At that time of the night, the club was smoky, sultry and smelled of sex, leather and power. The illumination was dim, but here and there, alcoves were let into the bare walls, illuminated by spotlights, where those who wished to could give exhibitions, or amuse themselves in whatever way they desired. For in Bound to Please, nothing was taboo and slaves were there purely to serve any and all of their Master’s requirements.

The blond haired man walked slowly around the club, trying to keep his eyebrows from rising at each new innovation he saw. Although not a prude, some of the behaviours Hutch had seen on his third night as a full member of the club both titillated and made him squirm. His hormones had no idea whether to be turned on or whether what he saw was so gross that he just wanted to go home and bury himself in his bed for a week.

Across the room, he could see Starsky, similarly checking out the place and his eyes stayed on the lithe form, prowling the walkways like a caged panther for a while as he dragged his mind back to the conversation they’d had three days ago in Dobey’s office.

‘Why us? Why not someone else?’ Starsky had whined as he held the buff coloured folder in front of him.

‘Have you seen the background photographs?’ Dobey asked with a slight smirk.

‘Yeah, an’ I wish I hadn’t’.

‘Well can you see any of our older guys dressed like that?’

Starsky opened the folder again and Hutch peered over his shoulder, turning his head sideways a little as if trying to get a clearer view of the grainy photograph. It showed a host of men and women, mostly in their twenties and thirties, although some were older. Nothing unusual in that save that they were all dressed in one form of leather or another. Although dressed was not quite the word that could be used for some of the costumes. While some wore black leather pants, shorts or skirts with soft, body hugging tops, others wore only a mish mash of leather straps, more designed to hold the wearers into a pose than to cover up any necessities. A fleeting image of Dobey in a black leather posing pouch raced through Starsky’s mind leaving him faintly nauseous.

‘Um, well I think Minnie might look….dunno….kinda cute’ the brunet offered as Hutch snorted, turning it into a cough as their Captain glowered at him.

‘C’mon Starsky. Most of us were past any thoughts of that stuff years ago. You two are the youngest. And you’re used to being undercover. I can’t force ya, but….’

The blond took the folder and flipped over to the next picture showing a young girl of perhaps 25. Her naked body was covered in red welts, centred mostly on her breasts and upper thighs. But her eyes stared into the camera. Sightless eyes. The sightless eyes of a corpse who’s throat had been slashed from under one ear, almost to the other. The next photograph showed her wrists and ankles. They too were bloody, rimmed with abraded skin showing that she’d been tied and had struggled before her death. With a sigh, Hutch put the folder down and looked at Dobey.

‘She’s the fourth body in 12 months. All under 30, all with the same sort of marks on their bodies and all with affiliations to the same damned club! We need men in there who can blend in and who can get to know what’s happening. Men like you two.

The brunet blew out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know about blending in Cap’n. From what I see of their dress code, there aint a lot to blend with’.

‘Are ya gonna take the goddamned assignment or not?’ Dobey thundered.

The two detectives looked at each other, back at the photo of the dead girl and then at each other again. Indigo locked on crystal blue as they read each other’s minds. How hard could it be? They were both men of the world, detectives with 10 years service to the department. And they knew each other better than anyone on the force really knew. Not lovers, but more than friends.

Silently agreeing, Hutch nodded. ‘Ok Cap’n we got a deal. When do we go in?

‘The guy in charge of the club is a guy known only as The Spaniard. He’s been running Bound to Please for the past couple of years and it has a select clientele. We’re gonna have to get your names submitted to the club’s counsel and then have your applications processed, but if we pull some strings maybe by the end of the week, you should be in there’.

‘The end of the week huh? Gives us some time to bone up on the scene an’ get to grips with the three other bodies’ Starsky ran his finger over his bottom lip as he took the buff folder again and headed for the door.

‘Did he just say “bone up on the scene”?’ Hutch asked innocently.

‘I think that’s what he said’ Dobey said with a sly grin. ‘In your partner’s eyes, that could mean anything.

‘That’s what I’m afraid of Cap’n’. Hutch’s eyebrows raised and he gave an apologetic smile as he too headed for the door.

Walking out into the squad room, both men were hit by the wave of ribald comments coming from the older detectives.

‘How’re ya gonna keep your end up Starsky?’

‘Shall we have a whip round for ya now Starsk?’

‘Want some Brasso for the ole handcuffs huh?’

The two detectives brushed off the comments good naturedly. ‘What can I say fellas? Some of us got the mojo fer the job, an’ some lost it years ago’ Starsky grinned as they headed for the door.

‘Well careful ya don’t use yours up too early. We heard about you young guys. Great outa the traps but no stayin’ power’ Danny shouted after them.

Hutch followed his partner out into the hallway, his eyes, for some inexplicable reason glued to the slinky, swaying, denim clad hips in front of him. God he knew Starsky had a good body, but his overwrought imagination now saw those same hips swathed in kid soft, skin tight black leather, the ass cheeks rounded and perfectly formed as they jutted out ready for….

Hutch wiped the bead of sweat off his brow and ducked into the bathroom, heading for a cubicle. He sat down on the pan and looked down in dismay at the tight swelling in his jeans. Great! Just great. They get the plumb job on the force. Every man’s wet dream of going legitimately into a place full of skimpily clad or naked women and all he could think about was his partner’s ass! Oh Hutchinson you are so fucked!

Unzipping his jeans and taking care of the bulge with several deft, practiced moves, he flushed the pan, exited the cubicle and washed his hands before stepping out into the corridor once again. Starsky was waiting impatiently for him with a quizzical look on his face.

‘You ok Blintz? Was it that curry last night, or the power shake this mornin’?’

‘Huh?’

‘You dived for the bathroom like your pants were on fire. Are you ok, or are ya getting’ sick?’

‘Pants? Fire?....Oh! No, just…um…coughing fit. M’ok now. C’mon. Lets roll otherwise Dobey’ll have our guts for garters’.

‘Ya know, you have a real pretty turn of phrase. When ya think about it, that’s just majorly gross. Guts for garters….ugh’.

‘It’s a metaphor Starsk’.

‘I knew that! But it’s still gross. C’mon, I wanna go pick up our homework’.

‘Do I really wanna know what the “homework” is?’ Hutch asked as he rolled his eyes and followed the rapidly retreating back.

The rest of the day passed in routine, boring cruising as the two detectives went about their daily business. Lunch saw them at Huggy’s where they managed to get a bit more of a low down on Bound to Please and the clientele there. Huggy, as always was a fount of knowledge.

‘Them dudes know how to party’ the lanky black man said with a grin. ‘But it takes a different sorta person to enjoy what they offer’.

‘Different? You mean perverted’ Hutch said into his glass of beer.

‘No man. Not perverted. For the most part it’s just harmless fun. There’s a lot of guys and gals out there who enjoy the um….kinkier side of sex. They like the whole bondage game and some say it can be wicked erotic, if ya catch my drift’.

‘How can being tied up be erotic? Strikes me ya need both your hands for erm….you know’.

‘No no no, you’re missing the point’ Huggy said with the air of a university lecturer. ‘For some, the very idea of giving up all control to someone they trust is the biggest turn on of all’.

‘Well ok, I can accept that’ Starsky said, warming to his task. ‘But what about the whole pain thing. Some of those kids come outa there looking like they’ve had seven shades of shit whipped out of ‘em’.

‘Well there again, some folks get off on pain. ‘Specially when it’s being delivered by someone they love. I know, I know, it’s weird, but believe me, it takes allsorts’. The barman moved off leaving the two cops staring after him.

The brunet stared into his drink, assimilating the facts they’d just received. He’d heard of BDSM of course - even seen magazines with references to it. But the thought of entering that dark world as would be participants? Half of him abhorred the very notion. And the other half, governed by his burgeoning hard on, yearned to give it just a little bit of a try….with the right partner.

‘What say you Blondie? Could you get turned on by someone walin’ at ya with a nice cat-o-nine-tails?’

‘Me? Ahh….no, more of the mink mitten brigade I think’ Hutch said, shoving his own groin firmly into the bar to make the enormous swelling less obvious. ‘Can’t say I’d want some dominatrix swinging a whip my way’.

‘Well if ya don’t fancy a woman what about…’

‘No Starsk. Neither. I don’t see myself as a sub for anyone’.

‘So ya wanna be the Master huh? Fancy takin’ a little practice swing?’ Starsky stuck his butt out playfully and Hutch choked into his drink.

‘Have you finished? Are we ready to roll?’

‘More or less’.

‘Ok, just gimme a minute’. The blond dived for the bathroom again and once again locked himself away in one of the little cubicles. Panting and barely under control, he pulled his fly down angrily.

C’mon Hutchinson, for God’s sake get yourself under control! What’re ya gonna do for the rest of the job huh? Ya can’t keep ducking outa the way for a quick jerk off every time you think of him in that club. You are one sick little puppy Kenny. For Gods sake keep your mind outa your pants and on the job. Four deaths. Think about that. Four deaths that you an’ him have to solve. Find The Spaniard. Find out who he is and nail the bastard. After that, just get out and find a cold shower huh?

Hutch found a solution to his personal problem, washed up and joined his partner in the car as Starsky looked sideways at him.

‘You sure you’re ok?’ he asked.

‘What? Yeah, m’fine. Just drive will ya?’

‘Sure thing partner. All this talk of erm….kinkiness aint getting’ to ya is it?’

No the thought of you in black leat….can it Hutchinson. Mind on your job. ‘No! I can’t pretend it hasn’t thrown me a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle’.

‘Must admit, it was a curved ball for me too, but ya never know, there may be some hot chicks there, kinda hangin’ about’ Starsky grinned wickedly.

‘Uh huh. Bound to Please might be just what it says on the can, if we’re lucky’. Hutch forced a smile onto his face and braced his knees against the dash as Starsky made one of his tyre squealing starts and shot off down the road.

Chapter 2

Starsky dropped by the video store on the way back home that night. As he drew the Torino up by the sidewalk, Hutch looked at him quizzically.

‘Didn’t you say there was a rerun of one of the Three Stooges flicks on tonight?’

‘Uh huh. But duty calls an’ we have to do our homework’.

‘And watching movies is….’

‘Homework, yeah. Hang on; I’ll let ya know what I mean in a minute’.

The blond watched the impossibly tight ass strut into the video store and sighed. He cursed James Gunther uphill and down dale. Not only for the damaged his five bullets had caused to his partner’s body – God, that was almost as bad as it got. Starsky had “died” more than once during his eight month recovery. The doctors had told Hutch first of all that Starsky would probably never regain consciousness, but he did. Then they said that he’d be an invalid, unable to walk for the rest of his life. One of the bullets had come perilously close to his spinal cord. But the curly haired hellion had proved them wrong again and Hutch was with him the whole time he put himself through the painful, tear-inducing physiotherapy that followed. All, Starsky said, so that he could walk back into the doctor’s office – which he did with an unsteady swagger back in his hips.

And then, that same doctor had told him that he’d never go back to his old job; that he’d never be fit enough to be a detective in the inner city. What about taking a job out in one of the country districts? Starsky’s reaction, as with everything else had been one of anger, followed by sheer contempt for the notion. And then more weeks of hard slog, during which he tested his and Hutch’s endurance to the full.

And true to life, Starsky and Hutch sat in Starsky’s Torino, calling in Zebra Three as ready to roll precisely one year, two weeks and nine days after he’d been gunned down.

Hutch had found the whole ordeal to be harrowing, inspiring, exhausting and, he had to admit, confusing.  He had always been close to Starsky, there was no doubt about that. They were closer than most brothers that the blond knew, definitely closer than Starsky was with his own brother Nick, and there had been the odd rumbling around the squad room that they were too close, perhaps unnaturally so. That maybe Starsky and Hutch were partners in more than one sense of the word. And before Gunther, both men had laughed off the notion and stepped up their quota of women to prove it.

But then the months of agonising recovery changed everything and Hutch was Starsky’s constant companion. He held vigil by the bedside during Starsky’s darkest moments, he watched and supported while Starsky put himself through the agonising physiotherapy, and he was there at the end of each long, gruelling day to be the sounding board against which the brunet railed and the masseur who eased away as many of he pains as he could do.

And it was then that the confusion arose. At first, Hutch was there as a close friend and the therapists at the hospital had taught him how to give the comforting, relaxing massages in order to cut down on the pain relief drugs that Starsky hated taking so much. In the beginning, Hutch had been pitifully glad to be able to do something; anything to be of help and each night, he would help his partner into the shower, sometimes even soaping and sponging the brunet when he was too weary to do it himself. And then he would help him out, tenderly towel him dry and lay him on the bed as he set out the oils and the lotions.

Starsky never cared about his nakedness in front of Hutch. It was more comfortable to be naked in front of his closest friend than in front of some pretty nurse or impersonal doctor. He trusted the big blond implicitly and offered his healing body to him unconditionally. Hutch was his shield, his protector in those early, fragile days and his tired body yielded each evening to the strong capable hands that soothed away as many of the hurts as they could.

Hutch came to know Starsky’s body as well as he knew his own. He knew the places that felt good, those that hurt even with the gentlest pressure and those that needed extra attention to ease out the knots. But what started as a service one friend could give to another eventually morphed into something else. Before too long, Hutch longed for each evening, willingly taking any angst and ire that Starsky might throw at him because he wanted to be close to the brunet, to place his hands on the damaged, pain wracked, but healing body. He wanted to feel the reawakening muscles move beneath his hands and he longed for the contented sighs, purrs and groans he could illicit from the curly haired man. And most of all, he yearned for the time when Starsky might realise that this had turned into something more than friendship….yearned for the time when Starsky might turn over in the middle of one of the massages and tell him that he wanted Hutch too.

But it never happened. When Hutch was feeling particularly brave, he would sometime hint at the possibility, but Starsky either never realised what the blond meant, missed the meaning completely, or maybe he was just too deft at deflecting the moment. Whatever the reason, Hutch was left with feelings he wanted and cherished, but which left him feeling empty, and more alone than he’d ever felt in his whole life. Starsky was there, right next to him, and yet he could have been in Outer Mongolia for all the good it would do the blond. And Hutch didn’t want to push it, afraid that if he did – if he opened his heart and told the man of his dreams exactly what he thought of him, that things would change beyond all recognition and that what they had now; the sweet, loving albeit brotherly relationship they shared, would go down the pan and he’d be left with nothing. No. At least this way, he still had Starsky right there by the side of him. Each day and every day he had the brunet in his life and he was so thankful for that, that to say anything to disturb the equilibrium would be unconscionable.

So Hutch kept his counsel. He watched as Starsky dated woman after woman, and he had his fare share too. He still enjoyed the fairer sex and he was noted as a better than average, even sensual lover, but each night, when his fuck-of-the-week had gone, or was lying satiated by the side of him, his dreams would turn to a certain dark curly headed man and he’d put his arm over his eyes and try to blot out reality. It was too painful. Each day was a confusing mix of doing the job, watching Starsky’s back and admiring what he knew he could never have from afar. Even the massages had diminished in number now that the brunet was better and Hutch cursed himself for sickly wishing that his partner would fall, or hurt himself so that once more they could have that personal closeness that he craved for.

He hated to think it even to himself, but the thought of Starsky in pain made his groin stir. Not the endless, bone crushing pain he’d endured during his recovery, but the smaller pains. Memories of Starsky’s curly head on his shoulder in the back alley of Janos’ porn studio when Bellamy’s poison was beginning to take it’s insidious effects; memories of the brunet curled around his knee in the back of the Italian Restaurant; memories of the hands clawed into his jacket as he freed Starsky from Marcus’ goons. He was one sick puppy, but he loved feeling the protective feelings when his partner was vulnerable and needing him the most.

His thoughts were stopped as the object of his affections came trotting back out of the store, an armful of videos balanced carefully in front of him. He fumbled for the car door handle and opened the Torino before sliding clumsily behind the seat, the stack of entertainment flipping around the car. Hutch picked up one of the videos with a more lurid cover and read the title. “The Trap”. Another with a picture of a bare breasted woman holding manacled hand out in front of her was entitled “The Taming of the Shrew”. He threw them down on the back seat. ‘Something tells me that aint Shakespeare’ he mumbled. ‘Starsk, what the hell are you doing with all these? There must be twenty hours worth of viewing here’.

‘Yeah, this is the homework. If we’re going into a club like that, we need to know what we’re letting ourselves in for don’t we?’

The blond sighed. ‘Somehow, I don’t think Bound to Please is gonna be quite like the movies partner. I don’t think any of these videos show girls with their throats cut. From what I can gather, the club’s pretty hard core’.

Starsky grinned. ‘Well we can um….establish just what they mean by BDSM’.

‘You mean over and above the leather we saw this mornin’?’

The brunet patted Hutch’s knee. ‘Ya never know, you might even pick up some tips for whatsername….Trixi?’

‘Tina. And she’s not like that’.

Again the cheeky grin. ‘Who knows till ya try?’

The Torino drew up outside Starsky’s apartment and both men got out. As usual, the brunet had parked the auto under the shade of the big tree by the side of his place to try to keep it as cool as possible and they walked slowly up the steps. Starsky fumbled for his door key in the oh so tight jeans back pocket while Hutch tried to look elsewhere, and once they’d got inside, the dark haired man put the oven on to heat while Hutch made for the bathroom.

‘Can I get a shower before the curtain up?’ he asked

‘Sure. Clean towels are in the cupboard by the…..oh you know where they are. Just save me some hot water huh?’ Starsky busied himself in the kitchen while the blond closed the door to the bathroom behind him and leant against it, eyes closed. He felt tired today, his usually impenetrable Starsky guard worn down by the thought of their new assignment. Not only did he have to cope with seeing his partner in a sex club, from what he’d been lead to believe it was a dangerous club at that.

Slowly he stripped off his clothes and switched on the water, standing with his hand under the stream until it ran hot. He got into the tub and stood with his head under the steaming stream, trying to wash away his lascivious thoughts, but to no avail. Hutch looked down at his body. He’d neglected himself while his partner had been sick, having no time for his usual mile run each morning or the gym at the precinct in the evening. But once the brunet was on his road to recovery, he joined in Starsky’s fitness regime and it paid off for him too. Now, as he looked at the rivulets of water running down his body he could see again the well defined pectorals, flat stomach and…oh dear God, not again. Did he need Bromide or something? Was there a disease that made him stand to attention all day?

Ignoring the rod of flesh that peered one eyed back up at him, Hutch soaped his body, rinsed, turned off the water and stepped out of the tub, towelling himself vigorously. He routed through the cupboard in Starsky’s bathroom for the odd pieces of clothing he kept there and found clean boxers, pants and a tee shirt. Shouldering into the tee shirt, he plunged his legs into the pants and tried to zip them up. They were stopped by the none too small swelling in his groin and he moaned softly. Taking a deep breath in, he struggled with the fly before it finally gave and made its way up to the waistband. Looking down at the obvious hard on, he sighed.

You’d better behave yourself down there, ya hear? He muttered before heading back out into the living room.

Starsky took his turn next in the shower, peeling off his jeans and shirt and looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. The scars that last year had stood out livid and red against his skin had now faded to sliver and where the hair on his chest had grown back, they were covered adequately enough. At least enough for a cursory glance. Some of his girlfriends – those he trusted enough to see him naked had found the surgical tramlines running from nipple to nipple and down from the hollow at his throat to his navel. Most had taken them at face value – they were just one more feature that made up the complex man called Dave Starsky. But others had either been instantly turned off, or conversely, instantly turned on. Both these categories had left Starsky cold. He’d had so many insecurities about the scars over his body that any overt reference to them made him short and defensive. Those women who had made comment were given short shrift and shown the door and even the others were merely tolerated – a means to an end. He had no particular feelings for any of them. They were there to satisfy his body’s needs.

Only his one trusted friend had seen everything. Only Hutch had been there throughout and seen the blood, the bruises, the infections, the loss of weight and the tears as he regained almost all of his previous form. And there was only one person who he was comfortable enough with for them to see everything, hear everything and share with him his fears, elations, triumphs and pain.

Running his fingers up the long scar and pushing at the empty feeling places where the drains had been, he smiled at the thought of his assignment. Who else would get paid to go to a sex club and check out all those naked chicks? Life doesn’t get much better than this! Even though they may once again question the road map of incisions on his torso.

Emerging from the bathroom 15 minutes later, Starsky saw that Hutch had already made himself at home on the big comfortable chair by the sofa. There was a large pepperoni pizza, four bottles of beer and the bottle opener and a large bowl of popcorn on the table by the chair and the lights had been turned down, ready for the main event.

The brunet flung himself down on the sofa, lying full length with his head resting on one of the colourful cushions. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed again, the water had been hot and he wanted to cool off. So he’d wrapped a dark blue towel around his waist and put on his white terry towel robe, cinching it around his hips. Long, darkly haired legs crossed against the arm of the sofa and he looked expectantly at his partner.

‘Which one’s first?’ he asked, pointing to the stack of videos.

‘Starsk, do we have to? I don’t mind a night of…ya know, once in a while but these are just….’

‘What?’

‘They’re tacky. They’re lurid an’ I’m damned sure they won’t reflect what’s going on at Bound to Please’.

‘No?’

‘Think on it Starsk. These are just films for some poor lonely perverted flake to jerk off to late at night. What we’re gonna be dealing with is a club where people pay to be members. They’re gonna be taking it seriously, not like these films’.

‘I just wanted to see what sort of things we were gonna be letting ourselves in for. Just watch one then? Huh? You pick. After that, I’ll just let it all come as a big surprise’.

‘Don’t gimme that’ Hutch snorted. ‘You aint that innocent’.

‘I am when it comes to all that leather stuff’.

‘You mean you’ve never had a girl ask you to tie her up?’

‘No! Well, there was this one. She asked me to cuff her. I didn’t really want to…never found it a turn on. But she persuaded me an’ when I did, she went ballistic. Started strugglin’ and screamin’, so I took ‘em off her and she asks why. So I told her I thought she didn’t like it an’ she called me a moron an’ said that was part of the scene and didn’t I find it excitin’?’

‘I told her no, I thought I was hurtin’ her and she said some girls want to be hurt’.

Hutch grinned. ‘So what happened?’

‘I told her she should go find some other sadist to oblige her. I’m just not into that, ya know? Have um….have you ever….?’

Hutch wiggled uncomfortably in his seat, wishing the bulge in his jeans would disappear….maybe he could have it chopped off….Concentrate Hutchinson!

‘There was a girl once. Before Van. We’d been dating a while and she said she liked it rough. I asked her what she meant and she said she’d show me’.

‘Wow, and did she?’ Starsky said, rolling over onto his side so that he could see his partner. He propped his chin on his hands waiting.

‘Oh boy did she!’

‘Well go on. Don’t keep me in suspense!’ the brunet urged.

‘Well that’s more or less what she did to me. Kept me in suspense. She um…..she…shit, I was only 18. Let’s change the subject huh?’ Hutch looked hot and had begun to blush.

‘Blintz, we’re gonna be seein’ it for real by the end of the week! How can you be embarrassed tellin’ me?’

‘You have no idea!’

‘Aww c’mon Blondie. There’s only the two of us. Spill it’.

Hutch shuffled in his seat, the pressure of his jeans over his groin now more than just uncomfortable. He wanted to go. He wanted to get up and run away. He’d tell anyone BUT Starsky, and how could he explain that to the brunet? He sighed.

‘OK, she, um….she handcuffed my wrists and had me stand in the doorway to her bedroom. I didn’t realise there was a hook in the frame and she attached the cuffs to the hook’.

‘Oh my god! Then what?’

‘Well, she um….she had a riding crop and she um….hit me with it. An’ in between hitting me, she knelt down and gave me one of the best blow jobs I’ve ever had’.

‘Jeez! A riding crop? Ya mean one of those things they hit the horses with to make ‘em go faster? I bet that stung’.

‘More ‘n’ you’ll know buddy. But at the same time it…um….it felt good coz when the pain got too much she’d come and kneel down in front of me and…well. Take it from me, you’ve maybe gotta try it one day’.

Starsky looked confused. ‘How can being hurt make ya feel good? I don’t understand?’

Hutch passed a hand wearily over his eyes. ‘I have no idea Starsk, it just did. I’ve never done anything like it before or since, but it was one helluva ride. Now, are we gonna watch a film or not?’

‘OK, film. But it’s more interesting listening to the “Sexploits of Hutchinson”. You sure they didn’t make one of these films about you?’ he ducked as a cushion flew in his direction and grinned. ‘OK ok, just put the film on huh?’

Chapter 3

Next morning saw both men back at the metro. Neither of them was bright eyed or bushy tailed. The previous night they’d both watched one of the less luridly covered films entitled “Beverley Hills Cock” although Eddie Murphy would have had nothing to do with the contortions the girls in the film got up to. And after that, they’d both gone to bed, Starsky in his bedroom and Hutch on the sofa in the living room. Neither had slept much.

Starsky lay awake for a long time after the end of the film, not thinking so much about the tacky, cheap and completely perverted acts he’d seen on his TV so much as the revelations that his partner had divulged. He couldn’t get out of his head the thought of that beautiful golden body strung out taut while some woman knelt in front of his and blew him. He could imagine Hutch’s head thrown back in abandonment and the low masculine groans drawn from his throat. And he wondered. Never having thought about his partner in such a situation before, Starsky found himself getting remarkably turned on to the extent where he needed some relief and his left hand went down beneath the sheets and closed around his dick, his hand moving with practiced strokes as he tried to deal with the myriad of feelings that the blond’s confessions had left him with.

In the living room Hutch was having similar problems, albeit for a different reason. He’d never told anyone about the nights he’d enjoyed with Anita, always preferring to think that he was young, footloose and fancy free in those far off days. But more than being tied himself, he’d reciprocated once or twice and turned the tables. And for him, that was more exciting still, having the woman at his mercy. Not that he intentionally wanted to hurt her. That was never the case. But just having her there, restrained, at his mercy, vulnerable so that she had to submit to whatever he wanted to do to her.

There it was again. He enjoyed vulnerability. It turned him on to see someone he loved restrained for his pleasure and slowly, in his mind’s eye, Anita’s taut body seemed to fade away to be replaced by another. One with muscle corded arms, the play of the muscles beneath the olive toned skin of his back making Starsky’s rear even more erotic. And Hutch, stood at the back of him, gently rubbing down the centre of his spine, soothing and gentling him as the riding crop hung from his right hand.

Hutch groaned and turned over onto his belly, burying his insistent hard on into the cushions of the sofa. Stop it! He’s your friend. He’s your police partner! You should NOT be having thoughts like that about Starsky. You are one sick little puppy Hutchinson. Tie something round it for Gods sake. Tie a knot in it, but for fucks sake turn off the porn in your head and go to sleep!

But sleep hadn’t come particularly easily and he’d tossed and turned on the sofa for most of the night.

Now they were in Dobey’s office in their usual positions – side by side. In the intervening years, the Captain had had new furniture delivered and now they both had a chair to sit on, although more often than not Starsky preferred still to perch on the arm of Hutch’s chair, more from habit than anything else. The big black man looked from one detective to the other.

‘What’ve ya found so far about the dead girls?’

Hutch blew out his cheeks. ‘We just got the last report this morning Cap’n. All girls in their late twenties, all from reasonable backgrounds. We have a botanist, a librarian, a school teacher and the latest victim was a woman of private means.  They were there apparently of their own choosing. All either strangled or had their throats cut. Whatever is going on there, whatever games they’re playing, I think they got way out of hand’.

‘Well I got your application forms here’ Dobey handed each of them a several page booklet headed “Bound to Please” in fine Gothic style writing. ‘Seems there are two levels of membership. The first level is for anyone who just wants to go there occasionally. Like a kind of themed night club. They put on shows, they’re licensed for alcohol and they have a reasonably upmarket clientele. Folks can come and go as they please and there don’t seem to be too much trouble’.

‘Sure seems innocent enough’ Starsky said, flicking through the heavy application form.

‘Hmm. The other level of membership is the stuff we need to worry about. The second level is for membership of the club 24/7. You sign into the whole lifestyle and pay a hefty deposit to be able to do it. They want $10,000 bond from each of ya. This second level is where the dead girls came in. This is where there’s no get out clause. Once you’re in, you’re in until you can buy yourself out. These are the hard core participants in the life style an’ I have to remind you that if you still choose to do this, you’ll be on your own while you’re in there’

‘We understand’ Hutch said as he rifled through his own application form. ‘But why didn’t these girls just get out and run? That’s what I don’t understand. They pay the money, they get themselves in. So why couldn’t they get themselves out before they met their maker. They must’a had the money?’

Dobey handed him a grainy eight by eight black and white photograph of the front of the club. There was a large black man standing furtively by the front entrance looking just like any other doorman the two detectives had ever seen. But on closer inspection, Starsky ran a light finger over the glossy picture.

‘Well lookee here. Sure seems like they pack a punch huh?’ he said softly as Hutch too saw the muzzle of the semi automatic rifle poking out from beneath the long, black leather coat the doorman was wearing.

The blond shrugged ‘Well ok, the doormen take a little too much pride in their work’ the blond admitted. ‘So what?’

‘So from what our research has uncovered, the doormen aren’t just there to let the members inside. Seems they have a larger remit to keep the second level members in there. If they don’t pay the further $10,000 to get out, they’re in there for the duration’ Dobey explained.

‘Ya mean they have to buy themselves out? Ok well it still don’t explain why the girls just didn’t divi up the doh and walk’ Starsky said, still looking at the photo.

‘No, it doesn’t. According to their bank accounts, they had the money. And yet they still wound up in a body bag. That’s your job. If you still want it. Find out what happened an’ stop it from happening again’.

‘What d’ya mean ”if we still want it”?’ Starsky asked. ‘Course we still want it, right?’ he raised his eyebrows at his partner.

‘Sure thing Cap’n. How soon to get these processed?’ Hutch wafted the application in Dobey’s direction.

‘Soon as they’re complete, we’ll get ‘em sent off. It’s Wednesday now. We get the bond tomorrow and so long as you’re accepted, you’re in for the weekend Hutch, Starsky you’ll go in on Monday’.

The brunet smiled. ‘So long as we’re accepted? Hey, what’s not to like huh? Pass the pen’.

For the next half hour, the two detectives completed their personal application forms. They were unusual in the extreme and both men felt somewhat uncomfortable at the answers they had to give to some of the questions.

Name, address, bank account and job description were easy enough. Hutch was to be Keith Hall, a surgeon from Beverley Hills while Starsky was a fire fighter from Malibu who’s name was Daniel Stadler. But when it came to questions such as “What is your sexual preference”?, “Have you ever had an STD”? “Are you naturally dominant or submissive”? They had to stop to think.

Hutch held his application form on his knee balanced on a clipboard, thoughtfully biting the end of his pen as he tried to consider what he should put down in order to get the duo the best coverage of the club. Starsky, on the other hand, seemed to take the form as some sort of examination and was sitting slightly to one side, right arm curled around the form so that neither Hutch nor Dobey could see what he’d written.

Hutch looked uncomfortably at Dobey, a slight blush on his cheeks. ‘Would you mind…um…can ya give us a minute here Cap’n?’ he asked, his hands twitching nervously.

Dobey smirked. ‘A…?   Oh, right. Yeah. Sure thing. There are some things even a boss shouldn’t know about his men huh?’ he said as he extricated himself from the back of his desk and walked out the room closing the door softly behind him. Hutch waited till the door had closed before he opened his mouth.

‘Starsk, we should think about this’ he said

‘About what? Are ya having second thoughts?’

About seeing you in black leather no…..SHUDDUP Hutchinson. STOP it!

‘Not second thoughts, no. But we need to do this scientifically. We need to get as much coverage to the club as we can. We should…um….compare notes? Consider the answers to the questions’

‘No way! This form gets sealed into an envelope an’ that’s it. There ain’t no way in the world anyone’s gonna see this. There are too many guys out there who’d have a field day with information like this’.

‘Know what ya mean buddy. But we still gotta work some stuff out. Don’t ya trust me?’.

‘With my life Blintz, you know that. But this stuff is way too personal. Even I don’t want to know what I’m writin’!’

‘Well…um…. what about question 17?’ Hutch said scanning the pages.

‘What is your sexual preference?’ Starsky read out. ‘Girls of course. That’s a given’.

‘Yeah, but think on this buddy. We’re in there to do a job an’ if we just put girls down there, that’s one whole sector of the club we never get to check out’.

‘So what’re ya sayin’? I ain’t no puff’ Starsky said carefully.

‘I know that! But. Well, I think we should…um…make sure we …um…’

‘Hutch, I don’t swing that way, an’ there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m gonna…’

‘Well I don’t either, but think on it Starsk. If we said….um….both chicks and guys, we don’t need to do anythin’ we didn’t want, but we’d have access to all the areas’.

‘Like a foot in both camps huh?’

‘Uh huh’.

‘And we wouldn’t need to….ya know…..with a guy?’ Starsky looked dubious.

‘No….we don’t need to do anything with anyone if we don’t want. So how’s about it?’

The brunet blew out his lips. ‘Fine. Whatever. Both it is’. He ticked a box with just a little too much emphasis and went back to his form, arm still curled protectively around it.

The rest of the operation was done in more or less studious silence as Hutch thoughtfully answered each question in turn and Starsky, tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth, muttered darkly under his breath, occasionally letting out a short curse.

‘Shit!....Have you ever….with….Oh my God, is that even anatomically possible? That’s a no’. His pen scratched a large cross on the sheet and he moved on. ‘Are you familiar with the following? Handcuffs, well duh, yeah; gags – ball, penis…..fuck, do they really?....shit!....Hutch do we really have to answer all this?’

‘Just write Starsk. Don’t think, just write huh? And maybe those videos will come in handy after all….and magazines….an’ books. We’ve got a lot to learn buddy’.

Chapter 4

Two days later, the detectives received via Dobey their contracts from the club. Hutch’s was a simple affair amounting to no more than 1 page of what a Master should do within the club. When the fancy talk was peeled away, it virtually gave Hutch full reign to do whatever he like to whoever he liked so long as they were marked as slaves and were not already “owned” by another master. If however, any slave angered him he was at liberty to punish that slave regardless of ownership.

As he’d said he would be entering  the club without his own slave, the blond read with raised eyebrows that on the first Monday of each month there was a slave auction at which he could “buy” any slave that took his fancy. The next auction as to be this coming Monday.

He had been assigned his own set of rooms comprising one bedroom with en suite facilities and a private chamber for “enjoyment”. His $10,000 bond allowed for three meals per day any alcoholic beverages plus the enjoyment of all the club’s many and varied facilities. These were listed as a fully equipped dungeon, punishment rooms, training facilities as well as more homely places such as a sauna, gym and swimming pool. The only stipulations on his behaviour were that once he entered the club he was not allowed to leave unless he paid a “farewell fee” of a further $10,000, and also that he was to obey the rules of The Spaniard without question.

Starsky, on the other hand was staring aghast at the several page document headed “Bound to Please Contract of Slavery” that he’d found in his own envelope. Hutch looked over his partner’s shoulder and snickered.

‘Starsky what did you answer to question 23?’

‘Huh?’

‘The one that asked if you were a dominant or a submissive’.

‘Well I couldn’t see me walin’ on someone with a whip. It’s just not me’ the brunet said by way of explanation.

‘Oh shit Starsk. You didn’t’.

‘Um….I did, I think’.

‘You ticked submissive didn’t ya, you moron’.

‘And you didn’t?’

‘Noo, I know better ‘n’ that. Now look what you’ve gotten yourself into.  Jeez Starsk, didn’t you think? You’d better read, learn and inwardly digest buddy. Coz the way I read it, if you so much as step a centimetre outa line, your ass’ll be just about anyones’.

‘My ass huh?’ Starsky said faintly

‘Uh huh, your ass buddy. They play rough Starsk an’ as a slave….well. What’s it say?’

The duo bent to read the contract carefully, Starsky’s face paling visibly as he read further into the document.

Bound to Please Contract of Slavery

The slave agrees to obey his Master/s in all respects. His mind, body, heart and time belong to the master/s. The slave accepts the responsibility of using his safeword when necessary, and trusts implicitly in his Master/s to respect the use of that safeword.

‘What the hell’s a safeword?’ Starsky asked softly

‘It’s a word the slave can use to stop any action dead, I think, but I’m no expert. You need to think of one pretty soon pal. Any thoughts? It should be something you can remember quick’.

‘Um….well one springs to mind’.

‘Yeah? Care to share?’

‘There’s only one word I know that’d help watch my back an’ stop any action. “Blintz”’ Starsky said quietly, refusing to meet his partner’s eyes.

‘God you are so soapy’ Hutch grinned, but his heart hitched a beat and his throat constricted with emotion. He coughed self consciously. ‘What else d’we have here?’

They continued to read.

If a condition arises in which the slave needs to use the safeword or gesture, his Master/s will immediately stop, assess the situation and determine an appropriate course of action. No punishment will be stopped by use of the safeword.

The slave shall keep his body available for the use of his Master/s at all times. In addition, the slave agrees that his Master/s possess the right to determine whether others can use his body and what use they may put it to. The Master/s will not discuss such instances in advance with the slave. The slave shall demonstrate his acceptance of his role of service and availability at all times while at the club and at other times and places specified by his Master/s.

The slave acknowledges that his Master/s may use his body or mind in any manner He/She/They wish within the parameters of safety. He/She/They may hurt him without reason to please Himself/Herself/Themselves.

The slave enjoys the right to cry, scream or beg, but accepts the fact that these heartfelt expressions will not affect his treatment. Further, he accepts that if his Master/s tire of his noise, He/She/They may gag him or take other actions to silence him for as long as He/She/They require.

‘Hutch, I don’t like the sound of that. Thy can hurt a slave without reason? Shit! That’s barbaric. So even if I behave n’ never say a wrong word someone could just decide to….Is it too late to change my mind?’

Hutch smiled wryly. ‘Think so buddy. You’re kinda stuck with it now. Just um…try an’ stay inconspicuous, huh?’

‘Inconspicuous? Have ya seen what they wear, or rather what they don’t wear? Somehow, a guy with next to nothing on and with scars all over his chest an’ back is gonna stick out like a sore thumb. What else does this little gem of a document say?’

The slave will answer any questions put to him honestly and directly, and will volunteer any information his Master/s should know about his physical or emotional condition. While his Master/s expect His/Her/Their slave to speak honestly and forth rightly about anything that bothers him, he is not to interpret that as permission to whine or complain. He will phrase his concerns politely and respectfully, and then gracefully accept his Master's judgment in these matters without further complaint. Comments will not be seen as the right of the slave to change any condition they are unhappy with

The slave will always speak of his Master/s in terms of love and respect. He will address Him/Her/Them at all times as either "Master", “Mistress”, Sir or Ma’am.

The slave agrees that severe punishment may be assessed for any infraction of the letter or spirit of their contract, and will accept the correction gratefully. The form and extent of the punishment shall be at the Master's pleasure, and the Master/s shall make it clear to the slave that he is being punished when punishment occurs. The Master/s shall endeavor not to inflict physical harm upon the slave that might require the attention of anyone outside the relationship. Master/s and slave agree that in extremes either may activate a free period by using the safeword. The free period will continue until both parties agree that the injuries concerned are sufficiently recovered for punishment to continue.

Private Rules of Conduct.

The slave will wear his Master’s collar, wrist and ankle restraints, and any other items specified by his Master/s. He will wear no underclothes in His/Her/Their presence unless given permission. At the club, the slave will wear whatever is deemed appropriate by his Master/s. When in the same room as his Master, the slave will ask permission before leaving the room, explain where he is going, and why. He will remain on his knees in His/Her/Their presence at all times, unless told otherwise. At mealtimes, the slave will serve his Master/s, and kneel at His/Her/Their feet while He/She/They eat. Food for the slave will be given by the Master at His/Her/Their discretion. When speaking to his Master or being spoken to by Him/Her/Them, the slave will assume a demeanor of alert attention and will not meet his Master's eyes directly, unless instructed to do otherwise.

The slave will ask permission for all matters of his personal comfort and will train himself in the positions of obedience before entering the club. Further training will be given by his Master/s once admission has been gained.

Starsky heaved a shaky sigh. ‘Oh. My. God! I don’t know if I can do this Hutch. I made one big mistake…..I….’

‘Think of the dead girls Gordo. An’ I’ll be there. I’ll watch your back. If we can get to the Spaniard quick we might only be there a couple’a days’.

‘A lot can happen in a couple’a days’ the brunet muttered darkly, but the memory of the girl’s body, throat slit and covered in dried blood swam before his eyes and he knew he’d go through with the assignment in order to nail the sucker who’d committed such an atrocity. ‘An’ what’s that supposed to mean? “….train himself in the positions of obedience…..?’

Hutch picked up another glossy booklet which had fallen out of the envelope and held it up. ‘I think this is your answer’.

Starsky snatched it and read the title. “Training Manual for Bound to Please Slaves”. He flicked it open, groaned and closed it again quickly.

‘What?’ Hutch asked, taking it back. He opened the first couple of pages, snorted and closed the booklet handing it back to his partner. ‘I think ya got your homework buddy’ he said with a barely disguised grin.

‘Shuddup. I’m going home for a shower an’ a beef burrito with everything. An’ to try an’ get that stuff outa my head until I need it’ Starsky growled.

‘Starsk? Don’t forget your homework’. Hutch tossed the glossy booklet to the glowering man and ducked as Starsky threw his empty paper cup across the room.

Starsky made his way home, muttering constantly under his breath. The muttering lasted through the full journey, the shower, two bottles of beer and the burrito. But at last, he knew he’d have to examine the booklet again. Much as he hated the whole thought of this job, if he was to make a success of the undercover assignment, he knew he needed to be as well prepared as possible. Picking up the pages, he braced himself and opened to page one.

That, and each successive page showed a naked girl. Her only “clothing” consisted of a broad silver collar around her slim neck and similar bracelets around her wrists and ankles. Each silver band had small D rings let into it, presumably for use as convenient anchor points. She had a look of rapt attention on her pretty face. Each page was headed with the name of each different pose, and a description of how they were to be achieved.

Bara - lie on belly, forehead touching the floor, ankles crossed, wrists crossed at the small of back.

Bracelets - standing with hip turned to the side, head turned to the left, shoulders straight, wrists crossed at the small of back waiting to be bound by the Master.

Collaring - kneels, leans his body back on his heels, extending his arms, crossing his wrists, lowering his head between and beneath him arms, lowered in submission.

Display - stands with feet parted shoulder width, back arched slightly pressing chest forward, arms up, fingers clasped behind head, chin straight, eyes lowered while the Master views the  slave before Him.

Usage Position - falls to all fours on the floor, head straight, eyes looking forward, ass high in the air, thighs split wide awaiting sexual use by the Master.

Heel - kneeling to the left and just behind the Master, thighs parted, back straight, head high, eyes lowered, awaits further instruction.

Presentation - kneeling before the Master, thighs parted, back arched forcing chest forward, head high, eyes lowered, hands upon lap, palms open up to the moons, showing submission and that nothing is concealed.

Prostrate - kneeling with thighs parted, bringing chest/cheek/forehead to the floor, arms outstretched in front, fingers splayed. 

Punishment - falls to all fours, lowers head to the ground, ass high in the air, legs parted, awaiting the touch of the leather upon his body.

Submission - kneels at his Master's feet, bringing his cheek to His boots, taking His right foot placing it upon his neck, wrists crossed at the small of his back.

Whipping Position - kneels bringing his forehead down so his back is exposed for the whip, arms crossed in front of him.

Slowly Starsky put the booklet down and rested his head in his hands. The pictures were erotic for sure but the thought of actually putting himself through something like that was downright demeaning and distasteful. Just who the hell would command him to do something like that? Some woman maybe? Or God forbid another man, unless it was….no! He shook his head, feeling the core of his body respond as he thought about kneeling in front of one man, ass in the air, waiting.

Shakily, he reached for the phone and dialed the number he knew so well.

‘Hutch? I just wanted to um….well, good luck tomorrow. Be careful pal an’ um….well, I’ll see you on Monday’.

Chapter 5

Hutch walked into the club dry mouthed the next evening. He couldn’t understand why being paid to become part of a sex club would leave him feeling cold, anxious and faintly nauseous. It was every red blooded guy’s fantasy right? Oh, apart from the small snippet that told him four young, attractive women had been murdered recently and that his partner had just signed a contract to agree to be a sex slave for the duration of their assignment. Yeah, sure, that was gonna cool his ardor somewhat. Trying hard to get into “Master Mode” as he liked to think of it, he tossed his car keys to the concierge and looked around him.

Bound to Please was buzzing at 11:00pm that evening. Men and women dressed in all manner of costumes were coming in and out of the entrance, some of them tipping a nod to the ever present doormen, some, obviously those who were more dominant simply ignoring them as though they didn’t exist. As the blond approached, the big black guard stepped forward, holding out a halting hand.

‘Membership passport’ he demanded, hand outstretched.

Hutch handed him the passport proclaiming Keith Hall to be a Dominant Master and a full second level member of the club. The doorman immediately backed down. Eyes downcast, the man handed the document back to Hutch and took a step back, hands neatly folded behind his back.

‘Pardon me Sir. My job is to check. Please step inside. Full members may use the elevator up to the first floor. There will be a slave there to welcome you and show you to your rooms’.

Hutch tried to get into the dominant persona. Squaring his shoulders, he shrugged at the doorman and growled. ‘Fine. In future be more respectful’.

‘Of course Sir’ he heard the black mountain say to his departing back. He stepped into the cool, dimly lit interior of the club and sought out the elevator. Heaving a steadying sigh, he pushed the call button and waited. This was it. Once he was in the elevator, he was in for good. Until they had the Spaniard nailed and could get Dobey and the rest of the guys to bust the joint wide open he and Starsky were on their own. And until his curly haired partner arrived on Monday morning, Hutch was flying solo. Lost in his dark thoughts, he jumped slightly as the elevator pinged to signal its arrival and the door swished quietly open. He walked in and turned to face the sliding door as it closed on the swirl of activity in the foyer.

The motor was very quiet and canned, none-descript music played as Hutch regarded himself in the full length mirrored walls. He’d dressed with care knowing that clothes could make or break his alter ego. Now he smiled wryly at Keith Hall as his reflection smiled back. Hutch’s flaxen hair stood out all the blonder in the light of the elevator against the black, loose fitting cotton shirt which he wore open at the neck and for a carefully studied four buttons further down. He’d turned back the cuffs of the long sleeves a careful two turns so that now they were three quarters of the way down his arms, revealing his tanned and well muscled forearms. Although definitely not a weightlifter type, the blond had strong arms and bruisingly strong hands when the need arose. But he guarded his strength carefully and those same hands could soften to brush gentle as a sigh over a lover’s skin, or softly wipe away a tear from delicate cheeks.

The opening at the neck of the shirt revealed his smooth, golden chest and the well defined pectorals. The shirt was tucked carefully but not too tightly into figure hugging black cargo pants, cinched around his slim hips by a black leather belt with a small silver buckle – the only decoration on his otherwise ebony figure. Black suede loafers finished the ensemble. Every inch the dominant, he hoped and as the elevator car stopped and the doors opened, he thought he’d got it right.

There before him was his welcome party. The slave girl knelt at perfect presentation position, knees wide, back straight and hands resting palm up on her legs. Her head was held high, but her eyes were respectfully downcast as she waited for Hutch to make the first move. He walked with what he hoped was a purposeful step out of the elevator and halted in front of her.

‘You were expecting me? Keith Hall’ he asked.

The girl answered promptly, still keeping her eyes downcast. ‘Certainly Sir. May I be permitted to show you to your rooms?’

‘Of course’.

The girl got elegantly to her feet in one fluid movement and Hutch had chance to take in the “uniform” of the employees of the club.

The girl was completely naked save for a thin silver collar cinched snugly around her neck and similar bands around her ankles and wrists. The “jewelry” was decorated with D rings set at four points on each band, north, south, east and west, and as she walked, they tinkled musically against the bright white metal. Her long hair hung in a dense curtain down her back and was brushed till it gleamed in the mood lighting and she walked slowly, her body seeming to slink along the close carpeted corridor. Hutch was mesmerised. After all, it wasn’t every day he was escorted in public by a beautiful naked woman and inside he chuckled.

Better get used to it Hutchinson, this is definitely one of the perks of the job. This might not be quite so bad after all!

The woman stopped at the very end of the corridor and, with eyes downcast again, she handed Hutch a small silver key. He took it and opened the door as the slave stepped back. Walking into the room he couldn’t help but hitch a breath at the sight. The girl misinterpreted.

‘Is everything not to your liking Sir?’

‘Uh? Oh…ah….yeah. Yeah it’s um….fine’ Hutch stuttered.

‘Your references did say Gothic Romantic. Would Sir prefer to change rooms? We have several more vacant’ she went on.

‘More…? No, no this is fine thanks’ Hutch repeated, recovering his composure a little.

The room was lit by a myriad of candles and carpeted in the deepest blue carpet he’d ever seen. The walls were plain white, wrought iron sconces holding candles piercing their starkness and in the far corner, set against the wall, there was an enormous stone fireplace complete with roaring fire. Right in the middle of the room, standing on a raised dais stood an enormous four poster bed hung with its own midnight blue satin drapes and dressed in bright white and midnight blue satin sheets.

Walking in further, Hutch pushed open another door and staggered back as though he’d been hit. His eyes fell on a fully equipped private dungeon complete with rack, a St Andrew’s cross affixed against one wall and a cabinet with wrought iron doors which revealed the biggest and cruelest selection of whips, manacles and gags that Hutch had ever set eyes on – not that he was an expert in any of those articles, but his imagination ran riot. Hurriedly he closed the door on the hellish vision and wondered whether people actually genuinely used that stuff and what on earth would give someone enjoyment.

Almost reluctantly, he pushed open the third door in the room and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw a fairly ordinary looking bathroom. Or at least fairly ordinary for Bound to Please. There was a small separate cubicle housing the lavatory, but the main room, tiled in beautiful soft grey marble and black slate held a step down bath of enormous proportions. Ornate faucets gleamed back at him and he realised the girl was speaking to him. He looked over his shoulder at her.

She had once again dropped to her knees and was looking at the ground and the blond tried to overcome his discomfort. He was going to have to get used to this behavior if he was going to stand any chance of blending in.

‘Permission for this slave to speak Sir?’ she asked.

‘Go on’.

‘Has Master ever been to the club before?’

‘Um….no. Not this one’ Hutch improvised.

‘Then may this slave explain about the club Sir?’

‘Yeah, please do. And um…’ Hutch looked at the girl. She looked so uncomfortable in that position and he was sick of talking to the top of her head. ‘….come and sit on the bed’ he ended.

The girl immediately got up and looked uncertainly at Hutch. He sat on the edge of the bed and patted the mattress at the side of him. ‘I don’t bite’.

She smiled at him and mounted the dais uncertainly, perching stiffly on the edge of the bed beside him as though waiting for further instructions. Her hands fluttered on her lap before going automatically to her back to clasp there. Hutch tried to ignore the submissive behaviour.

‘Go ahead’ he said softly, feeling her sensuality cover him in waves.

‘Yes Sir. All employed slaves of the club belong to The Spaniard – my Master. All employees wear the silver collar and restraints. All other slaves were leather collars and bracelets. Masters may use any of the slaves who are not already owned and may use the club’s slaves with the permission of my Master. Any faults of slaves employed by the club are to be reported to him and public punishments will be arranged. There is an auction of slaves due to be held on Monday and at the auction you can claim any slave you desire as your own. Until then, the club will be happy to furnish you with a temporary slave if you wish. Do you prefer a male or female slave?’

‘Female’ the blond blurted out before he could stop himself and the shadow of a grin bloomed over the woman’s face before she quickly hid it.

‘Forgive me Sir’ she said hurriedly and dropped immediately to her knees in front of Hutch again. Lowering her body to the ground she reached out and took hold of his foot, placing it upon her neck, anchoring her down. She waited.

Hutch was stunned and quickly removed his foot. The centre of his body responded immediately to the woman. He’d never had any girlfriend treat him like this and although he was not a cruel or demanding man, the sight of this woman prostrating herself before him was one of the biggest turn-ons he’d ever had. He reached down and took hold of the slave’s face gently pulling her up so that he could see into her eyes. He searched for any signs of anger or resentment to her position. But all he saw in those deep blue depths was acceptance and a shining desire to serve. His cock responded to the sight and her eyes held his gaze but the face faded away to be replaced by another, handsome masculine face as Hutch’s imagination ran riot. Starsky!

Shakily he let her go.

‘Nothing for tonight’ he murmured. ‘It’s been a long day. I just need some time to um….settle in’.

The slave girl knelt up. ‘May this slave take her leave?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, sure, but…. I don’t even know your name’.

She stood in that same sinuous, elegant movement that had him mesmerised at the entrance hall and backed away. ‘Employed slaves don’t have names, just numbers’ she explained unselfconsciously. ‘If you request me, I’m number 11’. She pointed to a small number carved into the metal of her collar. ‘Goodnight Sir’ she said and reached the door.

‘Goodnight’ Hutch managed to mumble as she softly closed it behind her. He groaned aloud. How the hell was he expected to keep his mind on the job when he had the Rock of Gibraltar stuffed down the front of his pants? Sighing, he made his unsteady way to the bathroom and took care of business as his fevered mind thought of a certain dark, curly haired guy kneeling submissively before him. And as his hand worked the flesh between his legs he screwed up his eyes and whimpered ‘NOOOOOOO’.

Chapter 6

On Monday lunchtime, at precisely 12 noon as the contract ordered, David Michael Starsky voluntarily gave up all rights and privileges and entered Bound to Please as a slave and submissive know as Daniel Stadler

The brunet stood on the doorstep of the club and took a last look round. He felt as though he were walking to his execution and the previous night he’d once again studied the instruction booklet that had come in the plain brown envelope. As he read it, he tried to memorise the instructions and had forced his body into all the poses the pictures showed. Many were incredibly painful, all were uncomfortable and demeaning, and as he knelt with his ass up in the air and arms stretched out before him he wondered how long he’d have to survive in the club before they’d got the low down on The Spaniard and the murders and they could get out again. He worried for Hutch who’d been in there for two days already and missed the contact he usually had with the big blond. Although both men had been under cover several times before, somehow, this assignment felt different; dangerous on an altogether different level. The world of BDSM was new to both of them, and Starsky had to admit that what he once looked upon as a perversion now made much more sense to him. The whole idea of a submissive giving over all control of their body to another made much more sense to him now that he’d immersed himself in the literature for a couple of days. What he’d at first assumed was just a sickening liking for pain and humiliation, he now realised was something entirely different. The very act of giving up all control to a Master was the ultimate display of love and trust and the fact that the submissive would be restrained in some way, giving the Master all the physical power was a wonderfully freeing place to be.

For the Master there was the knowledge that a free thinking individual would willing give up their spirit to them, while for the submissive the idea of being stripped of all decision making was the ultimate in freedom. It was a complicated set of criteria which left the brunet’s mind boggling at the possibilities of what he was letting himself in for. But the one thing he did learn was that in almost all cases, the submissive was the stronger of the pair both in character and in fortitude. Indeed while outwardly the Master was in control, it was only the sub who could stop any and all action by the use of his safeword. And that was indeed total control.

As Starsky knocked on the big wooden door of Bound to Please, he wondered just how much his own fortitude would be tested. While he was clear that the assignment was about nailing The Spaniard or someone else in the club for the murder of the four girls, his mind was also on the possibilities of the sexual encounters he may have. And his dreams the previous night had all been on the same uncomfortable and yet oddly calming subject. Hutch, tall and powerful taking control of his bound body.

The door opened and he looked up into the face of one of the biggest black guys he’d ever seen. He smiled self consciously.

‘Um…the name is Stadler. Daniel Stadler? I was given instructions to be here at noon’.

‘And those instructions also told you to be quiet, did they not?’ the black man retorted as he stood aside and allowed Starsky to enter.

The brunet walked into the small hallway at the back of the club and looked around. There was a set of stairs leading up to a first floor gallery and several doors leading off the main hall. Starsky was just about to ask where he was to go, when he felt a powerful hand on his shoulder pushing him down.

‘New to this are we?’

The brunet swallowed. ‘Ah…yeah. Kinda’.

‘The instructions were clear. You’re to kneel upon entering the club, keep your eyes downcast, keep your mouth shut and wait for your Master’s instructions. What part of those instructions don’t you understand?’

The rebellious part of Starsky welled up inside his chest, but the curly haired man carefully swallowed it down. Swiftly he dropped to his knees, trying to remember the correct posture to adopt. Straight backed, knees wide apart, head held high but eyes downcast and hands resting on his thighs, palms up. Already his feet were tingling with the beginnings of pins and needles and he hoped he wouldn’t have to remain there too much longer. The black man regarded him coldly.

‘That’s better. I’m Carlos. But you will address me as Master or Sir at all times. Is that clear?’

Starsky bit back the retort and settled for a meek ‘Yes Sir’. He couldn’t bring himself to call anyone Master. There was submissive and there was downright toady.

‘That’s better. Now. Come with me and you can prepare yourself’ Carlos ordered and pointed to the stairway.

Starsky got to his feet, stamping down the urge to massage the feeling back into them and followed obediently behind his mentor as Carlos climbed the marble clad stairs up to the first floor landing. Once there, Starsky noticed that it was lined with doors leading off to the right and it was though one of them that Carlos led him now.

The door lead into a spacious room, lined on three sides by benches arranged against the walls which were clad in cedar wood. It was like stepping into an expensive sauna but without the heat and the brunet stood and looked around him. The main difference being that the wooden walls also held several whips, plastic tubing, and various other instruments Starsky preferred not to think about.

Carlos followed him into the room and busied himself opening one of the lockers against the far wall.

‘Strip’ he said coldly and stood back, arms crossed.

‘What?’

‘That would be “what Sir”. And you heard me. Strip’.

Starsky swallowed. Ok this was it. No more fooling around or weird imaginings. This was for real. Could he do it? Could he turn from streetwise cop to submissive slave in one small moment? He’d never wanted to get involved in anything like this lifestyle. The flakes on the street who were into the kinky porn trade were dirt to him and he’d always thought of them as sick, sad perverts. His mind had been changed a little by the literature he’d read from the club, but still….He was a red blooded, heterosexual male. His idea of a good time was to wine and dine a woman then take her back to his and make slow sensual love to her. On the odd occasion he’d know the girl well and had interpreted right, he could be turn the tables and dole out rough stuff too, and yeah, sometimes he got off on it. But the thought of a woman, or worse another guy treating him as a slave left him cold.

Starsky steeled himself and started to take off his shirt, trying hard not to notice that Carlos followed his every move. Delaying as long as he could, the inevitable arrived and finally he stood naked and very self conscious in the centre of the room, trying hard to keep his hands from covering the centre of his body. He was a slave and as such, he should be proud of it.

Carlos pushed himself off from the locker he’d been leaning against. ‘Prostrate position now’ he commanded, his face a stony mask of indifference.

‘Go to hell’. The words were out of his mouth before he realised what he’d said and in a split second Carlos had crossed the room and slammed the brunet against the far wall, forearm across Starsky’s throat as Carlos’ steel cold eyes bored into Starsky’s

‘If you weren’t brand new here, you’d be taken for public punishment for that’ the enormous man growled. ‘As it is, that little show of defiance will still cost’ reaching to the instrument dangling from his belt, Carlos pulled out the small violet wand and held it 6 inches from Starsky’s balls to get the maximum effect, pulling the small trigger. The effect was immediate as the high setting sent the electric current out and despite himself, the brunet yelped and hissed at the pain. But instead of calming the recalcitrant submissive, it inflamed Starsky’s anger and he struggled all the more. Carlos let go the wand and took a hold of the brunet’s dick and balls in his hand and squeezed, pulling the whole assemblage upwards at the same time. Starsky felt as though his guts were being pulled up into his chest and he stood on tiptoe in an attempt to relieve the pressure and closed his eyes against the pain, refusing to allow Carlos the pleasure of seeing just how agonizing the treatment was.

Carlos grinned at the new slave and let go as he saw the fine glaze of sweat break out over Starsky’s body. ‘Quite the little pain slut, aren’t ya? So, you want more, or are you gonna behave, coz there’s soooo much more where that came from’.

The cop part of Starsky’s mind wanted to fight; wanted so much to drive his fist into the big man’s solar plexus and show the dominant just what pain could really be like. But the other part of that mind, that small voice of reason, told the brunet that he should cool it, swallow his pride and submit. It wasn’t for real. He was play acting and he could do this, if only to gain retribution later when they’d laid the whole case open and wide. Starsky let his body relax and dropped his gaze so that he was looking down at Carlos’ black, shiny boots.

‘I’m sorry Sir’ he mumbled through gritted teeth.

Reluctantly Carlos let him go. ‘And about time too. Shit, with an attitude like that you’re gonna get plenty of attention in the auction. I might even bid for ya myself. It’d be so entertaining to break that stubborn spirit. Prostrate position NOW’.

Slowly Starsky dropped to his knees, trying to remember the pictures he’d studied the night before. Kneeling with his thighs parted widely, he took a deep, calming breath and leaned forward bringing his forehead down to the floor to the floor. He positioned himself so that his arms were outstretched in front of him, fingers splayed on the carpet and tried to remain still. With his naked ass in the air he felt vulnerable beyond description and thoughts of murder and worse flew through his mind as he thought what he’d like to do to Dobey the next time he saw him for what he’d gotten them into.

Carlos stood behind him, his foot between Starsky’s parted legs. ‘Did you clean yourself before you came?’ he asked.

‘What?’

The toe of the shiny boot scraped against his balls and Starsky stiffened. ‘I’m sorry Sir, no’ he muttered into the carpet.

‘Fine, we can do that now. Stay there’.

The brunet heard movements around him and the big man fiddling with stuff out of his eyesight and then he felt Carlos return and suddenly large calloused hands were on his ass, kneading his cheeks and pulling them apart. He rebelled against the touch and bit back the comment he wanted to spit at the black guy. And then he realised what Carlos had meant by cleaning. Oh shit no, not that, please not that. His whole body stiffened as the fingers worked closer to his opening. He knew he daren’t get angry again. It had taken too much time and money to set up this undercover job to blow it so soon, but some things were just too much to bear.

Ok, ok Davey boy. Think of sumthin else. Anythin’ Its just like some other sort of torture. Been there before an’ got through it. But oh dear God what’s he doin’ now? Shit. Ok  relax. It aint Carlos. Its maybe a beautiful woman….no, why would she want to do this huh?

Starsky’s body tensed as he felt the hard nozzle of the enema tube push its way inside him. His muscles clamped around the foreign object and although it wasn’t big and didn’t hurt particularly, he wanted so desperately to expel it.

Ok, ya can do this. Just breath an’ it’ll be over. It’s not him doin’ this. It aint man mountain there. Think of something else. Think of someone else. Who the hell would ya want to do this to ya? No-one! Who the hell would ya trust enough to do this? Um…Hu…no…well…maybe…oh God don’t think of that.

As the warm water started to flow into his guts, the brunet’s mind took him away to another place. He couldn’t consciously face this indignity and couldn’t understand why some men got off on it. But slowly, as he tried to relax against the most intimate of invasions, his mind wandered, taking him away to the caress of more caring hands. Big, broad hands that took away his hurts and replaced them with love and understanding. And for a moment he wasn’t prostrated before this big black guy any more. For a few brief, happy moments he was looking up into a kind, loving, golden face surrounded by pale wheaten hair. The one person he may…just may be able to call Master.

The fluid continued to flow into his bowels, filling them uncomfortably. He’d never had an enema before and was unprepared for the sudden knife like cramps that coiled around his guts and wrung a tortured groan from him. Above him, Carlos clamped the flow off and waited as Starsky sweated and dug his fingers into the carpet in an attempt to control himself. His stomach felt full to overflowing, the pressure on his guts and anus incredible and painful. Finally Carlos bent down and ripped the nozzle from his body.

‘Go empty yourself’ he grunted as Starsky leapt to his feet and dived for the john in the next room – the first order he had willingly followed.

Ten minutes later, shaking and feeling dizzy and sick, he emerged once again to find the big man still waiting for him. ‘Took you long enough. Put those on then stand at Display’.

The brunet took the black leather pants gratefully and started to pull the kid soft leather up his legs. They clung to his sweat damp skin and it took him a few moments to pull them all the way up. They clung to him like a second skin and Starsky realised that far from being ordinary pants, they had certain modifications. From knee to waist on the outside of each leg there was an intricate lacing leaving a good nine inches of bare leg showing and exposing just a little of each buttock. There was also a zip fastener at the fly, but instead of being the standard five or so inches in length, this zip started at the waistband at the front and ran right the way between his legs to the waistband at the back. For ease of access he thought grimly.

Shaking himself from his dark thoughts he remembered the last part of Carlos’ command and swiftly got himself into the correct position standing with his feet parted shoulder width, his back arched slightly pushing his chest forward, arms up, fingers clasped behind his head, chin straight and his eyes lowered.

‘Finally some signs of obedience’ Carlos muttered in an almost disappointed way. ‘Ok, hold out your wrists’.

Obediently Starsky did as he was told, watching in sick fascination as Carlos fitted the stiff thick leather band around his right wrist. It had a fixed metal bar which protruded slightly and at the other end of the strap a set of corresponding slits in the leather. The black man fitted the bar into the tightest slit he could manage and locked it in place with a small padlock. The cuff was tight but not uncomfortably so and the brunet was reminded of the cuffs weightlifters wore to protect their joints. The only difference was that this cuff had metal D rings embedded in its length. A matching cuff now circled his left wrist and Carlos bent and attached similar around his ankles, testing them to make sure they were secure.

Five minutes later, Starsky followed meekly as Carlos lead him out of the room, the stiff leather bracelets and anklets chafing his skin as the small silver padlocks holding them in place jingled in time with his step.

Chapter 7

The warm moistness encircled his dick and Hutch threw back his head and groaned deeply, thrusting upwards into the girl’s mouth. She straightened her neck and the blond felt himself slip all the way down to pierce her throat, a feeling he’d never had before in his life. It was as though she wanted to eat him whole, to swallow him down in one mighty gulp and he clasped her head in his hands as he pushed a little deeper, his body trembling as he shot his load down her throat in a salty torrent. He moaned out load, feeling her trembling beneath his hands.

Coming back to his senses, he pulled out of her mouth and she inhaled loudly, his cock having cut off her airway. She chanced a look up into his face and smiled as she saw the look of exhausted happiness on his face mixed with remorse.

‘Oh my god I could have killed you!’

‘You wouldn’t do that. Do I please you Master?’ she asked

‘And then some, but I should’a been ore careful. I couldn’t bear anything to happen to you’ the blond mumbled as he pulled her from up between his legs to join him on the bed.

This was the second time he’d asked her to his room since he’d arrived at the club. At first he wanted only to pump her for information on The Spaniard and the first meeting had been an awkward affair.

There had been a knock on the door and Hutch had got up from the easy chair in the corner of the room and opened it. Eleven stood just outside the door, her hands clasped behind her back and eyes downcast.

‘Come on in’ Hutch said uncomfortably.

She stepped inside the room and dropped gracefully to her knees, waiting. Hutch looked down at her with a mixture of confusion and downright need. He’d been surrounded by naked or near naked women for almost two days now and even the coldest of men couldn’t fail to be turned on by the sights he’d seen.

‘Um….go on over to the bed. Make yourself comfortable’ he said, at a loss for words.

Eleven got up and crossed slinkily to the bed where she climbed up and positioned herself on all fours, back to Hutch as she waited. He looked at her perfectly formed ass and the fresh bright red welts decorating it and winced.

‘Where d’ya get those?’ he said softly as he joined her on the large bed and pulled her round so that she was sat at the side of him.

‘From my Master. I failed to please him’ she said without any sign of embarrassment.

‘My God, he whipped you so hard it left marks?’

‘His marks. I wear them with pride. It’s a reminder to try harder for him next time’.

‘Well yeah, but still….didn’t it hurt?’

‘Yes, but he’s a demanding Master. I….um….he’s done worse’.

‘Worse than that?’ asked Hutch, his mind wandering to the pictures of the dead girls.

She smiled at the blond. ‘Permission for this slave to ask a question Sir’.

‘Go ahead’.

‘Have you been a Master for long? It’s just that you don’t seem to be the same as some of the others. I sense you’re powerful, but in a different sort of way’.

‘Well I’ve um….just started out. I um….’

She nodded. ‘That’s ok Sir. We all started sometime. This slave can help, if that’s what Master wishes’.

Hutch grinned. ‘Right now Master wishes just to talk. Who is
The Spaniard? Does he have another name? What did he do that was worse?’

Eleven dropped her gaze. ‘It’s not permitted to speak of my Master. That would be to risk a public punishment’.

‘What’s that?’ Hutch asked, his guts churning at the prospect.

‘When a slave willfully disobeys her or his Master, they are punished in front of the group. To reinforce his or her slavery’.

‘And um….what form does this punishment take?’

‘There is a choice for the Master to make. Either the slave is given over to the whole of the group for them to use his or her body as they will, or if the Master prefers, the group will select three implements for the Master to use on his slave before he takes him or her in front of the group’.

‘You m mean they have sex in front of everyone?’ Hutch stammered.

‘As a way of the Master imposing his will on the slave yes’ Eleven agreed as though it was the most common thing in the world.

‘Ah, yeah…right. But if you told me about The Spaniard no-one else would know’ the blond urged.

‘I would, and that’s just as bad. But let’s not talk about my Master. Let me take your mind off that’.

Hutch blew out his cheeks. ‘Ok, well, like I said, I never had a slave before so um….’

Eleven hitched back onto the bed until she was propped up by the pillows. She raised her arms up to the posts of the four poster and held them there. ‘I’m yours Sir. The employees belong first to The Spaniard and after that to any Master who wants them. You’ll find anchor points around the room and there are universal clips for the cuffs in the bedside drawer’.

~~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~~

‘We need to be ready soon Sir’ Eleven murmured as she ran her finger lazily down Hutch’s chest. In the brief time they’d been together, Hutch had become steadily more inventive. Eleven seemed to adore being restricted in her movements and encouraged Hutch to take what he wanted from her although he always made sure that she too got her enjoyment. She told him it was the mark of a true Master that he could be so caring for his slave while still retaining his dominance.

Hutch shook himself from his post sex high. ‘Huh? Why?’

‘It’s the auction. You’ll have the chance to buy a slave of your own’.

Hutch sat up straight. Shit. Monday. How could he have forgotten about Starsky coming into the club today? Well…he knew how he could. Eleven was a talented lover – talented enough to take his mind off almost anything. He slowly released the chain attaching her collar to the bed head and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Giving her naked butt a playful slap he dismissed her.

‘Go on. I’ll follow on’ he said, getting up to straighten his clothes and wash his face. He watched as she slid reluctantly from the bed and went to the door. She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. ‘I’ll miss our time together Sir’ she said as she closed the door behind her.

‘No more than I will’ Hutch mumbled to himself. ‘And who said police work was all work an’ no play?’

Minutes later Hutch stepped into the corridor and made his way to the main hall where the newsletter which had been pushed under his door had said the auction would be. Hutch wondered how Starsky had faired getting into the club. The blond doubted that his partner would be able to remain submissive for too long, but Starsky was experienced enough at under cover work to know how to lose himself in his character sufficiently to get by. But there again, this was no ordinary under cover job and the character Starsky had chosen to play was so far removed from anything he’d had to do before. Hutch doubted himself whether he’d be able to play a submissive slave for any length of time, and Hutch was the more placid of the two cops. With the brunet’s explosive temper and habit of saying exactly what he was thinking…..well, Hutch knew that could be a recipe for disaster. He just hoped they could blow the case wide open quickly and for both their sakes get the hell out of there.

As Hutch got to the entrance to the main hall, he could hear the quiet hubbub of the crowd and as he walked in he saw that almost all the members of the club were there. Masters and Mistresses lead scantily clad or naked slaves around by leashes attached to their collars, employees of the club walked between the crowd, offering drinks and canapés and at the far end of the room was a raised dais where the crowd was densest. And on the raised dais were several columns with a new slave attached by a chain to each.

Hutch walked purposefully towards the dais, his heart racing as he heard two words in an oh so familiar New York accent. His heart hammered in his chest, the concern he felt for his partner overwhelming. Oh shit Starsk. Shut the fuck up an’ let me get you out of here.

Carlos had lead Starsky into the hall and had hauled him up onto the small stage in front of about 40 people. The brunet was reluctant, but allowed himself to be manhandled into position, biding his time and surreptitiously scanning the crowd for signs of the flaxen head. The crowd took little notice of him. He was one more slave ready for auction and the sale didn’t start for a while yet. Carlos positioned the brunet against a large stone pillar. He clipped a universal clip through the D rings on Starsky’s cuffs, binding his wrists together behind his back and affixed them to a chain set into the column. And then he stood by the side of the bound cop and surveyed the crowd.

A fat ebony skinned Master broke away from the crowd and walked casually onto the stage, ignoring Starsky and talking instead to Carlos as though the brunet didn’t exist.

‘A new one?’

‘Yeah. Just came in this morning. Quite a handful’.

The big black man grinned at Carlos and turned his attention to Starsky. His hand reached up and pushed the cop back against the column so that the cuffs round his wrists dug into Starsky’s back. M’Boto held one hand around Starsky’s throat just tightly enough to mean business while the other hand wandered over the curly haired torso.

‘He’s seen some action’ he said as his finger traced one of the silvery scars down through the curly hairs from chest to abdomen.

‘Yeah, but it kinda adds to the mystique’ Carlos agreed. ‘Everyone likes to think they’ve broken the feisty ones. The scars could even pass for whip marks’.

‘Dunno. I think it marks him as defective. Maybe you’d lower the price?’ M’Boto asked, raising his eyebrow.

Starsky’s eyes widened as M’Boto’s hand dropped lower down his body until it was toying with the zip on his tight leather pants. His body started to shake in indignation. He could just about deal being talked about as though he were a piece of meat. He could even handle them talking about his scars as though they were a prize or a defect rather than a bloody reminder of how close he came to death. But the thought of this fat, black gorilla feeling him up was more than he could bear. He was a cop. An undercover cop of course. But nothing in the police manual said anything about this kind of treatment. As M’Boto’s fingers closed around the metal zip and started to lower it, his fingers grazing lightly over Starsky’s tightly cocooned cock, the brunet’s control snapped.

‘Fuck you’ he growled and kicked out at the Master in front of him.

M’Boto stepped back, his eyes wide with anger, but it was Carlos who leaped into action. With both hands, he pushed Starsky forcibly onto his knees and stood over him.

‘You had your chance and I warned you about that mouth an’ how it would get you into trouble. You think they want to buy a slave who’s gonna answer back?’

The curly haired slave realised he’d made a big mistake and was about to mutter an apology. But he never got the chance. From a pocket on his pants, Carlos produced a large red, hard rubber ball and proceeded to force it into Starsky’s mouth. The brunet had no chance to resist. It was either open wide and allow the ball gag to slide into place or risk the safety of all his front teeth. Carlos was angry and was not given to gentleness. Defiant indigo eyes shone back at M’Boto as Carlos buckled the gag into place. The slave master stepped back and took the small crop which hung on the column at the back of the slave and brought it down with stinging force across Starsky’s shoulders twice, just as Hutch arrived at the foot of the stage.

Starsky’s eyes squeezed tight shut, a muffled grunt escaping from behind the gag and when he opened his eyes again, he met his partner’s crystal blues staring back at him.

Hutch saw the flaring of Starsky’s nostrils as he tried to suck in sufficient air to compensate for the blow. He’d seen the two full force strikes and knew they’d sting like crazy and as Starsky turned away from him he saw the two fresh red welts across the upper part of the lightly tanned back.

Mounting the stairs Hutch realised he’d need to do something quickly. Carlos had a wicked sparkle in his eye and was just looking for another opportunity to punish the bound slave, and the set of Starsky’s shoulders told Hutch that his partner was on the edge of giving him that chance.

‘He’s just what I’ve been looking for’ he said mildly to the whip toting man.

Carlos looked at him, not recognizing Hutch, who had spent a lot of his time in his room with Eleven.

‘Begging the Master’s pardon, but this one is more than a handful. He needs breaking first. I could do that and then maybe we could come to a deal. He’d be more valuable to you as a finished commodity’.

Hutch licked dry lips and tried for an air of quiet superiority. ‘I like a challenge. This one looks like he could provide a few hours of enjoyment. Maybe a little target practice with the whip huh?’ he smiled at Carlos, inviting him in to the Master’s joke.

‘He’s um….he’s in the auction Sir. Your bid is as good as the other Master’s’

Desperately Hutch’s mind performed contortions, trying to get his partner out of there and to the relative safety of his rooms. He took hold of Carlos’ arm, pulling him slightly away from the still shaking brunet.

‘I don’t want to have to bid on him. I’ve made my mind up I want him. And what I want, I usually get. How much for a straight sale? Maybe $4,000?’

Carlos wrinkled his brow. ‘$6,000’

‘$5,000 and maybe you can help with some of the training’ Hutch bargained, knowing he’d hooked the trader when he saw the predatory look in Carlos’ eyes.

‘Done’ the black man said and unlocked the chain leading from Starsky’s cuffs to the column. ‘Be careful and um…don’t spare the whip huh?’ he added with a wink. He handed an object to Hutch who took it, hoping the distaste didn’t show too much in his eyes. He moved over to stand in front of his partner, who was still on his knees, trembling with indignation

Hutch put his hand under Starsky’s chin and raised his head, locking eyes with the brunet. Nearly over partner. Just go with me on this huh?

Starsky looked back at him over the top of the massive gag, relief in his eyes. Do what ya have to an’ get me outa here.

Hutch took the thick, stiff brown leather collar and placed it around Starsky’s neck, buckling it snuggly at the back. It was broad enough that the brunet couldn’t properly lower his chin and snug enough that it tightened each time he swallowed or attempted to move his head. A permanent reminder of his position in life.

‘You belong to me now slave and you wear my collar’ Hutch said in a hushed tone. He tugged Starsky to his feet attaching the length of chain Carlos handed him to the D ring in the new leather collar. Roughly he pulled on it and the brunet meekly followed as his partner lead him from the crowded room.

Chapter 8

‘What the fuck were you thinking? Can’t you keep your mouth shut for just one minute?’ Hutch exploded as they got back to his rooms and closed the door safely behind him.

Starsky’s eyes, still hot with anger glared back at him from over the gag and he tried to make some comment but it came out muffled and contorted and a silvery string of saliva ran annoyingly down his chin. The strap holding it in place pulled at the corners of his mouth, pulling them back into a parody of his usual grin.

Hutch gazed in awe at his partner. Clad in skin tight soft kid leather, hands secured behind his back and the broad leather collar around his neck, the blond couldn’t help his cock’s immediate reaction at the sight. Starsky looked every inch the angry slave and good enough to eat. The brunet’s softly furred chest heaved with indignation and Hutch wanted desperately to run his fingers through it, following the thin line that disappeared into the waistband. He wanted to wipe away the sheen of sweat on the handsome face and kiss the anger from the eyes. He wanted….Can it Hutchinson. Mind on the job huh?

‘God I should leave you gagged like that. Maybe then I’d get some sense out of this fuckin’ place. How long’ve you been here? No more than a couple’a hours an’ already you’ve had one of the head honchos walin’ on ya with a whip. You have no idea what it’s like here for slaves, but you’re gonna find out mighty soon if you keep on like that. It’s not a fun palace ya know…leastways not for you. You want pain? D’ya want ‘em to come tell me you’re up for punishment next?’

‘Mflfmngmn’ Starsky mumbled into the gag and turned round to show his partner his bound hands. Hutch winced as he saw the two livid red wheals decorating the brunet’s shoulders, but ignored the plea.

‘Are ya gonna behave?’

‘Hmnph’.

‘Are ya gonna shut your mouth an’ behave like a good little slave boy?’

‘Gmflmph phrmgnp’ Starsky mumbled incoherently, his eyes blazing again.

‘Sorry, didn’t quite catch that. Tell me again without the anger’.

‘Pmnghm’.

‘You want me to take that out?’

‘Hmph’ the comment was accompanied by an emphatic nodding and Hutch relented, reaching behind to unfasten the buckle which had become entwined in Starsky’s curls. He took hold of the red rubber ball and pulled it gently from his partner’s mouth, dropping it distastefully onto the bed.

Starsky stood panting heavily and stretching his jaw which ached viciously and felt as though he’d had a large planet lodged there for a couple of years. He wanted to rub the back of his hand over his mouth and get rid of the saliva there. He felt dirty, cheap and abused.

‘You really enjoyed that didn’t ya’ he said as he went over to sit on the edge of the bed.

‘Enjoyed watching some flake whip you? Oh yeah sure. I really get off on that’.

‘You know what I mean’ the brunet growled.

‘Enjoyed seeing you gagged? Well I gotta say it made a quiet change. Maybe now you’ll realise what it’s like to be here huh? I don’t know what’s up with you. You’ve always been the consummate player when it comes to undercover. Jeez, for most of the time when you’re under you even have me fooled’.

‘Well this aint exactly typical undercover is it? Biker I can deal with. Gangland boss I can handle. Jeez I’ve even been a hairdresser and dance teacher an’ a cowboy stunt guy. But this?’ Starsky nodded at the black leather pants, noticing belatedly that M’Boto hadn’t zipped them back up. The revealed not only the outside of each thigh, but a goodly portion of the family jewels too. He wiggled his shoulders, his hands still restrained behind his back.

Hutch’s face softened. ‘How’re ya doin’?’

‘Aches some. Um…could ya….?’ He wiggled his wrists behind his back.

‘I should make you beg like a good little slave’ the blond grinned.

‘Don’t push your luck Blondie’ the brunet growled but suddenly the image of his kneeling bound in front of Hutch came unbidden to his head and shocked him to the core. Starsky looked away embarrassed and Hutch misinterpreted it as pain, hurrying to unclip the cuffs. Starsky’s arms fell uselessly to his sides and he hunched his shoulders with a quite hiss as the circulation returned. Hutch shuffled onto the bed behind him and kneaded the knots from the tense shoulder muscles as he tried to avoid the fresh welts.

Starsky leaned back, more tired than he cared to admit as he submitted to the strong fingers. The early afternoon with Carlos, the indignity of the auction and the sheer pent up anger had taken their toll and he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the bed and sleep. Although the whip marks weren’t the most painful injuries he’d ever sustained, they still burned fiercely and his lowered defences made him yelp as Hutch’s hand accidentally brushed against them.

‘Sorry buddy’ Hutch said softly and fought an almost uncontrollable urge to bend and kiss them better. Instead, he sucked in a breath, got off the bed and padded into the bathroom, emerging moments later with a cloth soaked in cold water. He laid it tenderly over the wounds and Starsky almost purred with relief.

The curly haired cop looked around him at the décor of the rooms. ‘Nice place ya got here’ he said as he got up off the bed. He started to walk around the room, touching the ornaments decorating the heavy oak dresser and squelching his bare toes into the deep pile carpet. Getting to the door in the corner of the room he placed his hand on the handle and pushed.

‘Don’t go in….’Hutch’s voice trailed off belatedly as Starsky let out a squeak of protest. The curly head popped back round the door and startled eyes regarded his partner. ‘Hutch….this is a….its like…oh my God, it’s a scene outa Frankenstein!’

‘I was trying to warn you not to go there’ the blond said. ‘You’re not ready for the big league yet Coshise!’

‘Not ready? Shit Blintz, I’d never be ready for….’ Starsky ducked back inside the room again and Hutch could hear him pottering about. He got up and walked to the door of the dungeon just as Starsky was opening the door to the cabinet containing the whips and other things.

‘What the hell is this?’ he pulled an almost egg shaped device off one of the shelves and held it up to the light.

‘It’s um….do you really wanna know?’

‘Uh huh’.

‘An anal plug. It’s used for um….stretching muscles and sometimes as a punishment device’.

Starsky dropped the object quickly. ‘I aint got muscles there an’ if I did I sure wouldn’t want ‘em stretchin’ he said breathlessly. He looked around again, his shyness taking back seat to his curiosity now as he walked over to the rack in the middle of the room. ‘Do people actually use this stuff?’

‘Sure, some do’.

‘Wow! Not sure about that, but….’ The brunet walked slowly over to the St Andrews cross affixed against the far wall and stood in front of it. Slowly he positioned his feet at the foot of the wooden struts and lifted his arms to the tethers at the top. ‘Wha’d’ya think? Do I look the part?’ he said over his shoulder.

Hutch’s cock gave a little lurch of delight. His own private fantasy. Starsky, splayed out and ready for punishment. Hutch’s mind danced little celebratory circles. In his minds eye, he saw the taut muscles bunching beneath the skin and heard his partner’s hiss of pain as the lash fell. Quickly he got his breathing under control and turned his back on the sight, surreptitiously adjusting himself as he walked from the room.

‘Quit foolin’ around Starsk. We have work to do’.

Starsky lingered a moment longer. It felt weird and oddly erotic to be positioned against the rough wood of the frame even though he wasn’t held there forcibly. He could imagine some tall powerful dominant standing behind him to target his body with a whip. What would it feel like? He’d been hit before by flakes enough to know that a cane or a whip hurt. But would it feel different if he’d kinda consented to it? Maybe it would. Maybe his body would respond in a different way to the pain. He gripped the rope tethers and tried to imagine who he would want…who he would allow to do that to him. And try as he might there was only one face that burned into his mind. Only one handsome, golden face that he could possibly imagine standing behind him, dressed in black, cracking a bullwhip with a practiced stroke in the air by the side of his body.

With a groan, he withdrew his hands and shook himself mentally. Was it this place? Or was it something else that gave him these thoughts. He’d never thought about Hutch that way before. Well…not really. In the early days of his recuperation, when Hutch had massaged his tired, pain wracked body late at night it had felt so good that he’d longed for the next touch of those strong fingers. But that had been because he was hurting, right? Wasn’t that it? Wasn’t it just a way to get the pains to back down? Or was it something else? Certainly there were a few times, the times he felt really low, when he faked the pain just to get Hutch to touch him again. Shit! Did that mean he was gay? Nah, surely not. He still liked the chicks too much for that. But deep down, Starsky knew that although he enjoyed sex with a woman, he had never in his entire life felt as close to one as he did to Hutch. Not even Terry had come quite as close as that, although for her he would have tried extra hard.

Confusion in his head, Starsky rapidly exited the mini dungeon and walked back into the main room where Hutch was sat on the bed. He sat down on the only other chair in the room noting with a mixture of alarm and amusement that the arms and legs of the large chair came equipped with leather straps and buckles.

‘So, what’ve ya found out?’ he asked to cover his confusion.

‘The Spaniard’s real name is Antonio Romero Flores. He hails from Cadiz, Spain and he’s been in America for close on 10 years. Started out in Denver Colorado setting up ski lodges with a difference in the mountains, then obviously got sick of the cold and ended up here three years ago. He had various schemes on the go before he opened Bound to Please 2 years ago’. Hutch’s mind went back to Eleven, bound spread eagled to the four corners of the bed as he knelt over her, running his tongue down her body, nuzzling her secret places then traveling further south. She cried out incoherently as he took her further and further towards ecstasy without ever actually touching her sex until she pleaded with him to touch her and take her. And he’d grinned wolfishly at her and told her he’d only bring her off if she told him about her Master.

Starsky was impressed. ‘Wow. You got more in two days than the whole department has got in two years! How’d ya get the info buddy?’

Hutch grinned. ‘It was a hard job, but someone’s gotta do it!’

‘Yeah, I bet! So. What now?’

‘Well, we’ve got his background but it still doesn’t help us with the murders. We need to get into his private apartments, snoop around. You know – see what we can dig up’.

Starsky chuckled. ‘And just how d’ya figure we do that?’

‘Well. I’m a Master, you’re my slave. I could command you to um….’

‘Yeah, an’ I’d tell ya where to get off pal. I told ya. Don’t push the slave thing huh?’

‘Ok ok. Well we still need a diversion. How’s about if I cause a stir down here? Maybe accuse one of the employees of bringing me cold breakfast or something an’ you can um…go exploring?’

‘And in which direction do I do this exploring oh wise and wonderful Master?’

‘Upwards. The Spaniard’s private apartments take up the whole of the top floor of this place’.

Starsky nodded. ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I’ll be glad when I’m outa here. I have a bad feeling buddy. That, and somehow, I think this is gonna be one of your least successful undercover jobs’.

Starsky thought about the skimpy, skin tight pants, although the collar prevented him from bending his head to see them and chuckled. ‘Be better if there was actually some cover to get under huh?’ He yawned and stretched his arms up, the muscles in his chest rippling over his rib cage in a typical Starsky way. He was so comfortable with Hutch and so unaware of the effect his body had, not only on his partner, but on women. ‘I’m pooped. It’s time for all little slave boys to be in bed’.

‘If you were a good little slave boy, you’d know not to risk making comment. Making your feelings known like that is a punishable offence’ Hutch said. ‘And apart from that, I think we have a small problem buddy’.

‘Huh?’

‘Do you see a second bed anywhere?’

The brunet looked around. There was indeed only one, albeit very large bed in the room. The only other place a slave would sleep was either on a small mattress by the side of the bed, or affixed to some punishment device in the dungeon next door. Starsky blew out his lips.

‘T’riffic. Much as I have to get into the whole undercover thing, I aint gonna be sleepin’ on that fuckin’ rack’.

‘Nor would I want you to. Well, we have two options. One of us sleeps on the floor, or we both share the bed’ Hutch said as calmly as he could.

‘Um….’k. I guess I’ll take the floor. You’re back’d never forgive ya if ya got down there’. Starsky walked over to the designated area and got down onto the floor. The area was marked by a very thin mattress and nothing else. ‘Can I at least have a cover? I need to get out of these pants and um…..well, modesty ya know’.

Hutch dragged one of the sheets off the bed and gave it to his partner and went to shower as Starsky set about rearranging the bedding. Ten minutes later he emerged washed and dressed only in black boxers as Starsky took his turn in the bathroom. He too emerged ten minutes later, soaped, dried and with water droplets still beading on his unruly curls. He’d wrapped one of the fluffy white towels round his hips and as he walked past the bed the only signs of his slavery were the collar still around his neck and the two raised welts across his shoulders. Hutch winced in sympathy.

‘Starsk, your backs gonna hurt too if you sleep on the floor. You need your sleep as much as I do. The beds big enough for us to have a side each and there’d still be the Grand Canyon between us’.

The brunet looked at the thin hard mattress on the unforgiving floor and then at the enormous, well padded bed and made his decision. Keeping the damp towel still firmly around his hips, he got into the bed, perching right on the edge as he turned his back on his partner. He drew the satin sheet up until it touched his nose and snuggled down as Hutch moved as far over to the other side of the bed as he could.

‘Hutch?’

‘Uh huh?’

‘Don’t ever breathe a word of this huh?’

‘My lips are sealed buddy’.

‘Dobey and the guys’d never let it go’.

‘I know’.

‘OK. Night’.

‘Night Starsk’. Hutch snuggled further down into the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. His dream come true. The brunet in bed with him and yet Starsky had no idea of Hutch’s true feelings. So near and yet so far! Slowly he closed his eyes, but his body was so tense that is spine felt as though it was going to crack though his skull at any moment. He lay frozen in place for over an hour, listening to Starsky’s breath slow and assume the steady regularity of sleep. And only then did he dare to move; to turn over on the bed and plant a kiss on his fingers which he gently pushed against the olive toned back.

‘Sleep well buddy’ he whispered and closed his eyes once again.

Chapter 9

The next morning Starsky awoke with a start, trying to decide for the moment where he was. His body felt sore and he remembered belatedly that he was in Bound to Please and that the previous day he’d been cleaned out and then whipped. Great start to the assignment Davey boy!

He rolled over and bit back a groan as his abraded shoulders touched the mattress and as his hand fell to his side, he felt another body close to him. His jumped back, first instinct being to wake Hutch up, but as he rolled over onto his left hand side, he took a good look at his sleeping partner.

Gillian Kaufman had once said that Hutch looked like a little boy, but Starsky had never appreciated that until right now. Hutch’s face was half hidden, smothered in the pillows and the golden face was relaxed in sleep. His silky, flaxen hair was mussed around his face and Starsky had an irrational need to reach up and straighten it; to run his fingers through it.

It suddenly occurred to him that it felt almost natural to wake up in a bed next to the blond, as though it was somehow meant to be, although if anyone had actually said that to him a day ago, he’d have run a mile. He examined every centimeter of Hutch’s face as if seeing it for the first time. Whereas Starsky’s own complexion was olive toned and had small blemishes across his cheeks, the blond’s face was clear, not even a line marring the perfection. Silken blond, almost white lashes lay like a fall of snow against Hutch’s cheeks and the flaxen haired cop’s thumb was close to his mouth as though at any minute he was going to suck it, reinforcing the childlike illusion.

Starsky continued to drink in the view, propped up on his elbow as he looked down, a small contented smile on his face. OK, so they were in a bed together. Nothing had happened. Nothing was going to happen was it? No. Starsky might have the first fluttering of desire, but it was unnatural, right? Hutch was just as red blooded as he was right? He liked women, just like Starsky. So why did the brunet have these feelings? They confused the hell out of him and left him just a little scared. What was happening to him? Was it this place, or something else? He needed Hutch, he always had, especially after the shooting. For a while after they got back out on the streets, only Hutch had ever know just how jumpy the brunet had been. When every loud noise, every car backfiring made him dive for cover and come out a moment later cursing Gunther. But it wasn’t just psychologically that he needed him, it was physically too. The tough, the reassuring gesture and the calming hand on his arm when his temper got the better of him. And now?

His uncomfortable reverie was interrupted as Hutch sighed in his sleep. Slowly the crystal blue eyes opened, focused and rested on the brunet. Hutch smiled, then the look faded.

‘’Lo’ he said, his voice thick with sleep. ‘Wassa matter?’

Selfconsciously, Starsky rolled away, distancing himself physically. ‘Nuthin. I was just wakin’ up an’ I rolled over an’. He coughed uneasily, flung the sheets back, then covered himself up again hastily, During the night, the towel had slipped from his waist and now, in the early morning and with no cover, it was evident that Starsky was happy to be alive and close to the blond. He fished around under the sheets for the towel and hastily wrapped it back around him before getting out of the bed. Hutch watched him go, a sly smile on his face. He knew his partner well enough to know that the smaller man hadn’t just woken up and although he didn’t really know what had gone on while he was asleep, he had the feeling that Starsky wasn’t just staring at the ceiling.

Getting out of bed, he waited outside the bathroom for his partner and snagged his wrist when he came out.

‘You ok Gordo?’

‘Yeah. Why d’ya ask?’

‘Dunno. I was just kinda….nothing. It doesn’t matter. Are you ready for another day of slave time?’

‘No, an’ I hate these pants’ Starsky whined, overbalancing as he got one foot entwined in the intricate lacing effect down the side. Hutch caught him from falling, his hands around the smaller man’s waist. Quickly, as though he’d had an electric shock, he let go and turned away as Starsky continued to struggle. Finally, with the soft leather pulled up and his traitorous cock zipped into place, the brunet stalked into the main bedroom just in time to see Hutch straightening his black tee shirt. It was tight enough to show his muscles which rippled slightly when he moved and left Starsky’s mind in a whirl again. He couldn’t go on like this. They were friends weren’t they? Best buddies. They could talk about anything in a rational, adult way.

Deciding directness was the way to go, he composed himself.

‘Hutch?’

The blond turned round, the light behind him giving the effect of a halo round his golden hair. ‘Yeah?’

‘We need to….I need, um. I…’ his confidence failed him and his words trailed off into silence. ‘Nuthin’.

‘What were you going to say?’

Ok, go for it. Just tell him. Tell him what? That you think you’re gay? You think you have feelings for him and you want to get in his pants? You want him to order you to your knees and service him? Yeah, sure! That’d go down so well!

‘Its nuthin. I just as wondering where we got sumthin to eat’ he finished lamely.

Hutch looked at his partner uncertainly, sure that wasn’t what Starsky had in mind to say. Why not just tell him Hutchinson? Tell him that the sight of him dressed like that, with a slave collar round his neck drives you crazy. Hmm, right. Like he’d enjoy knowing you want him so badly you ache. Get a life. He isn’t like that. STOP IT.

‘We eat in the café and after that, its time to get to work’ Hutch said, slightly breathlessly.

~~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, both men found themselves in the main hall. Hutch sat himself down on a chair while Starsky knelt obediently at his feet.

‘How humiliating’ he hissed quietly as Hutch tethered the chain attached to his collar to the chair arm. They were there for a short course on Corporal Punishment. On the dais at the end of the room, a tall, leather clad and raven haired woman stood surrounded by various items she’d brought from the dungeon and a selection of male and female slaves. All were naked save for the silver collar and cuffs denoting employees of the club. The Mistress waited until the room had filled up, then started to speak’

‘Corporal punishment is defined as a deliberate inflection of pain used in the correction of a slave's misbehavior.  The slave agrees as part of the correction process and healing processes that she/he will accept her/his punishment’.  

‘I divide corporal punishment into two categories; immediate and formal’.

‘Immediate punishment is usually less intense and of a much shorter duration than formal. The purpose of immediate punishment is to immediately correct the slave for a fault that is caused by a lack of attention to detail during training’.

‘I fully believe that a good slave will feel sorrowful for displeasing his or her Master and this will provide motivation to correct their behavior, but I don’t believe that this sorrow is always enough to foster future correct behavior.  This is especially true when training them to change normal daily behavior.  Just telling them that they have made a mistake is not enough to insure change when the focus is on changing behavior.  Punishment provides motivation to change’.

‘Immediate punishment is useful where a change in habits and routine behavior is required.  An example is when a slave does not  say "Sir", each time they address their Master or maintaining "eyes down" in their Master’s presence.  These are habits you want a slave to adopt and immediate punishment is effective when they slip during training’. 

‘Formal punishment is for more serious violations of the rules.  It‘s not a result of a change in a habit but a conscious misbehavior or a misbehavior that a reasonable slave would be expected to know’.  

‘Examples are the intentional failure to disclose important information to her Master or to tell a secret about a Master’.

Hutch’s gut clenched as he thought about eleven and the secrets he had inveigled out of her. Closing his mind to the possibilities that Eleven may be formally punished, he continued to listen, amused at the rapt attention on Starsky’s face.

‘Failure to do a particular assignment in the allotted time after receiving instructions. These are attitude problems that cause bad behaviors. 

‘Examining and confronting the faulty thinking, before punishment, is an important part of the overall correction of behavior.  If faulty thinking is addressed and corrected, behavior will automatically be changed. In most cases, formal corporal punishment should have several steps and I will now outline those’.

‘Step 1 - After discovering the behavior that needs correcting, it’s often advisable to discuss with the slave what caused the bad behavior.  What were they thinking?  Why did they act that way?  Why did they make that choice?  How is the choice they made helpful in their slave training? 

Step 2 - Then the slave should be sent off, by themselves, to think about their wrong doing and the punishment that will surely come soon.

Step 3 - They should then be called for and told to present themselves in a punishment position. .

Step 4 - Then comes the actual punishment.  The slave should not be allowed to reach a frame of mind that would allow them to lessen the effect of the punishment (subspace or mental pain blocking techniques).  They should be required to say "Thank you, Sir" after each stroke, and keep count of each stroke.  If they show signs of going into subspace or blocking the pain, force them out of that mental state, before continuing.  Using a different instrument to punish them with than you would use for pleasure is advisable.

Step 5 - Immediately after the punishment, the slave should be sent off, by themselves, for a period of time to reflect on their punishment.

‘As you know, at Bound to Please a public punishment is the ultimate, and something that every slave should be afraid of. For new slaves here today, may this be a cautionary lesson. One of the employees has amassed a dozen faults and has earned herself a public punishment which I can now demonstrate’.

Hutch’s guts churned as he saw Eleven’s naked form walk onto the stage. The D rings in her collar and cuffs tinkled as she shivered and Hutch wanted to run to her and stop the punishment from happening. What if this was because of him? What if The Spaniard had found out? Was their assignment clown before it had even got properly started? He closed his eyes as the Mistress on the stage started to bind Eleven over a punishment stool.

Chapter 10

Hutch cast around trying to think of something. Finally he bent down, detaching the chain leading from his slave’s collar to the chair and hissed into Starsky’s ear.

‘I’ve gotta do something, so here’s our chance. When I cause the diversion, you slip out and up to the Spaniard’s apartment and hopefully I can stop her being hurt’.

‘What’s the plan?’

‘Plan? Who said anything about a plan? I’m making this up as I go. Ready?’

Starsky rolled his eyes. ‘As I’ll ever be. Do it!’

Hutch suddenly stood up and groaned dramatically, clutching at his chest. As Starsky shuffled backwards, the blind groaned even louder and crashed to the floor as the crowd around them looked around, stunned. There was a moment’s silence and then the closest members of the club rallied around. As Starsky slipped away under cover of the commotion, he heard them trying to bring the “unconscious” blond around. He grinned. Maybe his acting lessons had paid off after all and Hutch could even pull off the role of Camille.

Cautiously, the brunet edged out of the room, but he needn’t have bothered being too careful. Every Master, Mistress and slave in the place seemed to be gathered around his partner now, and as he closed the door quietly behind him, he looked around for some stairs up to the top floor.

Starsky found some in the corner of the large rectangular landing and ran towards them. He put his foot on the first step, then froze as he heard muffled voices and footfalls coming from above him. He withdrew his foot and backed away from the bottom of the stairs, hugging the wall and looking around him for cover. He tried the handle of the door closest to him but it was locked. Hurrying along the  hallway, he tried the next door. The handle gave beneath his hand and he ducked inside, breath whistling through his teeth as he leaned his ear close to the door.

‘Mistress?’ a muffled voice called from behind him.

He turned and saw a young woman inside the room which was decked out like some sort of ER. He shuddered at the thought that someone might find the place erotic. His own life seemed to have been one long round of visiting the places and there was no way he got any enjoyment from them at all.

On closer inspection, he saw the woman was blindfolded and tied to some sort of examination couch, her legs held wide apart and her arms restrained by her sides. Another strap held her chest down and there was something protruding from between her legs. Starsky shivered and checked the door again. Hearing nothing outside, he opened it again and hurried out into the hallway. Much as he loved women, the sight of the bound woman in the room sent chills down his spine. Each to his own, he knew, but some things were just plain sick.

Edging out into the corridor again, he saw Carlos and another smaller man with black hair walking down the corridor, their backs to him and he caught the tail end of a comment. Carlos called the man Sir. Was that The Spaniard? Was that Antonio Romero Flores? Only one way to find out.

The brunet headed back to the stairs and climbed them three at a time, emerging into another world completely. Here it was all pale ash wood clad walls and deep pile cream coloured carpets. There were several doors leading of the central hallway and Starsky pushed open the first one, seeing a bedroom furnished like the most expensive hotel room he could imagine. Without exploring it he closed the door and continued down the hallway. The second door revealed a large sitting room, again decorated in pale pastels and cream carpet and large central fire pt dominating the space. Starsky quickly looked around it. There was a large sofa and well padded arm chairs but no desk, or signs of The Spaniard’s alternate lifestyle.

Beginning to think that maybe they were on a wild goose chase, the brunet pushed open a third door and hit paydirt. The room was set out part as an office and part as a playroom, hooks affixed into the ceiling from which various lengths of chains hung. There was a similar examination chair to the one he’d seen the girl bound to downstairs, a whipping frame and various implements hung on the walls around.

Starsky rushed over to the desk, the dungeon-like room holding no further mystique for him and rummaged around on the various files littering its surface. There was a check book with an expensive looking pen and several bank books. The cop rifled through them and recognised the name of the dead girl on the top of one of the books, although it showed that there was still a substantial amount in there. It seemed the Spaniard’s prime motive was not money. He flung the book down and opened the thin top drawer of the desk, expecting nothing in particular. His eyes opened wide however, and his hand hovered over the contents before he turned away. Starsky had seen some sights in his time, but never anything quite like the top photograph on the pile. Hand over his mouth he inhaled deeply, trying to get some control of his stomach which was performing somersaults and threatening to deposit his dinner back into the drawer.

Taking a steadying breath, he reached into the drawer and took out the stash of full colour photographs and slowly flicked through them. Each one showed the Spaniard, naked and with a woman. Nothing too weird in that except that each photo was taken in sequence, like a time lapse sequence and showed the man first with the girl, then with his hands around her neck. It was evident he was strangling her and she was struggling with him. The next showed him drawing a knife across her neck and the final few, the most shocking of all, showed him continuing to have sex with her although it was quite evident from her staring eyes and the quantity of blood around that she was already dead.

So there he had it. Antonio was indeed the murderer and killed for his own sick perversions. Starsky had heard about snuff – the practice of making sex videos where the victim was killed. He’d even once busted a pervert over on the east side of the city who was selling snuff videos. But to actually see it, in all it’s technicolour glory was shocking, even for the street smart, worldly wise cop.

He reached for the phone and pulled it down to him while he hunkered down behind the desk. He dialed a familiar number and waited, hearing Dobey’s sleepy voice. He imagined his Captain and Edith wrapped up snuggly in bed.

‘H’lo’

‘Cap’n, its Starsky. I got it, its, the Spaniard an’ I have the evidence. Get someone in here right now an’ get a warrant to search the place’.

‘Starsky, have you any idea what time it is?’ Dobey asked tetchily

‘No, I don’t. I just want Hutch ‘n’ me outa here. I got the evidence. It’s your turn to get the warrant’.

He heard a sigh. ‘Its 2:00am. I can’t just walk into the Judge’s office an’ grab a warrant at this time of morning, not even for this’.

‘Well how soon?’ Starsky asked

‘Gimme till 8:00am an’ we’ll be there. That’s six hours. I’ll ring the Judge as soon as I can an’ get the paperwork done’.

‘K, just hurry huh?... I…shit!’

Starsky slammed the phone down and tried to find somewhere to hide. He heard the voices coming back up the corridor. The desk gave him a little cover, but….

Carlos and The Spaniard walked into the room, still talking quietly and as The Spaniard walked towards the desk, Starsky stood up quietly, his hands up in surrender as he realised he had nowhere to hide.

The men stopped in their tracks. ‘Who the hell are you?’ Flores asked.

‘He’s one of the new slaves’ Carlos said, immediately recognizing the handsome brunet he’d threatened to tame.

‘Seems like he doesn’t know how to behave’.

Starsky looked at the Spaniard with a mixture of loathing and defiance, unsure what the Master meant. But Carlos interpreted correctly and moved over behind the brunet. His foot kicked out at the back of Starsky’s knees and the cop’s legs folded like a house of cards. He fell to his knees and stayed there as Carlos stood over him.

The Spaniard walked coolly over and stood in front of the curly haired slave. ‘What were you doing here?’

‘I um….I got lost’ Starsky improvised.

‘Who’s your Master?’

‘Dr Hall. Dr Keith Hall’.

‘And does he know where you are?’

Out of the corner of his eye, Starsky could see Carlos retrieving something from a cabinet at the far end of the room. He winced inwardly as he recognised a cane – the same sort of device Mrs Elwick from third grade used to use on the students who’d failed her math tests.

‘He um…sent me to find a drink for him an’ I um….took a wrong turning’.

Carlos stood behind him again. ‘That’s twice you’ve forgotten’.

The brunet looked confused. He was kneeling. What else was there? ‘Forgotten?’

‘Get your chin on the rug’.

Slowly, and with nowhere else to go, the slave complied, his arms outstretched in front of him and his ass once more in the air. The cane came down three times in rapid succession eliciting a sharp hiss from the brunet as his fingers and toes buried themselves into the pile of the rug. The cane, even through the leather of his pants stung like fire.

‘Three times now you forgot to say Sir or Master. It’s a fundamental requirement. And as for not knowing where you were going, you must’ve realised you’d never climbed the stairs before’.

Starsky didn’t know whether he was supposed to straighten up or not so managed a brief ‘Sorry Sir’ into the carpet and remained where he was.

‘Let me punish him Sir’ Carlos said to the Spaniard. ‘It could be quite entertaining. He’s in need of breaking’.

Once again, Starsky’s blood boiled but he managed to refrain from making any further comment. His butt stung enough to stop him from wanting any more of the huge black guy’s treatment. He held his breath.

‘His Master has first chance at a public punishment. You know the rules. Take him downstairs and find Dr Hall. It’ll be his decision, but come get me when the show’s about to start. I like the look of this one myself’.

There was the briefest of sighs and then a foot nudging him none too gently.

‘On your feet’.

The brunet stood up thankfully and waited. He’d only been at Bound to Please a little over 24 hours, but already he knew better than to try to preempt what a Master wanted. Carlos took a hank of rope from the desk.

‘Hands behind your back’.

Starsky complied and felt the man start to circle his wrists with the cotton rope. But instead of leaving it at that, he fastened Starsky’s wrists together, then bent his elbows so that it was as though he had his hands together in prayer, but behind his back, Then, with the rest of the rope, he tied it through the D ring on the back of the thick leather collar and stood back.

The bound slave felt the pull already. His shoulder muscles burned with fatigue even though he’d only just been tied, but if he tried to relax them, it pulled on his collar so that he felt as though he was going to throttle himself.

Carlos looked at the flash of pain on the handsome face and shoved Starsky forward before him, lashing out one last time with the cane.

‘Downstairs now and back to your Master’s rooms. Somehow I can’t wait to see the fun begin’.

Chapter 11

Carlos pushed Starsky in front of him down the stairs and back into the main hall, but instead of marching him through and down towards Hutch’s rooms, he prodded the brunet around the corner and up, onto the small stage. Attaching a chain from the collar to one of the fixed columns, he stood back and admired the sheen of sweat that had formed on Starsky’s face. The brunet’s arms were cruelly pulled up behind him and despite the fact that it was slowly choking himself to death, he needed to rest his arm muscles by resting them on the rope attaching arms to collar. He stared back at Carlos, throwing caution to the winds. He’d heard what the dominatrix had said about public punishments. So what? He was gonna get hit no matter what, so it didn’t really matter what he said any more. In 6 hours, Dobey and the cavalry were gonna come bursting through the doors anyway.

‘Stay there while I go get your Master’ Carlos said, giving the chain a final tug.

‘Sure thing boss’.

Carlos stared at the slave undisguised loathing on his face.

‘I so hope your Master is gonna give you to the crowd. Because believe me, you’re ass is mine boy’.

‘I aint your boy an’ my ass belongs to my Master’ Starsky heard himself say. Hell. Where did that come from? He had no idea, but the thought of being here with Hutch by his side was a lot more comforting than being chained to the stage surrounded by lifestyle BDSMers.

‘We’ll see’ Carlos leered and walked away towards Hutch’s rooms. Starsky was left struggling to breathe through the tight collar. He leaned against the column, trying to rest his bound arms back against the stone to relieve some of the pressure from his shoulders and trachea and he closed his eyes, trying to remember what the dominatrix doing the talk had said. But all he could come up with was that new slaves should be afraid of a public punishment. He assumed there would be some corporal punishment involved. Well, so be it. He could deal with a couple of strokes of the cane, and if Hutch was wielding it, he’d go easy on his partner. Comforted by the thought, the brunet rested back against the column and waited, conserving his energy.

Carlos knocked on the door to Hutch’s rooms and waited for the Master to invite him in. While he was a trusted employee and had a certain status in the club, the big black man was still a servant of the Spaniard, and his real status was still that of a slave. He waited, and as he heard the soft  “come in” he pushed the door open and entered.

Hutch had feigned his fainting fit well and several employees of the club had helped the handsome (and according to Eleven) kind Master back to his chambers. Hutch thanked everyone profusely and denied the possibility of a doctor coming to see him, saying that he was just tired and that he needed to rest quietly. Could they send Eleven along to give him a massage? Moments later, the woman appeared at his door and he invited her in, ecstatic that he had saved her from the punishment. He’d waited a while, then dismissed her saying that he needed to sleep.

Carlos entered the rooms and stood to attention, waiting for Hutch to acknowledge him.

‘Yeah?’

‘Sir, I have to inform you that your slave was found in private apartments. The Master has decreed that he be given a public punishment’.

Hutch looked up quickly, trying to keep his face impassive. He’d been wondering how his partner was faring, and had lulled himself into a false sense of security expecting the brunet to come quietly back with news. He didn’t expect this and his heart plummeted into his boots. Shit! Now what?

‘Where is he?’

‘I have him secured in the hall Sir. The punishment will start in 30 minutes’.

‘I need to see him. I need to um…explain things’ the blond muttered, standing and making for the door. Carlos stood aside and followed as Hutch walked purposefully out and down the corridor to the hall. He saw Starsky apparently leaning unconcernedly against the pillar and it wasn’t until he got close that he saw his partner’s eyes were closed and he was sweating profusely, a low moan escaping his lips occasionally. Hutch turned to the big black man.

‘I need to be alone with him. To tell him how um…displeased I am’.

‘Certainly Sir. Shall I tell the Master that you or the group will be conducting the punishment?’

‘Huh? Oh…um…I will. Just give me a moment huh?’

‘What’s he talkin’ about, the group?’ Starsky asked, his eyes open now that he heard Hutch’s voice.

‘Shuddup’ Hutch said in what he hoped was a commanding way.

‘I need to know. There aint no-one gonna do anythin’ t’me ‘cept you’ the brunet persisted.

Hutch turned to him, warning in his eyes. ‘I told you to shuddup. What part if that don’t you understand slave?’

‘I understand the part about the group. So what’re ya gonna….’

Hutch’s eyes widened, his thought waves trying to tell his partner to keep it buttoned. Damage limitation. But he could see Starsky’s temper had finally broken and he needed to shut the brunet up before he said something that even Hutch wouldn’t be able to cover up, Desperately, Hutch whipped the ball gag from Carlo’s back pocket and jammed it into his partner’s mouth, effectively silencing him. With trembling hands, he buckled it tightly behind the curly head, his hands lingering fractionally longer that they needed to on the chocolate coloured curls.

‘Tell The Spaniard that I will be carrying out the punishment’ Hutch said in an authoritative tone as the big black man turned away, disappointment in his eyes.

‘Certainly Sir. I’ll tell him you’ll start in a quarter of an hour’.

Hutch watched as Carlos left and turned back to his partner whose eyes were shining with anger above the gag.

‘I had to do something’ he hissed. ‘That big mouth of yours was gonna make it ten times worse! Did you find anything?’

Starsky nodded, breathing heavily through the gag. Hutch unbuckled it immediately and stood back.

‘It’s The Spaniard. He enjoys killing the girls to have sex with ‘em’.

‘Snuff? Oh my God! The fuckin’ pervert! Did ya manage to contact Dobey?’

‘Uh huh. He’s getting’ the warrant, but soonest he can get here is 6 hours. He said he’d be here by 8am’.

Hutch closed his eyes. ‘Shit!’

‘Why, what’s up? We nailed him! It’s just the formalities now. What’s the problem?’ Starsky asked.

‘The problem, mushbrain, is that during that six hours, I’m supposed to punish you publicly’.

‘I know. Just go easy huh? A couple’a swats with the crop an’ it’ll be all over, right?’

‘Oh that it was that simple’.

‘Ya mean it isn’t? Tell me’.

Hutch paused, thinking about the explanation Eleven had given him. There was no way he could whip anyone, let alone his partner and no way could he do it in front of forty or so people. ‘A public punishment is um….19 strokes with three different implements chosen by the crowd. If the Master doesn’t do it properly, or for some reason they aren’t satisfied, the crowd take the slave. And at the end of it, the Master imposes his superiority on his possession’.

The brunet swallowed. ‘An’ just exactly is he s’posed to do that?’

Hutch’s eyes met troubled indigos. ‘He fucks ‘em’.

‘Oh!’

‘Starsky there’s no way I could do that to you or anyone else. We have to think of something’.

‘Well first off, can ya untie my arms? I don’t do my best thinkin’ when I’m slowly chokin’ to death’.

‘Huh? Oh, yeah. C’mere’. Deftly, the blond untied the rope from around the stiff leather collar and with a stifled groan, Starsky dropped his arms, wriggling his shoulders luxuriously.

‘OK, so. We have a choice, as I see it’ Starsky said. ‘Either, we have you walin’ on me with all manner of nasty things and then…..well, we won’t go there….or they do it. Some choice huh?’

‘Not one I’d want to make. But there’s a third option’.

‘Enlighten me’.

‘We tell ‘em we’re cops. Dobey’ll be here before too long. Surely they’re not gonna….’

‘Not going to do what?’ the third vice made them jump and Hutch turned around to see Carlos standing at the back of the room. The big black guy had come back quietly and ha heard most of what they had said. Slowly he reached into his pocket and brought out a small walkie talkie. ‘Guards to the main hall please. Quickly’ he spoke into the device as Hutch and his would be slave froze on the stage.

Drawing a small semi automatic, Carlos walked towards them slowly. ‘I knew there was something not right about the two of you’.

‘Ten outa ten for observation. Give the man a bag of nuts an’ a balloon’ Starsky muttered.

‘You think you’re so smart don’t’cha? Lets see how fuckin’ smart assed you’ll be when my Master sees ya’.

Two machine gun toting guards walked into the room, weapons pointing at the two detectives on the raised stage. Carlos indicated with his pistol and both cops slowly walked towards the door and the steps up to the second floor.

‘Got any wise ideas Master?’ Starsky mumbled.

‘Fresh out. Just go with the flow an’ hope the Judge is wide awake when Dobey gets to him’.

They walked into the same room Starsky had found a scant hour previously, surrounded now by the two machine gun carrying guards, Carlos with his pistol and The Spaniard, who looked up curiously from his desk. ‘Si?’

‘Sir, this is the slave you found in your rooms earlier, and his Master. Turns out they’re both cops, come to do a little snooping’ Carlos explained.

Flores got up from his desk and came to stand in front of the two detectives. ‘Is this true?’

Neither man replied.

‘I asked a civil question. Is it true? Are you cops?’

Again there was no response and Flores looked at the two guards and back at Carlos. ‘Did you arrange the punishment?’

‘Yes Sir’.

‘Well tell the members it was a mistake’.

‘Sir?’

‘There will be no public punishment. Instead, I think we’ll have a little enjoyment of our own. If neither of them will answer me now, maybe a taste of pain is what they need. Tie him over there’.

Flores pointed at a large, heavy oak chair and one of the guards took hold of Hutch roughly by the shoulders and steered him over to it. The blond struggled against the man, twisting in the powerful grip and would have got away had it not been for the soft snick of a gun cocking behind him. Hutch froze.

‘One more step out of turn and he gets it’ Flores said coldly, holding the gun to Starsky’s head.

Reluctantly, Hutch turned and sat down in the chair impassively as the ubiquitous leather straps were fastened around his wrists and ankles. Once restrained, Flores turned his attention to the brunet.

‘Hold him’ he instructed the guards. The two men swooped down on the brunet, holding his arms behind his back as Starsky glared at The Spaniard. Flores gazed back, mesmerised by the heaving, lightly furred chest and the handsome face. He reached up a hand and stroked it gently down the cop’s left cheek. Starsky whipped his head back.

‘Keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself’.

Flores smiled at Carlos. ‘You were right, my friend. It will be fun to break him. Knife?’

The black man handed a wickedly sharp looking blade to his Master and stood back. Flores held the blade up to the light, then trailed it gently down the side of Starsky’s neck, across his chest and down to the leather pants he wore. In two swift movements, he’d inserted the blade in the leather laces at each side of the pants and slit them down the sides so that the kid skin fell away, leaving the brunet’s body exposed.

Starsky looked quickly over at his partner. Hutch was struggling madly against his bonds in the chair, determined to find some way to aid his friend, but the straps were made of thick hide and there was no play in the fastenings.

With a delighted smile, Flores dropped the knife. ‘Put him over the stool and let’s see what we’ve got’.

Chapter 12

Carlos and one of the guards pulled Starsky over to a punishment stool standing in virtually the centre of the room. Despite his best attempts to get away from them, they easily overpowered him and bent him at the waist so that his face mashed into the suede top of the stool. They held him there, with their combined weight as The Spaniard walked casually up behind and trailed his fingers lasciviously down the furrow of Starsky’s spine from the nape of his neck, down to the top of the butt crack.

‘Get your fuckin’ hands off of me’ the curly haired cop growled, trying to kick out at the Spaniard. The big man sidestepped and swatted the upturned butt almost playfully. He bent over the supine cop.

‘Cierra la boca esclavo! Tu jodido culo ahora es mío’ the Latino man whispered into the struggling man’s ear.

Starsky knew too little Spanish to understand the words, although he thought he’d understood the implication, but Hutch heard the stage whisper and translated it in his head ‘Shut it slave, your fuckin ass is mine now’.

‘Leave him alone. If ya need someone to torment, try me for size’ the blond yelled, tugging again and again at the leather straps until the skin on his wrists gave up the ghost and started to bleed.

Carlos looked over at the flaxen haired man and grinned as his Master bent down and took hold of Starsky’s balls in his right hand, pulling the scrotum and it’s delicate contents sharply down and squeezing. Starsky let out an agonised moan which tailed off into a brief whimper before he clamped his mouth tight shut, his toes curling into the carpet.

‘Let me explain something’ the Spaniard said to Hutch. ‘Other than answers to my direct questions, which I invite you to give quickly, any other sound from you will result in more pain for him. Is that clear?’ As if to reinforce the words, he pulled once again on his captive’s sensitive sac, relishing the muffled groan and the beads of sweat that formed on the olive toned back.

Hutch nodded his defeat, wanting to yell and curse at the Spaniard, but afraid to cause his partner more pain. The sight of the normally stoical brunet reduced to a whimpering, shaking wreck was almost more than he could bear and he closed his eyes to shut out reality and get his emotions under control. The Spaniard was issuing more instructions in Spanish and even Hutch, with his working knowledge of the language had problems in understanding some of the words.

Starsky remained still as he felt one of the guards leave him. He heard the Spaniards sharp commands and  the guard fumbling in the cabinet on the wall before returning and handing something to the big Latino. At anther command, the two guards roped the cuffs around Starsky’s ankles to the widely spaced legs of the punishment stool and his wrists to the front legs. Now he was bent forward at right angles over the device, legs splayed and arms stretched down. His ass was left open and ready and his head fell forward over the front of the stool. He was an utter prisoner and despite his best efforts, nothing he did could dislodge the heavy leather restraints from his limbs.

The Spaniard took the object and murmured to the guards. ‘Cierra la puerta cuando salgas. Quiero estar solo un rato’. The men nodded curtly, turned on their heels with a final look at the subdued cop and closed the door behind them as they stepped outside the room. The Spaniard turned back to his captive. Slowly his hands wandered over Starsky’s ass, kneading the muscles and working his hands closer and closer to the puckered opening.

Starsky went wild, his body bucking back against the restraints holding him, but the leather held fast and Flores took a step back, reached for the crop on the table behind him and brought it down with a resounding thwack on the cop’s raised butt. Starsky yelled, the sting driving bone deep and tried to kick out again, the metal of the clip securing his to the stool clanging mournfully against the wooden legs of the furniture. Another stinging blow joined the first, but in the opposite direction and the Spaniard chuckled at the two raised scarlet welts intersecting each other.

‘X marks the spot, or so they say’. He placed his hands back on Starsky’s body, separating the ass cheeks and the brunet hissed as he felt a firm finger rim his opening and dip slowly inside, pushing further and further. Withdrawing from the tight opening, the Latino chuckled. ‘As I thought. A tight virgin ass. That’ll need some special treatment before we proceed further. Carlos, the belt?’

The big black man wedged the brunet’s arm against the side of the stool with his body and passed a narrow black leather belt around Starsky’s hips and buckled it at the back. He stood back, anticipation shining on his face as The Spaniard took the special object from the table and held it up to the light. Hutch hitched a breath, but kept his mouth tightly closed as the big man approached Starsky again, placing the large black rubber anal plug against his opening.

The sweating man froze at the feel of the hard object pushing against his body. It felt cold, hard and incredibly large and he sucked in a deep breath as the Spaniard continued a steady pressure against his sphincter. The plug was lightly lubricated, but there had been no other preparation and it edged further into his ass, stretching the skin and muscle uncomfortably as Starsky wiggled his hips, trying to dislodge it and move away. But the Latino had a firm hold on his slave and continued to push the plug into the core of the brunet’s body as Starsky hissed, then groaned at the increasing pressure. It felt as though the Statue of Liberty was making it’s way into his body and the pressure that had first been uncomfortable was now downright painful.

The plug was now half way to being seated and the Master gave his slave a moment to rest as he held the hard rubber device in place. The widest part was still outside Starsky’s body and he winced, breathing heavily as he tried to deal with the sensations overloading his nerves. He groaned again in pain and embarrassment and the sound touched Hutch as no other had.

‘For fucks sake take your dirty hands off him an’ leave him alone’ he yelled, forgetting himself in his anxiety for his partner.

It was all the Spaniard needed and with a look of evil glee, he pushed the rest of the plug inside Starsky’s ass in one swift movement. The brunet’s muscles cracked with the incredible added pressure and he screamed out incoherently before raising his head from the punishment stool and yelling into the air. ‘I’m gonna fuckin’ kill the three of ya, ya hear?’ A loan trickle of blood started to make it’s ruby way down the inside of his left leg

Carlos laughed out loud as he threaded another strap leading from the thin leather belt through the eyelet at end of the anal plug, between the brunet’s legs and secured it at the front, effectively keeping the huge intruder in place.

Starsky moaned into the suede of the stool. He felt as though a lance had skewered him and each movement, each breath caused the thing to move, setting off both a dull ache in his stomach and sharp knife like pains in his butt and guts. On one occasion it rubbed against his prostate and he yelled out again, fireworks exploding behind his eyes as his legs turned to rubber. Had it not been for the stool upon which he was forced to lean, he would have collapsed into a heap on the ground.

The Spaniard seemed to drink in the sounds of pain, pushing ass cheeks together so that the plug moved again inside his captive, causing Starsky to groan again, a loud, shuddering sound. If he’d been left to quietly internalize the feelings the brunet thought he may have been able to deal with the overwhelming sensations, sure that eventually his overstretched muscles would have grown a little more accustomed to the murderous piece of apparatus. But the constant touching and kneading left him no time to acclimatise and he felt sick and dizzy.

Flores turned to Hutch, who had remained perfectly still, guilt ridden that his own outburst had cause his partner so much added pain. ‘So, cop. What have you discovered and who have you told?’

The blond stared back at him, his jaw muscles working as he fought for control. He glanced at the clock. 6:30. Dobey said he’d be there by 8:00. Could they hold out for another 90 minutes? He looked at the sweat pooling on the ground around the bound brunet and wondered. They’d have to. Once Dobey and the men arrived all this would stop and they’d be free. Starsky weakly turned his head and fixed his partner with a stare. Don’t tell him shit. We can deal with this.

Hutch gazed back, his eyes boring into Starsky’s. You’re the one with the problems buddy. I’ll go with whatever you say.

Seeing that Hutch wasn’t going to answer him, The Spaniard crossed to the cabinet in the corner of the room and opened the door. His fingers trailed lightly over the contents, touching first a paddle, then a flogger before finally taking out a single tailed whip. He lovingly fingered the knotted leather and flicked it experimentally. It sizzled and cracked through the air and he grinned. Walking back to the restrained man, he gently stroked Starsky’s ass once more before standing back and delivering a single stroke across the top of the brunet’s thighs. The effect was instantaneous. Not only did the whip leave a foot long welt across the olive toned flesh, but the Spaniard – a practiced hand with the implement – managed to get the very tip of the leather to catch at Starsky’s trapped balls.

The cop lifted his head and screamed, his body convulsing and bucking against the stool. His head thrown back as far as the collar round his neck would allow, Hutch saw the sinews standing out proud, hands gripping at the wooden legs of the stool in an attempt to get his body back under control.

‘I should explain’ Flores said conversationally, once Starsky’s breathing had calmed a little, ‘I shall continue to attack the more sensitive parts of his anatomy until one of you tells me what you’ve found out and who if anyone you’ve told about it. Is that clear?’ he grinned at Hutch. ‘You may answer’.

‘Yeah it’s clear, ya sick son-of-a-bitch’.

‘Oh now that was just plain rude’ Flores said and the whip snaked out again catching Starsky across his ass and hip. His body stiffened, but he managed to remain silent as he turned his head away from Hutch.

‘I ask you again. Why were you snooping around?’

‘He got lost’.

‘I don’t believe you. You’re cops’.

‘Can’t cops have fun too?’

‘Why were these taken out of my drawer?’ Flores picked up a bundle of photographs.

Starsky twisted his head round. ‘He don’t know nuthin. I was here on my own’.

The Spaniard threw down the photographs and walked back over to the bound man. He grabbed a handful of curly hair and pulled Starsky’s head back so that the stiff leather of the collar bit into the back of his neck.

‘Who did you tell?’

‘No-one. You came in before I could do anythin’.

The Latino looked at Hutch. ‘Is this true?’

Hutch kept his mouth shut and Flores slammed Starsky’s head back down and picked up the whip again. It fizzed through the air three, four, five times across the sweating cop’s ass, thighs and back, the skin parting and small droplets of blood arcing through the air. Starsky screamed, unable to stop himself. The pain was like nothing he’d ever experienced before and occasionally, when The Spaniard aimed properly, the tip of the evil whip would catch his cock and balls, eliciting the most exquisite pain imaginable.

As the brunet’s body started to react less to the stimulus, the Spaniard slowed and stopped, watching as Starsky’s body collapsed back against the top of the stool. The cop was exhausted and Flores knew that tortured nerves reacted progressively less and less until there was no more feeling. He waited as Hutch looked at the floor.

He’d tried to close his mind to the agonised screams coming from his partner. Why not just tell The Spaniard that they’d called the cops and that pretty soon a swarm of uniforms would descend on the place and Bound to Please would cease to exist? But deep down Hutch knew that if they were to tell, The Spaniard would just kill the both of them and escape. No. they had to survive. He looked at the clock. 7:15am. Maybe the Judge was an early riser. Maybe Dobey would be there already, getting the warrant. Maybe his partner wouldn’t have to deal with any more torture.

Chapter 13

The Spaniard regarded the pain wracked body and dropped the whip with a rattle onto the floor. Almost lazily he drew his finger down the length of one of the bloody welts decorating Starsky’s ass, grinning as he heard the subdued hiss of pain. Starsky’s fingers gripped the wooden legs of the punishment stool until the knuckles were quite white, but he refused to cry out. Flores continued to massage the bloody abraded skin, the nerves there hypersensitive and over stimulated. The brunet had almost forgotten the anal plug still buried inside his butt, but now it moved again under the ministrations of the probing fingers and he groaned, a low rasping sound.

Flores looked over at Hutch, who’d sat stiff and quiet, his lips white rimmed with the effort of not speaking. For to utter a word at the wrong time he knew, would bring his partner more punishment and pain.

‘Time for a different diversion I think. Do you enjoy men, Mr Hall, if that is your real name?’

Hutch glared back, but said nothing and The Spaniard pushed the plug deeper into Starsky’s body with his middle finger. The brunet’s body shook with the added sensation and another low hiss escaped him as his back arched, trying once more to get away from the probing finger.

‘No…no I don’t’ Hutch said quickly. ‘Just leave him alone huh? You’ve had your fun. Just leave him’.

‘My fun? Yeah, I suppose I have. Kinda tiring you know, doing all that. You know what they say – all work and no play…. Maybe it’s time for me to have some different sort of enjoyment. You came here as a Master, didn’t you? Well maybe now you should try out some of your skills’. He picked up the small semi automatic from the table. ‘Carlos, unfasten our guest. It’s time he was put to work’.

Carlos moved over and started to unbuckle the fastenings around Hutch’s arms and legs as Flores kept the gun leveled at Starsky’s head. ‘One false move and he’s dead’ the Spaniard warned. ‘I give you one last chance. What did you discover and who did you tell?’

Hutch wanted nothing more to happen to his partner, but at the same time he only needed to hold out another 45 minutes for the place to be busted wide open and them to have had a successful job.

‘Go fuck yourself’ he grunted.

‘No, no, my dear Mr Hall. It’s you who’ll be doing the fucking. Carlos, escort our friend over here’.

The big black man took hold of Hutch by the arm and hauled him to his feet, pushing him forward until he stood with Flores at the head of the small table to which his partner was bound. The Spaniard still had the gun trained on Starsky’s head as he told Carlos to drop Hutch’s fly. The blond stopped breathing, the sound of his own heart suddenly loud in is ears.

‘I’ve done all the hard work Mr Hall. Now it’s your turn. If you are, as you said you were, a Master, here with his slave, you won’t mind fucking your property, will you? Imposing your mark on your sub? Failure, of course, will indicate that the two of you have something to hide and that of course will mean I have to shoot him’ he dug the muzzle of the gun into the side of Starsky’s neck. The brunet tried to look up into Hutch’s face, but the confounded collar stopped him from raising his head to that degree

Hutch almost lost the contents of his stomach. What the hell was he supposed to do now? All the thoughts he’d ever had about wanting Starsky fled through the window. Yeah, sure he’d fantasized about making slow, passionate love to his partner but he’d never told Starsky that, was pretty sure that the feeling wasn’t reciprocated, and even if it was, he damned well didn’t want to start things in this room, in front of these two men accompanied by a Beretta.

But The Spaniard was insistent, and as he saw the look of bewilderment and confusion on the golden face in front of him, he thumbed the safety off the gun.

‘Gimme a minute’ Hutch heard himself say. ‘Ya can’t expect a man to get hard when there’s a gun floatin’ around in front of him.’ Just gimme a minute with my slave huh? He can’t go anywhere, an’ it looks like you got me covered too’. He raised his eyebrows at his captor, asking for understanding and the gun toting Spaniard backed away, licking his lips in anticipation, his gun still leveled and ready. The blond had a point. No use rushing things, he wanted a good show and they weren’t about to make a run for it. He waited.

Hutch bent down so that he was on eye level with Starsky, who met his eyes steadily. ‘What’re ya gonna do?’ the brunet asked quietly, his voice remarkably level, but raw and rasping.

‘We have forty minutes before Dobey’s expected. I don’t know what to do. He’s gonna shoot you for sure an’ I can’t let him do that’ Hutch whispered in a pained voice. Starsky saw the pain and indecision in Hutch’s crystal blue eyes. He’d thought recently about what it would be like to have Hutch as more than a friend, but Hutch had never ever given any display of wanting anything other than friendship. Coming into this freaking place had confused the hell out of the brunet and he knew his head was messed up. The idea of belonging to Hutch, either as a slave or a lover had seemed so comforting and erotic back then. But now, tied naked in front of his prospective lover with his ass full of solid rubber, the thought seemed preposterous. But he didn’t want to die, and he had the impression that if Hutch wasn’t to fuck him, either the Spaniard or even worse, Carlos, just might. He swallowed.

‘Just do what he says’ he whispered, locking his eyes onto Hutch’s and willing the taller man to understand and co-operate.

‘Starsk I don’t know if I can’.

‘It’s gonna be either you or one of them. An’ although this wouldn’t be my idea of fun, I’d prefer it to be you’.

‘You don’t know what you’re agreeing to’.

‘Blintz, just do it huh? Now, before I change my mind. I’d prefer you  to…ya know, to windin’ up dead. Been there before an’ it’s not sumthin I want to repeat’.

With a heavy sigh, Hutch straightened and looked at the Spaniard. He wasn’t going to make it easy. He’d do whatever it took to keep them both safe, but there would be no spontaneity.

Flores grinned wolfishly. ‘That was so touching. Master and slave together, and so much cozier than a public punishment. But we’ve had the corporal part. Now it’s time for you to exert a Master’s dominance. The stage is all yours Mr Hall. Gimme a show’ Flores brought the gun up again and pointed it directly at Starsky’s head.

Hutch closed his eyes. C’mon Hutchinson. You can do this. Just imagine you’re home an’ it’s quiet an’ warm an’ this is the man you love. He positioned himself in front of Starsky and pulled his cock from his pants, surprised that it was already semi erect, but he couldn’t bring himself to go any further. Suddenly a shot rang out next to his left foot.

‘Just a friendly warning’ Flores said. ‘Get on with it!’

Starsky closed his eyes as the rod of flesh came closer to him. He could do this. This was Hutch, the man he spent more time with than any other human being. We spend 75 per cent of the time together and you aren’t even a good kisser.

His head felt as though it were stuffed with cotton candy, the world receding to the sight of that cock coming slowly towards him. He was enveloped in the smell of Hutch’s sex, a sharp, musky, uniquely Hutch smell and suddenly this didn’t matter any more. The brunet knew how much it was costing Hutch to do this to him and in public, and it didn’t matter. Opening his eyes, he took a look at his target and hitched a breath. Fuck, it was huge. He’d never get all that in his mouth! Ok ok, one step at a time.

The warm flesh brushed his lips and he opened them, taking a preliminary taste of his partner. The skin was so soft, like silk or satin, the tip of Hutch’s cock rosy red, it’s single eye fixing him with a blinkless stare. He opened his mouth and felt Hutch push further in, hesitantly. He tried to send out thought waves to his partner. It’ll be ok buddy. Just relax. It’s just Me and Thee…no-one else here. Lemme do this ok?

Starsky’s tongue licked down the length of the long shaft, feeling it grow within his mouth. Shit he thought it was huge before. Was his partner a tripod? His jaw ached already, although he’d only been doing this for 30 seconds. It didn’t help that the edge of the collar dug into the back of his neck, stopping him from fully opening his jaw, but Hutch had put the collar on him, so instead of being a symbol of slavery, he imagined it as a present from a lover. The idea spurred him on and he felt a rush of unexpected pleasure as he heard an involuntary groan from above.

Hutch pushed himself forward, eyes closed. He’d never expected his partner to do this, and yet Starsky was trusting him, enveloping him in love and trust in this most intimate of acts and he felt a sudden rush of love. He pushed shyly at first further into the warm, wet cavern, feeling the brunet’s tongue start to move against him, hesitantly at first, flicking over the top of his cock and licking down the side. He set up a gentle rocking motion, beginning to fuck the mouth like he would a woman. With his eyes closed, he could almost forget that he was being coerced into this and that this was a man, his partner, and not some hot chick he’d picked up at the Pits. Losing himself in the rhythm, he thrust harder, hearing a guttural grunt from below him, and in the corner. The Spaniard started to stroke himself over the top of his pants.

Giving it another few minutes, Flores stepped forward and put his hand on Hutch’s arm. ‘Don’t get carried away, we have the finale to come’ he said. Hutch’s eyes flew open and he came back to his senses, pulling out of Starsky’s mouth with a quiet hiss. The brunet stopped, thankful for a break. Although it felt less alien than he’d thought (in fact he was embarrassed to say that he could maybe have enjoyed it under different circumstances) his jaw still ached with a vengeance and he wondered how women did this.

Flores pulled Hutch round to the back of the stool and started to unbuckle the thin leather belt. With strong fingers he took hold of the base of the plug and started to pull it out. Starsky’s body had contracted around it and despite it’s bulk it was as though he didn’t want to give the intruder up. The brunet groaned deeply, his toes scrabbling at the carpet. He felt as though his guts were being pulled out along with it, the suction holding onto the device tugging at his core. He couldn’t make his mind up which was more painful; - getting it in there to begin with or letting go at the end. Suddenly with a grotesque sucking noise, it came free and The Spaniard dropped it onto the carpet moving away so that Hutch could see the gaping hole it had come from.

Relieved that at least his partner had had some preparation, Hutch was still doubtful whether he could in fact fuck the man he’d worked alongside for over 10 years. He took up a stance behind the smaller man, his cock still erect and eager to be buried once again somewhere warm and tight and slowly, his eyes still on the gun aimed at Starsky’s head, he pushed himself forward.

Starsky tried to relax, preparing himself for the new invasion. At least the cock was warmer than the hard rubber plug had been, but it felt so much bigger and his muscles cramped reflexively at the thought of the huge cock drilling into him.

Hutch put his hand on Starsky’s back, gently stroking down the sweat sick skin as he attempted to sooth his partner. He didn’t want this to be a rape. He wanted this to be a something better, even if they had an audience.

He pushed harder, feeling the resistance as he worked through the ring of puckered skin and encountered the muscle behind it. He waited a moment, the hand on Starsky’s back stroking gently and firmly down the ridge of his spine before he reached forward and put his hands on the stiff leather collar – a silent signal. This is it partner, brace yourself.

Starsky tried to relax, taking a deep breath and letting it out as he felt Hutch push more firmly, feeling the rod of flesh seat itself more solidly inside him. And suddenly the sphincter gave way with a knife like pain. The brunet raised his head. ‘Oh sweet Jesus, fuck!’ he heard himself moan before Hutch continued to push further into him.

Now that the initial pain had gone he felt an overwhelming feeling of fullness and a dull ache in his guts, as well as some cramping. He wanted to tell Hutch to wait until he could get used to the feelings, but the blond wanted this over with as fast as he could and started to pump faster and faster into the tight canal, his hands now on his partner’s hips as he lost himself in the increasing rhythm.

Starsky bit back the cries that were being forced from his lips. It hurt. It hurt so badly and yet he was thankful that this was Hutch and not some other stranger. He tried to keep quiet to make it easier for the blond, but Hutch was reaching his climax and as Starsky clawed at the wooden legs of the stool, he felt the flesh inside him turn to granite and the odd sensation of fluid boiling in his guts as Hutch shot his load deep inside his body.

The blond collapsed against his back as Flores in turn creamed his pants…..Carlos looked on, a dazed look on his face as suddenly there was the sound of shots from the floor below and a bellow of “Freeze, Police!”

Chapter 14

Carlos ran for the door as The Spaniard looked around sharply at the sudden noise downstairs. The split second of distraction was all it took for Hutch to launch himself at the big man and knock the gun from his hand. Starsky watched helplessly as Hutch and Flores rolled over and over on the floor. But the blond had the element of surprise on his side and managed to gain the upper hand, eventually kneeling over the body of his antagonist and driving his strong fist into the Spaniard’s face, snapping his head sideways. Another blow from the other side matched the first and despite that the light of consciousness had left the deep brown eyes, Hutch continued to pummel the man until the features were bruised and bloody and beginning to swell. And still he hammered away at him, lost in his frenzy, taking out all his pain and guilt on that one man.

‘Hutch?’

The flaxen haired cop seemed not to hear and Starsky tried again.

‘Hutch…..he’s not fightin’ back. Ya can stop now’.

Hutch drew back his fist again, his knuckled bloody and bruised.

‘Blintz. Stop. C’mon buddy, stop huh? HUTCH’.

Slowly the voice penetrated the red haze surrounding him and Hutch dropped the unconscious form down to the ground, standing unsteadily and panting with exertion.

The voices were coming up the stairs now and he heard Carlos yelling that he was unarmed and he’d come quietly. Hutch ran to the door and saw Dobey spearheading the group coming along the corridor. He looked back at his partner and walked into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

‘We got here as fast as we could. Are you ok?’ the Captain asked, seeing the bloody knuckles, the sweat stained shirt and the abrasions round the blond’s wrists. ‘Where’s Starsky?’

‘He’s ok Cap’n. We um….we have The Spaniard. Can ya give me ten minutes huh? Don’t ask why, just….we’ll bring him down to the black ‘n’ whites. Can I have your Cuffs?’.

Dobey looked curiously at his man, but said nothing, merely nodding as he handed the metal bracelets to Hutch and turned away. ‘You know where I am if you need me’ he said as he walked back down the corridor.

Hutch silently thanked his lucky stars for having the type of boss who asked few questions. Quickly e went back inside the room and closed and locked the door behind him. There was no way on God’s green earth that he wanted anyone else to see his partner in such a condition. He doubted that Starsky would ever talk to him again after what he’d done to him.

Moving quickly he cuffed the still unconscious Spaniard, then bent to unfasten the cuffs from around Starsky’s wrists and ankles. The skin was bloody and grazed and there was some swelling. Starsky himself seemed only semi conscious now, the pain and emotion of the past 24 hours having finally taken their toll on him. His head rested against the suede top of the stool, his eyes almost closed. Hutch walked around behind him to get to the other side and winced as he saw the still bleeding welts and the blood stained fluid oozing down the brunet’s leg from the gaping anus.

Completing the task of untying his partner, Hutch took the curly head gently in his hands and lifted it slightly.

‘Starsk?’ he asked softly

‘Hmm?….yeah. M’here’.

‘C’mon buddy, d’ya think you can sit up? It’s all over now’ he helped the brunet to straighten, trying hard to ignore the trembling in Starsky’s arms and the soft hiss as the whip marks came into contact with the hard surface of the stool. He tried to stand, stumbled and made a dive for the table, holding on to it as the room spun around him.

‘Are you ok?’ Hutch asked, cursing himself for such a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t ok. He’d just been whipped and fucked. Go figure!

‘Yeah…t’riffic….just dizzy. Gimme a minute huh? And um….find my pants?’

‘You need to go to the hospital buddy. You’re bleeding’.

‘Oh no. No way. There aint no force on earth gonna make me go to hospital Hutch. Just find me something to wear an’ take me home’.

‘But you’re bleeding’.

‘An’ whose fault’s that?’ the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself and although he’d meant that he was bleeding from the whip, he knew Hutch would take the other meaning. He saw Hutch’s face become a mask of pain and anguish and he wanted to take his friend and kiss away the hurt there and then. But now was not the time or the place.

Hutch felt as though his world had just dissolved from around him. He felt the words like physical blows and he couldn’t blame the brunet for saying them. He should have been stranger. He should have found some other way. He busied himself trying to find something to cover his partner with and delved into a small bathroom off the office, emerging moments later with a black terry towel robe. He handed it to Starsky without meeting the indigo eyes.

‘Sorry. That’s all I could find’ he said quietly.

‘That’s ok, thanks. Don’t think I could handle pants just yet anyways’.

Again, the blond flinched as tough he’d been hit and Starsky turned away. He was too tired and sore to have to deal with this now. He wanted out of this fucking crazy place. He wanted to be home, wrapped in warm blankets and being cared for. He wanted chicken soup, soft pillows and….he wanted Hutch to be with him.

He put the thick towel robe on, hissing softly as the soft material grazed his abraded backside and turned back to his partner.

‘Just get us outa here huh? Somewhere where the other guys don’t have to ask too many questions’.

Chapter 15

Hutch sat in Starsky’s living room, head in hands. They’d been home almost an hour now after he’d managed to smuggle his partner out of a back door and into Dobey’s car. He’d squared it with his Captain saying they’d file a full report in the morning, but right now Starsky was sick and needed to get home. Dobey had been wise enough not to ask too many questions and had given Hutch the keys to his car saying he’d get a lift with one of the others and they could return his vehicle in the morning.

After that, he’d managed to steer his exhausted partner out to the car and had helped him onto the back seat where he could lie full length, his butt making it impossible for him to sit down. And then Hutch had slipped behind the drivers wheel and driven them back to Starsky’s apartment in virtual silence. He’d waited outside the front door, sure that the brunet wouldn’t ever want to see him again, but instead, Starsky had struggled to get out of the car, then looked expectantly through the window.

‘Problem?’

‘Huh?’

‘Aren’t ya coming up?’

‘Um….I…. are you sure?’

Starsky gave him a look, then smiled. ‘I need some help buddy’.

Slowly Hutch got out of the car and followed his partner’s weary process up the steps. They closed the door on the outside world and Starsky went to check there was enough hot water for a shower.

‘Do you wanna go first?’ he asked.

‘Um…I should go’.

‘Go? Why?’ Starsky asked uncertainly. Oh my God, he hates me coz he had to do that. I should have stopped it somehow. I should have been more careful. I should never have got caught in the first place. I should’a ticked Master instead of sub on the questionnaire.

‘I um….doesn’t matter. Go ahead, take your shower. You need to get clean’.

Hutch watched as Starsky closed the door on the bathroom and suddenly he was alone with his thoughts.

How can he act like that? As though I did him some kind of favor. I fucked him for God’s sake. An’ even worse, in some weird way I got off on it. Shit! It’ll never be the same again. Maybe I should leave town. Maybe he’ll just tell Dobey we shouldn’t work together no more. Fuck! Why the hell did it have to happen like that? Things were fine before. Well…maybe not fine. You couldn’t bear to be in the same room as him an’ not want him. Well Hutchinson, you got your sick little wish didn’t ya?’

Head in hands. Hutch closed his eyes and waited. But as the moments went on, the tension in him became too great and finally, just as he heard the shower switching off, he rose to his feet, headed for the door and without a backwards glance walked out of his partner’s apartment, got into the car and drove home, his head in a whirl.

Starsky came out of the bathroom a few minutes later and was staggered to find that Hutch had gone. The blond had never just taken off on him before and it confirmed Starsky’s worst fear. Hutch could no longer bear to be in the same room as him. Fuck! Not even in the same house. The brunet padded into his kitchen, fumbled about at the back of his cupboard and brought out a bottle of bourbon. He poured himself an inch into a glass and knocked it back in one, feeling the welcome burn of the firewater on the back of his throat.

Going into his bedroom, he tried to get dressed, but even his softest jeans were too restrictive around his sensitive butt and finally he settled for his one and only pair of looser fitting black cargo pants and a blue tee shirt.

Wandering back into the living room, he tried to sit down, hissed and instead flung himself belly down on his sofa. Closing his eyes, he wondered what it would have been like if things had been different. If they hadn’t been forced into that position.

In the very brief time he’d been at the club, Starsky had fantasized about how it would be to have Hutch as a lover. Or more to the point, not just a lover, but a Master. Not the cruel punishing type, but the type who would love him and care for him and cherish him. He’d even imagined, for a few moments what it would feel like to have Hutch’s mouth on his, Hutch’s body close to his and how it might feel to make love to the man.

Maybe if this had never have happened he’d never have known, and even though he’d been hurt and there had been a gun wielding sadist in the room with them, for just a few precious moments, he’d enjoyed having Hutch there, lover and Master.

Starsky sighed and shook his head at his feverish thoughts. This shouldn’t be, and yet, if Hutch hadn’t wanted it just a little bit, he’d never have got it up….would he? Was there something there? Some feelings? Or was it his fevered imagination running wild? And yet, what other man would massage and kneed his male friends’ heeling body, cosseting him as Hutch had cosseted Starsky after Gunther?

The brunet was never one for procrastination. Despite the fact that he was exhausted and his body hurt more than he could remember in a long time, he needed to know once and for all what was going on. If Hutch told him to fuck off and never come near him again, he’d take it. He would probably break his heart, but he loved the man enough to honour the blond’s wishes. But whatever Hutch wanted, there was no way that Starsky could rest, or heel, without knowing one way or the other.

Prizing himself off the sofa, he snagged his car keys from the table by the door and walked stiffly out to the car, then thought better of it and walked back inside. Instead he picked up the telephone and punched in the numbers he knew by heart. With his heart hammering away behind his breastbone he heard the phone at the other end ring. Once, twice, three times. Maybe Hutch wasn’t home yet. Maybe he wasn’t going to answer. Starsky was just about to put the phone down, when he heard the other end pick up.

‘H’lo’

‘Hutch?’

‘Yeah’ the voice sounded weary and empty.

‘Why did ya go? Are you ok buddy? Are you hurt?’ Starsky asked.

Hutch smiled at the concern in the voice, his eyes closed as he felt absurdly like crying.

‘No. M’ok. I just wanted to….I just….’.

‘Hutch, we need to talk’ Starsky said.

Straight to the point. That’s my partner, Hutch thought. ‘About?’

‘Don’t play the fool. This is too important. About what went on. About us’.

‘There’s nothing to say. It was a job. We did what we had to do and….’

‘That’s not it, an’ you know it Blondie. We need to talk about what went on….between us. Coz it’s confusing the hell outa me’.

‘Don’t’.

‘Don’t what?’ Starsky persisted. ‘Don’t ask how you are? Don’t ask about what you felt….what you are feelin’? I can’t do that Hutch. I need to talk, an’ I think you do too’.

‘Just leave it Starsky. I’m tired an’ this isn’t the sort of thing to discuss over the phone’.

‘No? Well you should’a thought of that before your ran away’.

‘I didn’t run away’.

‘Yeah, you did. You ran away coz you wouldn’t talk about your feelings. Well I will’.

Hutch gripped the phone in desperation. This was it. Starsky was going to tell him that he never wanted to see him again. He almost wanted to put the phone down; to never hear the cruel words. But instead he steeled himself.

‘Fine. What d’ya wanna say?’ he asked, his voice flat and empty.

‘God you don’t make things easy do ya?’ Starsky grunted. ‘I need to come round to discuss’.

‘What? Discuss what? That I fucked ya and maybe I enjoyed it?’ Hutch’s composure broke and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

But equally Starsky was in full flow now and he yelled back down the phone ‘No, discuss that I think I love ya, you dumb ass’ and put the phone down.

Hutch stared at the receiver, his eyes wide. Had he just heard right? Had his partner just said that he loved him? Oh. My. God!

A few miles away, the brunet too was sitting staring at his own phone. Hutch had just sad that he might have enjoyed, in some weird way, that he’d fucked him. Shit!

Gathering his keys again. Starsky walked in a daze to the door. Slowly he stepped down the steps and got uncomfortably behind the wheel of his car hissing as his derriere made contact with the seat  Automatically he turned on the engine, his body hurting more with every movement, but he was determined to get to Hutch’s house. He drove mechanically, still unsure exactly what he’d heard down the phone. He’d been so convinced that Hutch would hate him; that the fantastically close friendship they had over the years would finally be at an end. And then to be told that Hutch didn’t hate him. That the act they’d been forced to take part in hadn’t been completely abhorrent.

Minutes later he pulled up outside Venice Place and slowly and painfully got out of the car. He took the steps slowly and at the top of the flight stopped a second to get his breath.  He knocked on the door and a moment later Hutch opened it.

Starsky stepped inside and the blond stood awkwardly to one side.

‘Did I hear you right? That in some way you might not have found it the worst experience in the world? Starsky asked.

‘I’d have preferred that we didn’t have an audience and a Beretta present, but no, I…um….kinda liked it’ Hutch said, his eyes downcast and a bright red flush on his cheeks. ‘Does that make me a pervert?’

Starsky gently put his hand up to the golden face and lifted Hutch’s chin so that he could look into those beautiful blue eyes.

‘Only if I’m one too. I love ya, ya dope. Have done for years, but it never registered before now, and I would’a been afraid to tell ya anyway’.

Hutch’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I’ve loved you for so long. But I couldn’t tell you. You were always so….dunno…into the chicks. I thought if I told ya that you’d go away’.

‘So you kept it to yourself. Aww babe!’

‘I couldn’t risk losing you. That would have been even worse than you never knowing’ Hutch said, his voice cracking. ‘But when I saw you at the club and you were so damned hot. Dressed as a slave. But you were so damned sure of yourself. No way would anyone break you. Jeez Starsk, you have no idea what you do to me. I just wanted you, there and then. Not like they made us do. Not like that at all. Slowly, tenderly. I wanted your body to be mine, for me to take whenever I wanted, whenever I wanted it.

Hutch’s jaw dropped as Starsky fell to his knees in front of him. Straight backed, his hands palm up on his thighs and his head held high, but eyes downcast, he remained still until he felt Hutch’s fingers carding through his hair.

‘You’re the only one I ever want….Master, lover….whatever. I’m yours if you want me’.

Hutch dropped to his knees in front of the curly haired cop, awed at the composure of the smaller man. Hesitantly, he placed his hands either side of Starsky’s face and drew him closer until their lips barely brushed. He could feel the brunet’s warm breath on him and he opened his mouth just as Starsky did. Their lips touched, hesitantly at first and then more passionately as years of pent up feelings poured out in that one first contact. It was more enervating than any kiss either had had before; more close; more intimate; the feelings conveyed in that single touch more expressive than a million words. And slowly they broke apart, gazing into each other’s eyes, slightly breathless.

Starsky winced and moved his body slightly, the pains returning full force.

‘Sorry to break the moment, but I need to get up’.

Hutch stood and helped the smaller man to his feet. ‘You need to get out of those clothes’.

Starsky turned, his trademark cheeky grin plastered over his face as he winked at his partner. ‘Jeez, you’re my lover for less than half a hour and already you want me naked! Such romance Mr Hutchinson. Just don’t forget, I’m injured. Be gentle with me’.

‘Get in the bedroom now and strip. I’ll show you what romance is’ Hutch said sternly his voice shaking with emotion and happiness. He longed to sooth those hurts away again, to kiss the wheals and run a gentle hand over Starsky’s body. He smiled to himself and slowly he followed his partner into the room and closed the door on the rest of the world.

END

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