You want to continue."
"More than ever," Starsky vowed. "Forever."
His heart leaping with gladness, Hutch grabbed Starsky by the arm, pulling him into him. "You don't know how happy that makes me, baby, cause there's a lot more to come." He kissed his brunette firmly on the lips, laughing to himself that Starsky was once again on his knees in front of him, and then decided what he wanted the next move to be. "On the floor, between my legs." Hutch commanded, his lips brushing Starsky's mouth and cheek when he spoke.
Scrambling to obey without delay, Starsky knelt, waiting for Hutch to turn around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his strong thighs bracketing the dark haired man.
"Hands behind you again," Hutch directed, the love in his chest almost overwhelming when Starsky complied so instantly. How did he deserve such respect and adoration? It was a scary thing that could easily be corrupted by the power he held, and he admonished himself to always remember to give his chosen one equal respect.
With a quick snap of the linking clip, Hutch locked Starsky's cuffs together again. "Unzip me without using your hands."
Well, that was obvious, Starsky snarked, but silently. No sense annoying his master so soon. He opened his lips, using just the front teeth, he very carefully rooted out the zipper pull from Hutch's pants, tugging it downward. It took a lot longer than he'd expected. The tiny pull was too small for him to get a good grip on and it kept sliding out of his mouth. By the end, he was drenched in sweat and dry mouthed, but triumphant. Hutch's very happy and willing cock leapt out, ready to play, smacking him in the mouth because he was so close.
"Oops." Hutch laughed, wrapping his hand around his dick to keep it in line, "Now, deep throat me."
Starsky nervously echoed the laugh, swallowing once to increase the saliva in his mouth. As much as he liked going down on his best buddy, he had never been quite able to take the full length inside until it slipped down the back of his throat. Hutch knew it too, which was exactly why he was he telling him to do so.
Starting slowly, Starsky began to lick and suck his way up the engorged penis, enjoying the way it pulsed against his lips and tongue, alive in his mouth. He felt slightly unsteady without the use of his hands, so he took his time, moistening each section of the cock with special attention. This was his favorite part, lavishing all his love on the one who loved him best. Hutch couldn't get enough of it, watching with a glad heart as his supplicant applied himself to the task.
One more inch, then another, until only a few centimeters remained outside his mouth, straining to come in. Forcibly disengaging his gag reflex, Starsky took a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring with the effort and widening his jaw, took the full length into his mouth, feeling Hutch's balls smack his bottom lip.
There is was, that terrifying moment when the cock dropped down his throat, blocking the trachea. No airway, no oxygen, no way to breathe. His heart pounding with frantic rhythm against his ribs, he gulped as Hutch thrust hard, cum beginning to spurt from the tip of his cock. Starsky gulped, his tongue trapped flat from the immense rod claiming his mouth, swallowing desperately as the semen pumped down his gullet.
Logically he knew that Hutch would never let him suffocate, but his lungs were beginning to protest, striving to draw in a molecule of life giving oxygen. Black dots began to float along the periphery of his sight, dimming his view of Hutch's face, contorted in euphoric bliss. An involuntary tear slid down Starsky's cheek as he valiantly held on, hands clenched together behind him, his knees and thighs screaming from the prolonged kneeling.
Hutch felt like the top was blowing off his head. The repeated swallowing was creating a steady suction on his cock, pulling all of his consciousness down into that one organ. He hadn't let himself relax earlier in the session, being nervous about Starsky's responses. Memories were piling onto him, sending him down the rabbit hole to the last time he'd been deep throated, only it had been Vanessa mouthing him and it had been a true test of the pleasure/pain principle. His arms had been suspended above his head from the doorframe while an unseen hand beat him savagely on the back with a leather strap. Pleasure in front, pain from behind, all without his control. This was so totally different, it was a gift bestowed from his beloved, without recrimination or humiliation. Banishing Vanessa from his thoughts, he let down his guard, leaning back on his hands to increase the drag on his manhood, reveling in the amazing feel of being sucked down the back of Starsky's throat.
"Yes! Yes!" he shouted, "Keep going, baby!" Rearing forward, he grabbed Starsky's head to prevent him from pulling away, weaving his fingers through the tangled curls. Thrusting madly, he almost missed seeing the wetness on Starsky's cheeks, but a tear still pooling in one indigo eye reflected the gutting candle flame, refocusing his attention.
"Starsk!" Hutch popped out his cock in one fell swoop, his hands still supporting his lover's head. "I'm...sorry." He mentally chastised himself for letting things get out of control, rubbing a calming hand on the dark haired man's cheek while Starsky coughed, gulping in huge breaths of sweet air.
"It was good," Starsky protested weakly when he'd gotten enough oxygen to support speech. "Intense. I knew you wouldn't let anything happen. I trusted you."
Those words pierced Hutch like arrows, "But I wasn't paying attention. I wasn't looking out for your needs."
"Hutch, don't stop now, please." Starsky laid his cheek against Hutch's thigh, the blond hairs growing near his groin like peach fuzz. "I couldn't bear it. I promise, it won't happen again."
"No, it won't." Hutch agreed, wondering how they could continue oral sex and still manage to have him be able to signal his safeword at the same time. A hand symbol, perhaps. "Come on up here, you need a rest and some water, I'll bet."
"Got something in my throat." Starsky smirked, his humor rising to the surface.
"I'll bet you do." Hutch helped him back onto the bed and held up a glass of water to allow him to drink . Using a cool cloth from the bathroom, he sponged off the worst of the sweat and tears, using kisses to sooth Starsky's lingering tremors. "How are you doing, otherwise?"
"Startin' to ache," Starsky admitted honestly, his arms especially from being constantly bound at the small of his back. He stared into those sky blue eyes of his best friend wanting to say everything and unable to articulate even the smallest syllable of what he was thinking, "But not enough to stop. Is there more?"
"You're incorrigible." Hutch grinned, he would never have predicted how wonderfully this day had turned out. That Starsky had taken so eagerly to submission stunned him. Now, if he could only do justice as the Dominant. "I've got lots of ideas, but we need to go slowly, ease into this. Can't walk before you crawl."
"I did," Starsky replied cheekily, his face split with a grin of his own. He wanted it all now, every bondage scenario and sex game he'd ever heard or read about. It was like opening up a pirate's chest full of illicit treasure and finding out that everything inside suited you to a T when you'd never even considered them to your taste before.
"You do everything ass-backwards." Hutch unlatched his cuffed hands, giving him a moment to shake out the numbness. "Which can be a good thing, sometimes."
"You always did like my ass."
"Watch yourself." Hutch assumed his stern demeanor once more. The joking was too easy to fall into, too easy to let them just be Starsky and Hutch fooling around. He had to maintain the control as Top, or the games wouldn't work. "I'm counting demerits for the next session."
Starsky stiffened, both excited and nervous that he'd already earned demerits. Would Hutch use the ruler again, or something more unpleasant? "What will you do to me?"
"That depends on a lot of things." Hutch handed him the glass of water again. Keeping the Bottom well hydrated was an important job. "Drink up, I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve."
Knowing that was all the answer he was going to get, Starsky sipped the cool, refreshing liquid, watching Hutch over the rim of the glass. His chest was so smooth, the muscle definition similar to the classic statue of David, but softer, more human. Starsky found the one thing he didn't like about being submissive was having to police his every move. On any other day of lovemaking, he would reach out, stroke that lightly tanned flesh, maybe kiss the faint bullet scar in the shoulder with a loving caress. Now he had to wait for commands, keeping still when his whole being wanted to move. Patience had never been his strong suit, perhaps that's why he needed to submit, to become more aware of his own limitations.
Hutch had gathered a few more of the supplies he'd purchased earlier in the week and placed them close to the bed for easy access. When Starsky had drained his glass, he took that and the left over canapé tray into the kitchen, removing all extraneous objects off the mattress. Then, without a word, he captured Starsky's left hand in his, swiftly attaching the cuff to the metal bedframe with a clip he'd discovered in a sports store meant for securing ropes during mountain climbing. Once he'd had his head back in the bondage mindset, he'd discovered unusual uses for a number of mundane pieces of equipment.
Starsky was momentarily startled with the speed that Hutch secured him to the bed. His hands were attached up high to the posts at each corner, putting uncomfortable strain on his shoulders and back.
Again reminding himself to go back and get the matching leather ankle cuffs, Hutch made do with some soft silk rope that usually graced curtains. It was slippery enough not to scrape the skin, but it took a lot of length to tie Starsky's ankles to each lower corner of the bed. His legs were spread-eagled as widely as it was possible to go, exposing his genitals and buttocks lewdly.
"This will be about how much you can take." Hutch said softly, coming up close to sit on the side of the bed, his forefinger tracing a delicate line from the ring on the collar around Starsky's neck to his belly button. Starsky shivered at the touch, a rush of adrenaline slamming into his bloodstream, revving his nervous system. The splendid, intoxicating delight of bondage was the not knowing, the waiting to find out what would be next.
"Do you remember your safeword?" Hutch continued his journey downward, not quite reaching the groin before dipping upwards again, following the hollow created by the jut of the hip bone.
"Torino," Starsky whispered, his tone matching Hutch's.
"Good." The blond man reached over the side of the bed, rummaging around in the box he'd placed on the floor, his left hand still drawing arcane symbols on Starsky's flat belly. "I'm going to put these on your nipples-you have to wear them for ten minutes." He produced a gold chain with a small clip on each end. " You can tell me if they hurt, but you still have to wear them the whole time. I have a few things to distract you during that time, but the only thing that will make me take them off before ten minutes is the safeword. Do you understand? No and stop doesn't mean anything to me tonight. But I want to hear how you feel. This is for you..."
"A test of endurance." Starsky couldn't take his eyes off the wicked looking little clamps. Once he and Hutch had gone to a strip joint to question a group of dancers about the murder of another stripper. One of the girls had worn tiny spring-loaded clamps with dangling bells attached to each nipple. Every movement she made had been accompanied by a sweet tinkling, like the fairy bells announcing Tinker Bell in the musical Peter Pan. Fascinated, Starsky had remarked to Hutch that they must hurt like hell but the girl never complained or removed them. Thinking back, he realized she'd also worn a gold chain fastened tightly around her neck. She must have been someone's slave, dancing on the stage for their amusement.
"Talking without permission." Hutch pinched Starsky's right nipple, the clamp biting down with a ferocious grip. Starsky arched against the pain, panting in surprise. Even though he was prepared for the second one, it still set his teeth on edge. "Although, it's allowable." Hutch minutely adjusted the position of each clamp, his stomach twisting in sympathy with Starsky's effort to resist the urge to cry out. He knew how nipple clamps seemed to increase their pain as time passed, instead of becoming background sensation the way most things did. The pain was insistent, pushing aside all attempts to dull it down. "Because you're right." Winding the delicate chain that linked the two clamps around one long finger, he gave a minute tug.
"Oh, shit," Starsky whimpered, closing his eyes to decrease the external stimuli. His pain threshold was pretty high, but this was outrageous. All his pain receptors seemed to have settled in two points on his chest, sending out distress calls that he couldn't answer. "Take 'em off."
Then, a totally different sensation assaulted him, something soft and feathery fluttered over his toes and swept down his right instep. Having deprived himself of sight his sense of touch had increased, his skin overly sensitive. The feather tickled and in spite of the throbbing pain from his chest, he giggled.
"I knew you'd like that," Hutch said fondly, applying the feather lightly to the other foot. Starsky wiggled his toes, trying to escape the teasing torture, but he was tied too tightly. His breath was coming in heaving gulps, caught between the laughter and the pain.
As the feather whispered slowly over his body, Starsky felt himself transported into a realm of pure physical sensation. Everything was heightened to the nth degree, a swirl of conflicting and confusing emotions-pleasure and pain, anticipation and trepidation, even love and fear all squashed together in a glorious soup of pure energy. They were all one, impossible to untangle. Just as in real life there was no one correct way to react. This world, this B/D/S/M relationship was both scary and stupendous. His heart beat faster, his breath quickened, a flush warming his body with each new onslaught. Were these symptoms of excitement and erotic arousal or terror? There was no difference and there was every difference. He feared the pain that could be inflicted on himself, but his whole body felt alive and revitalized, giving up his soul to pure hedonism.
Hutch drew the feather one last time across the prostrate body, watching Starsky twitch to try and evade the tickling, then laid it on the nightstand. He hadn't quite decided what exquisite torture to bedevil his partner with next when his gaze fell on one of the dripping candles. Scooping a tiny dribble of the melting wax onto the end of his finger, he nodded in satisfaction.
Starsky's eyes flew open when the flame of a candle dipped too close to the smooth underside of his elbow. He wasn't burned, but a drop of hot wax splattered onto his skin, giving off a tiny heat. It wasn't even really too hot to bear, certainly not enough to injure or scar, cooling quickly once it solidified on his skin, but it was an irritant. Added to the ache from his swollen, pinched nipples it was almost too much to bear.
Focusing on the yellow bright flame of the candle left wavering after images on his retinas, so Starsky closed his eyes again, tensely waiting for each tiny heat bomb to bombard his already overloaded nervous system. How much more could he take? Twisting away from the frightening heat of the flame reignited the bone deep pain of the clamps on his nipples and he cried out, unable to keep silent any longer.
"That's it," Hutch encouraged. "Talk to me, tell me what you're feeling."
"No more. Please," Starsky begged, his fingers clenching reflexively, the cuffs so tight he couldn't even turn his wrists to grab onto the bedframe. He felt suspended in space without a safety harness, even though his body was anchored firmly to the bed. "It hurts, it's too much..." His safeword surged forward, ready to leap out of his mouth but at the last moment he couldn't, wouldn't submit...
Using a fingernail to pick the cooled wax off his lover's collarbone, Hutch kissed the leftover red mark with sweet lips. Then pausing a moment, he slicked his hands with sweet smelling almond oil to facilitate the removal of the wax chips. When he moved his fingers over Starsky's skin they left a slippery, erotic snail trail of oil. Every place he'd dribbled wax he now dappled with kisses, replacing the tiny hurts with love. The gentleness and care of his ministrations swept through Starsky's veins like a balm. Everything still hurt, but he wanted those kisses so, wanted Hutch's touch on his bruised and gently tormented body.
"I'm going to take the clamps off, one by one." Hutch used the ball of his thumb to stroke Starsky's cheek, smiling when he opened his eyes again. "You were fantastic, you did it, lover. Ten minutes on the first time. I'm really proud of you. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly."
Wondering why there was such an implicit warning in Hutch's words, Starsky obliged him, drawing in a shaky breath that jostled the clamps alarmingly. That was nothing, though, to the excruciating pain that hit when Hutch released the first clamp, all the blood flooding back into the nipple in a rush. Starsky yelled. The jolt was as strong as a defibrillator shock only his cock was the organ that responded, coming semi-erect in a single moment. How could such pain arouse him so thoroughly? Being shot had never had that effect on him. Maybe it had something to do with the warm, moist mouth that now lapped and sucked on his abused breast, soothing the hurt with tenderness.
Starsky panted with exertion, wanting the second one off fast, to get the pain over with quick like when he pulled a Band-Aid off his hairy arm. Still, even knowing it was coming, he howled, tears in his eyes. Hutch was peppering his body with kisses and comforting strokes, centering more and more down in the groin area.
"We're almost done," Hutch whispered, running his finger down Starsky's hard penis, amused at how his touch made it jump. "You can come when I say so and not before."
He was so primed that Starsky had to grit his teeth not to orgasm just from the butterfly touch of Hutch's lips on his nuts. "W-when?" he groaned, the pain draining away from his chest like it had never been, leaving behind mostly muscle strain from the stretched position he'd maintained for nearly half an hour now. At least he thought it was that long, it felt like a lifetime. Now all his attention was focused on his gonads, throbbing like a sore tooth demanding to be pulled.
"When I'm ready." Hutch was unwinding the rope from around each ankle, spending long minutes rubbing the circulation into each foot and massaging Starsky's calves and feet. He used not only his strong, flexible fingers, but his lips and tongue, reducing Starsky to a puddle of vibrating nerves.
"I'm ready," Starsky insisted, which earned him a smack on the bottom of his foot, but Hutch knew he couldn't tease him much longer.
"When I count to five..." Hutch lightly grasped the skin covered steel rod, reading on Starsky's face how much he needed the release, "No, when I count to three, you can come." He closed his fist, pumping three times as he counted.
With his legs free, Starsky braced his feet against Hutch's leather encased thigh, lifting his buttocks off the bed when the climax hit with the force of a freight train. His whole body spasmed repeatedly, semen squirting upwards like a fountain. Finally exhausted, Starsky collapsed onto the bed, hanging limply from his bound hands.
"Do you know how much I love you?" Hutch unclipped the restraints holding Starsky in place, catching his arms as they dropped. He pushed the damp curls off Starsky's forehead, kissing his eyelids. " You were so brave. The way you handled yourself today..." Gathering his fatigued partner onto his lap, he cuddled him like a small child, massaging his stiff shoulders and back. "How you doing, you big lug?"
"I'm whipped," Starsky confessed then giggled as his inadvertent pun, allowing himself to be coddled because he was too tired to get off Hutch's lap.
"I'll bet." Hutch nuzzled his nose into the warm, redolent curve of Starsky's neck. He smelled of sex, and sweat mixed with the heady aroma of leather from the collar. Hutch couldn’t get enough of looking at him collared and cuffed. Owned. He looked so desirable, a living, breathing sex toy that also happened to be his best friend. What more could a man want?
"I can't believe you did all this for me." Starsky gestured expansively at the beautiful room bedecked with candles and the left over silken rope still looped around the bedposts. The feather lay on the floor next to the box of sex toys, some still in their original packages. There were more for another day.
"Well, the house is borrowed, the candles were 99 cents for a pack of six and the rope's off the curtains from my old place," Hutch smirked. "Getting the rest of the stuff was pure pleasure because I was thinking of you the whole time."
"But you didn't get anything for yourself." Starsky leaned his head on the blond man's shoulder, his bare ass resting on Hutch's smooth leather clad lap bringing back a version of his original fantasy. Hutch dressed in leather caressing his nude body. Sometimes fantasies do come true, and Carlysle didn't even enter into it.
Laughing, Hutch wrapped his arms around that which brought him the most joy, "Starsky, you dunce, I got everything...you gave me more than I could ever have imagined."
"I still think you did all the work, I was just lyin' around."
"That was the hard part." Hutch regarded him fondly, glad Starsky was finally talking. Bondage wasn't the slam-bam, thank you man kind of relationship. It required open discussion, and planning to ensure that both parties got out of it what they desired. Hurt feelings and miscommunication were the worst possible combination when someone was tied up and bearing the lash of a whip.
"Maybe, but you overestimated me. I wasn't sure I could take what you were dishing out..."
"On the contrary, I underestimated your strengths on every front. You're a natural..."
"Slave?" Starsky voiced the word for the first time, his voice unsteady, hunching his shoulders defensively.
"Yeah, babe. A slave." Hutch rubbed his palms over the goosebumps suddenly pebbling Starsky's naked flesh, "That scares you, doesn't it?"
"It's just too damned strange to think of myself as someone who'd...let you...anybody... do that kind of thing to me." He stared down at his cuffed wrists, symbols of his enslavement. Every time he turned his head, swallowed, spoke or just breathed, the band around his neck tightened, instantly reminding him of what he was and what he'd agreed to. "If we were called out to a house on a domestic dispute and some woman told me her husband tied her up and beat her, I woulda thought she was whacked..."
"Talk about your Freudian slips," Hutch observed wryly.
"We'd have her shipped off t'some shelter, talkin' to social workers an' therapists inside of an hour and her husband taken away in handcuffs." Starsky wasn't even sure of his point, only that he was confused about what he should be feeling. Was it wrong to like bondage?
"Instead, you're the one in cuffs tonight." Hutch hugged him, understanding all too well the dilemma.
"And I'm the one who got whacked. What makes this acceptable and that so wrong?"
"Me and thee, just like always," Hutch answered simply. "It's all a matter of degree, Starsky and personal choice. You asked me to do this. We discussed this ahead of time. You may not have totally understood what was would to happen going in, but you had an idea and you agreed to let me...control you and physically restrain you. That abused wife never had a say in the matter."
"It's scary as hell."
"It is, for me, too." Hutch rested his chin on Starsky's shoulder, "Do you feel abused?"
"No, never. More like loved."
"Thank you." Hutch kissed the edge of his jaw because it was literally inches from his lips, "Your trust means more to me than gold, babe. I get scared I could go too far, hurt you for real when I don't mean to. It's so easy to slip up and damage something very precious."
"I'm not made of china, and you wouldn't be able to." Starsky twisted around so he could gaze into those beautiful eyes. "You didn't hurt me tonight, just aches and pains that'll fade. Love takes care of the little stuff."
"Are you having any second thoughts?" Hutch asked worriedly, afraid, despite Starsky's words, that he wanted to back out.
"Oh, man, third, fifth, ninety-ninth...but they're always the same. I'm where I belong." Starsky was still holding himself with rigid tension but he let out a lungful of air, relaxing infinitesimally. "It's like I've changed so much everyone should be able to see."
"There are no visible marks." Hutch cupped both of Starsky's wrists, massaging his palms. "Nobody will know but me and nobody else's opinion really matters. I like doing this with you, but it's not the end of the world if we stop. I won't be hurt."
"No, but I will. That would hurt more than those damned little alligator teeth things." Starsky curled his lip with a mock snarl, "You're sure nobody will be able to tell?"
"Well, Huggy can be pretty perceptive." Hutch shrugged with a slight smile.
"You know I can't go into the Pits ever again." Starsky grimaced with only half faked embarrassment. He settled back when Hutch shifted his legs, situating Starsky between his thighs instead of on top of them.
"You're getting' heavy, Starsk." Hutch reached around, unbuckling the left wrist cuff. Starsky started to protest that he wanted to keep them on, but didn't have enough energy to speak up. Instead, he watched lethargically when Hutch bared the second wrist. Both were reddened where the leather had been but relatively free of any other marks, just as Hutch had assured him. He flexed his joints, wincing at the chorus of twinges that produced. His whole body felt like he'd run a full marathon and then engaged in a strenuous workout directly afterwards.
"Are you up for the hot tub?" Hutch untangled his long legs, standing.
"Is that a rhetorical question or just a pun?" Starsky secretly lusted at his lover standing there with the light of the candles dancing in his hair and his butt so tightly packed into those sexy pants, surprised to find he was even still thinking about sex. "Cause I don't think I'll be up for anything for a long time."
"C'mon, c'mon." Hutch pushed him to his feet, snugging an arm around him. "The Jacuzzi awaits us."
"Isn't it still raining?" Starsky inquired, staring out the window, realizing night had fallen when he wasn't paying attention. There were droplets of water on the glass, the darkness reflecting his nakedness like a distorted mirror. Hutch led him through the house, blowing out candles as they passed. He flipped on over head tract lighting when they arrived in a room off the kitchen, decorated for comfortable eating and relaxation. A small table was set intimately for two and a pile of strangely familiar looking videos was set next to the VCR, promising a night of movies and good food later on.
"You could be the weather man-don't even need to wear rubbers." Hutch joked, swinging open the French doors leading to a redwood deck and a sunken hot tub, steaming in the cooling evening. Rain fell steadily, pockmarking the surface of the water.
Shucking his leather pants, Hutch walked out into the rain and ducked into the bubbles. He sighed languidly, relaxing back against the blue tiles that lined the tub. Rain glistened in his hair, dripping down his face. "C'mon, in Starsk, the water's fine."
"Don't have the good sense t'come in out of the rain?" Starsky dawdled, less than enthused at sitting in a downpour.
"Watch yourself." He shook what Starsky had always termed the Hutchinson finger, "I'm still in charge around here."
"How could I forget? You keep reminding me," Starsky snarked, belatedly adding, "Master." He was courting more demerits but didn't care. He liked living on the edge. Following the blond man's lead, somewhat more slowly, he dipped a foot into the one hundred and three degree water, puffing out his cheeks as his skin adjusted to the temperature. Deciding it wasn't too hot, he slid the rest of his body down, sitting on the narrow ledge just beside a Jacuzzi jet. Frothy bubbles burbled around him like tiny sea creatures, caressing his strained muscles. "Feels good."
"Nothing better," Hutch agreed, focusing on his partner, particularly on his neck with the beautiful brown leather band. "I forgot to take the collar off."
"Leave it on." Starsky molded his hand around the hard, unforgiving leather, not willing to part with it yet.
"Until tomorrow morning?" Hutch asked, touched beyond his wildest dreams.
"Until I die," Starsky whispered, "But I guess until we go back to work."
"No problem." Hutch leisurely watched the raindrops plop into the bubbling water.
Sitting beside Starsky, he thanked the gods, whoever they may be, that sanctioned situations like these, that he had such a man in his life. Neither spoke, just reveling in the revitalizing powers of the hot tub, each caught up in his own thoughts. Hutch found he couldn't completely zone out, his mind already conjuring up future sessions, sexy ideas percolating to the surface like the broiling bubbles that surrounded him. Tipping his head back to catch the raindrops on his face, he realized the downpour had ended, a gentle breeze blowing the inky clouds across the night sky. The waxing crescent moon was just peeking out, a secret smile on its lunar face.
"Hutch?" Starsky broke the silence, and the no talking without permission rule, but Hutch didn't call him on it.
"Yesterday you said no pain play on the first time." Starsky wiggled a little, the hard tile bench unrelentingly on his sore behind. "But I was barely inside the door before you were smacking my ass."
"I changed my mind. Circumstances dictated I take a stance."
"You just wanted to-um-knock some sense into me." Starsky laughed and got a stern look for his teasing. Laying his head on the tiled rim of the tub, he gazed up at the stars twinkling above. Their little haven was far enough away from the city lights to provide a panorama of stars across the heavens, even on a rainy evening. In fact, Starsky thought he'd never seen anything lovelier than Hutch swathed in gossamer steam, crowned by the Milky Way. His hair gleamed silvery in the night, like an earthbound star.
"Doesn't seem to have worked either, or you'd be a little more respectful." Hutch glared but there was no malice behind it. He'd always known Starsky would be a defiant submissive, constantly flaunting the rules. That was pure David Starsky in a nutshell.
"What do you have up your sleeve for the next time."
"Wouldn't you like to know." Hutch scooted closer, winding his long legs around Starsky's. "I have too many ideas, it's hard narrowing it down."
"Give me a hint?" Starsky coaxed.
"Jut a taste." Hutch captured Starsky's left ear in with his teeth, sucking briefly on the little fat lobe before nipping with his sharp canines.
"Ow!" Starsky complained, rubbing. With the pad of his finger he could feel a tiny indentation in his tender flesh.
"One word," Hutch tempted him. "Pierce."