A Christmas Cabin

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Master Starsky shows sub Hutch his idea of a BDSM Christmas Eve.

 

This is a Christmas Eve story that I posted to my LJ. Hope you enjoy.

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Hutch stood on the steps of the parking garage entrance at Parker Center. He scanned the area. Where the hell was Starsky? Hutch couldn’t see the Striped Tomato anywhere. His partner had taken off over half hour ago, leaving Hutch to tidy their desks alone. Dobey insisted that all detectives who would be on vacation over the holiday period left their work areas clean.

This year was Starsky and Hutch’s turn. It was two in the afternoon on Christmas Eve and they didn’t return to duty until the twenty seventh.

“Hey. Hutch. Over here.”

Hutch turned to see Starsky waving madly over the top of a row of black and whites. Hutch jogged to the back of the garage. “Why’re you parked all the way back here?”

“‘Cause I didn’t want to be seen driving this heap,” Starsky said pointing at Hutch’s beater.

“And why are you driving my car?” Hutch asked. Although they ragged each other about their choice in cars, it still stung a little every time Starsky called Hutch’s car a heap. He reminded himself that a car was a means of transport, not a babe magnet. Not that Starsky had any babes in the Tomato these days.

“Would you care to share what’s put that smirk on your face?” Starsky asked, looking a little puzzled.

“Nothing,” Hutch teased. He would tell Starsky later. “You haven’t answered my question.” He walked past Starsky, grabbing the car keys from his hand. “I’ll drive.”

“You don’t know where we are going,” Starsky pointed out.

“Then tell me. I would love to know why you disappeared and left me to do all the dirty work.” He glared at Starsky. “Then come back driving my car and complaining about it.”

“I thought we could spend Christmas Eve at the cabin.” Starsky gave Hutch a knowing look. “And we can’t take my cah over that terrain. It kills her suspension. Yours is shot anyway.”

Starsky and Hutch had purchased a small secluded cabin in the San Gabriel Mountains earlier in the year. Hutch had stumbled across it one day during one of his solitude hikes. After much investigation, he found out it belonged to a man who used it for hunting but he was too ill to manage the trip up there these days. He was happy to sell it for a reasonable price to someone who loved the outdoors as much as he did.

Hutch grinned. “Sounds like a plan. We need to be back tomorrow evening for Huggy’s big Christmas Day bash.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine, waiting patiently for Starsky to settle into the passenger seat.

“We will. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Even Dobey’s gracing it with his presence.” Starsky raised his eyebrows in wonderment.

“Of course he is. Huggy’s parties are legendary.” Hutch eased out of the tight parking space. “We need to get some supplies before we set off.”

“All done. What do you think I’ve been doing?” Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s knee and squeezed tight. “I have everything we need in the trunk.”
Hutch groaned. “Why does that not fill me with confidence,” he said good naturedly, navigating the car through the early holiday traffic.

Very soon, they left the hum of the city behind and Hutch coaxed the car up the Angeles Crest Highway, or State Route Two for people who prefer using numbers all day. Which Hutch did not. Concentrating on the road, he swung up the dirt track that wound toward their property. He grimaced when the car dipped into a pothole and an agonized metallic screech tore through the silent air. “Shit. I misjudge that every time. It’s a wonder the car still has a bottom.”

“That’s why my cah never comes up here,” said Starsky smugly. “We should get a truck for these trips. I keep saying.”

“Yes, Starsky. I know you do,” Hutch said, a little irritated by Starsky’s smugness and his own annoyance at once again hitting the wrong spot in the road. “And as I keep saying, where would we keep a truck? Neither of our places has the space.”

“We could use Huggy’s back lot.”

“We don’t have the time to come up here enough to justify spending unnecessary cash on a luxury vehicle,” Hutch admonished. “Having to run two apartments and two cars to keep our secret drains the money pot each month.” Buying the cabin had taken all their joint savings. Replacing the cash was harder than spending it.

“Yes, Father. I get the message.” Starsky’s light tone showed that he wasn’t in the least bit bothered by Hutch’s financial lecture.

Hutch nudged his car through the narrow gap in the trees surrounding the cabin. The location was perfect for their clandestine lifestyle. They could play without too much worry of discovery. He pulled into the clearing that was just wide enough to park one vehicle. A two foot wide pathway circled the building.

Starsky jumped out almost before Hutch had stopped the car. “I’ll unpack the car and you kick old genny into action.”

Hutch walked around to the back of the cabin where the old generator was located. Starsky had wanted to get a modern one. But Hutch insisted that it worked fine, so why get a new one? From that time on, Starsky had allocated the job of maintaining genny to Hutch. After checking that there was enough gasoline in the tank, Hutch flicked the on switch and nothing. After three attempts, she finally sputtered into life. Replacement might be a necessity soon. Hutch mentally noted that he needed to check out how much a new generator cost when he got back to Bay City.

“There’s still life in the old girl yet,” Starsky shouted from the kitchen area when Hutch walked through the door.

“Yep. Not sure how much longer she will last.” Hutch stood in the doorway watching Starsky stow food into the refrigerator and cupboard. The counter was strangely defunct of fare. “We’re not eating yet?”

“Did you eat the mushroom burger from the cafeteria that I left on your desk before we left?” asked Starsky.

Hutch made a face. “Yes. I wish Doris would take some vegetarian cooking lessons. It was so dry that my mouth felt like the inside of a bird cage afterwards.” He sat down on the overstuffed couch. “You could have gotten some relish on it. Made it more palatable.” Obviously, Starsky had something in mind and that was probably the last food Hutch was going to get for a while. Many times during their games, Hutch had thanked the fates that he was used to fasting. Starsky always made sure that Hutch ate before they started, but once in the swing of things, Starsky liked to play long and hard.

“I did ask. You know Doris.” Starsky cast his eyes down the length of Hutch’s body. “Why are you still dressed? What are the cabin rules?” he demanded in his Master voice.

Taken back that he had forgotten, Hutch jumped immediately to attention. “I leave my normal life at the door. Clothing and speech is only allowed with your permission. I’m sorry, Master.”

Starsky’s expression softened. “That’s okay. I’ll overlook your subordination this once. It’s our first Christmas here and I want it to be a happy memory.” He glanced at the door. “Get naked, slave,” he said lovingly.

“Yes, Master.” Hutch eagerly complied with Starsky’s order, neatly piling his clothes and shoes into the chest next to the door. Hutch tensed against the chilly air. Thankfully, the kerosene heater would warm the place quickly. It had been bought specifically because it had the capacity to heat large spaces. Hutch knelt on the small rug in front of the chest with his arms by his sides, hands palms up on the floor and head bowed. That was his appointed waiting position. The swipe of a zipper being pulled down broke the blanket of silence. Hutch embraced the sound and shivered with excitement. That was Starsky’s travel dungeon–it was actually Starsky’s old army duffel bag. The bag was so large that it held an impossible amount of equipment. The more Starsky packed in, the more it seemed to take.

Starsky’s boots and tucked in jeans appeared at Hutch’s eye level. Hutch almost burst out laughing, but checked himself in time. Starsky never entered the wilderness without first tucking his pant legs into either boots or sock tops. And he never got naked when Hutch was restrained.
Starsky ran his fingers through Hutch’s hair, tickling the nape of his neck. “Head up, Babe.” he whispered directly into Hutch’s ear.

Goosebumps traversed Hutch’s skin. A quiver rippled down his spine. He raised his head, resting his eyes on the white leather collar in Starsky’s hand. Hutch hadn’t expected a session on Christmas Eve, but he was glad that Starsky had made the decision. Hutch rocked forward and Starsky buckled his ownership around Hutch’s neck. He experienced the usual shift in his demeanor: Hutch the cop was gone, and Hutch the slave–the very willing slave–was born. He averted his eyes to the ground.

“Arms.” Starsky secured the red leather cuffs around the wrists of Hutch’s outstretched arms. “Stand.”

Hutch got to his feet. He loved it when Starsky used one word commands. The crisp way that Starsky bit the words off fuelled Hutch’s rush of adrenaline. He imagined being out in the jungle with Starsky as his Sergeant. The men in his unit must have felt very safe with such a confident leader.

Starsky fastened matching cuffs around Hutch’s ankles. “Middle.”

Hutch didn’t need any more instruction. Middle meant the middle post of the three that spanned the center of the cabin and held up the main joists and rafters of the roof. They were smoothed and polished tree trunks. Starsky liked to pretend he was tying Hutch to an outside tree. Outside bondage was something they hadn’t tried yet. The danger of someone happening along was too high to risk, even in this remote spot. Hutch took a step over to the indicated upright.

Starsky pulled his duffel bag of tricks closer to the center of the room. The clinking of chain accompanied his move. He held up a thick length with a clip on one end and clipped the D rings on Hutch’s wrist cuffs together. Keeping a firm grip on the chain, he dragged over a wooden chair and climbed onto it. “Up,” he said, yanking on the chain.

Hutch raised his arms over his head. Anticipation at Starsky’s next moves clawed at his chest, tightening his gut into a knot. It was strange being able to watch Starsky prepare his captivity. Usually, Starsky favored some kind of blindfold. Starsky had told Hutch early on in their play that he liked to observe Hutch’s uninhibited writhing when he touched Hutch’s body. Being able to see where Starsky was going to touch lessened the anticipation, according to Starsky. Hutch had replied that nothing could diminish the electricity that ran through his body whenever Starsky was near him.

Starsky threw the chain over the joist, hauling Hutch’s arms up inch by inch.

Hutch stretched his body with every tug. When he felt like his spine couldn’t get any longer, he eased up onto his toes, grunting.
Starsky stopped. “You okay?”

“On my toes, Master,” Hutch gasped. Any further and he would be hanging.

“That’s far enough.” Starsky secured the chain to the top of the joist. There were various nails and hooks driven along the length of the beam for the sole purpose of restraining Hutch wherever Starsky desired.

The cabin was sturdily built. During their first trip, Starsky and Hutch explored and tested the interior fixtures and fittings for bondage suitability. Stability and strength had been added to any weak spots when they came up on a second trip.

Starsky jumped down from the chair. “Wish I’d gotten myself a shorter slave,” he joked.

Hutch clutched the chain in his fists, alleviating the pressure on his toes and smiled. He could feel the love radiating from every pore in Starsky’s body. Hutch was aware of how much effort and energy it took Starsky to suspend Hutch’s tall frame. The two inches in height and the difference in arm length meant that Starsky had to compensate by climbing on whatever piece of furniture was available. A set of four lightweight, albeit strong, wooden chairs had been purchased for the cabin with this alternative use in mind.

Starsky procured a length of rope from his bag. “I am giving you permission to talk. If anything hurts, tell me.” He looped the rope around Hutch’s torso, just below his nipples, and the column. Leaving uneven lengths, Starsky tied a knot just behind Hutch’s back. He took the longest end and danced maypole style around the suspended Hutch, trapping him in coils of rope. Obviously happy that Hutch was well and truly trussed, he fastened the two loose ends together. “Not too tight, is it?”

Hutch wiggled around. “No.” He was comfortably anchored just under his chest to the post.

Starsky grabbed another rope. He circled the cord around Hutch’s hips, right above his genitals. Displaying fancy foot work, Starsky pinned Hutch to the pillar and secured the knot to one side.

He gazed up at Hutch, pure lust on his face. “God, you are so mesmerizing. All long and sinewy. A human totem pole.” He stroked his fingertips down Hutch’s length from sternum to thighs. “Having fun, are we?” Starsky licked Hutch’s hard cock and tweaked his nipples.

“Ahhh.” Hutch hitched a breath. Desire sparkled from his nipples to cock and back again. “Yes, yes,” he moaned.

Starsky ceased his suckling. “No.” He pinched the base of Hutch’s pulsating erection. “No,” he reiterated.

“Please,” Hutch requested. He tried thrusting his hips forward. Starsky’s lips were millimeters from Hutch’s penis. His pelvis stayed maddeningly in place, his butt cheeks parted by the wood pressed against his ass. He lifted his leg.

Starsky laughed. “The restraints are working well,” he declared, skipping out of reach.

“Guess so,” Hutch conceded. Normally, Starsky would have disciplined him for kicking out at his Master. Hutch quickly realized that the usual constraints of their sessions had been relaxed somewhat for the festive season.

Starsky produced a metal spreader bar. “Feet.” He bent down and clipped short chains to each ankle ring and then to the bar.

Hutch’s feet spread apart and left the ground. His wrists and body bindings bore his weight. Hutch flexed his stiff toes.

Starsky hammered something into the bottom of the post. “Crampons,” he told Hutch. “You’re gonna be there a long time so I want to make you comfortable.” He hoisted the spreader bar onto the supports, twisting it so that the ring fittings were on top. The chains were just long enough for him to maneuver Hutch’s feet onto the bar.

Hutch took some of his weight on his legs. “How long?” he finally asked. Another show of insubordination was ignored.

Starsky shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t have to leave until mid afternoon tomorrow.” He offered no further indication of time.

“Oh.” Hutch absorbed the implications of being bound like a ships masthead for the next eighteen hours at most. With his body lashed to the pole and the bar taking the rest of his weight, the stress and strain on his muscles was almost non existent. Hutch figured that he could easily stay like this for a long period. The only problem might be his shoulders seizing up, and he was sure that Starsky would release his wrists for a while if he asked him nicely.

“You want a drink before I move onto my next job?” Starsky asked. He snagged a glass of chilled water from the refrigerator, dropping in a straw. He reached up, pushing the straw in Hutch’s mouth. “Not too much,” Starsky advised. “You’ll have to pee in a bottle when you need to go.”

Hutch sucked a few mouthfuls, then flicked the straw away with his tongue. Damn. He hadn’t thought about the logistics of his toilet needs. Food he could do without. Liquid was essential for everyone. He usually drank one or two gallons throughout the day.

“Hey, don’t worry.” Starsky had obviously seen the shock register on Hutch’s face. “I’ve got a real hospital urinal for you to use.”

“Thanks.” Starsky must have been planning this for a while. He put so much effort in making every session unique, fulfilling and completely safe for Hutch. Their last play had been more than two months ago. Days off were very rare once the holiday season hit. More crimes were committed between Thanksgiving and Christmas than the rest of the year. Robbery statistics went through the roof. Crimes of passion escalated along with the stress of money worries. Even child abuse seemed to increase with the heightened stretches on the family finances.

Starsky put the half full glass on the counter next to the large round nosed scissors. He kept the scissors close by when Hutch was restrained just in case Hutch needed to be freed quickly.

“And your next job is?” Hutch asked out of curiosity. Knowing Starsky, it probably had something to do with food. Hutch shifted his position as much as he possibly could, and that wasn’t much at all.

“I’ll give you a clue.” Starsky grinned. “It’s my favorite Christmas ritual.” He downed the rest of the water. “What I’d give for a beer right now.” One of the main rules of bondage was no alcohol for any player. It was the one part that they both missed. But the sexual rush replaced the drunken high of alcohol.

“You and me both,” agreed Hutch. He mentally ran through a list of Christmassy activities. Food shopping, eating, presents, decorating the apartment. He snickered. “Decorating the tree,” he announced triumphantly.

Starsky put his finger on the tip of his nose. “Well done, that man,” he said in a mock English accent. “Got it in one.”

Hutch visually searched the room. “You are not going to tell me that you have a tree in that thing, are you?” He nodded at the green bag.

“Nope,” replied Starsky, plucking out the decorations. “You, my golden one, are my human Christmas tree. Instead of sitting on top, the angel is the tree,” he said in all seriousness.

Hutch guffawed. “You are putting me on, David Michael Starsky.” Starsky’s impish expression told Hutch that he was not. “Okay, do your worst,” he said, calling Starsky’s bluff.

“I, dear boy, intend to do my utmost best,” Starsky said pompously. “You will be the prettiest tree this side of our great country.” He gathered together a handful of green tinsel, tossing most of it onto his shoulder, except for one piece. He deftly weaved a length of tinsel through Hutch’s chest ropes. Another was similarly joined with the hip ties.

Hutch giggled. “It tickles.” Every time Starsky breathed out, bits of tinsel brushed against Hutch’s nipples and very sensitive cock.

Two longer lengths were wrapped around each of Hutch’s legs, starting with one end taped just below his groin and the other end tucked into the ankle cuff. Dragging the chair around in front, Starsky climbed up and performed the same tinsel wrap on Hutch’s arms. “That’s the greenery taken care of. Now for the ornaments.” Starsky jumped down and collected red and white balls from the floor.

Hutch stared with interest at the different sized spheres dangling from Starsky’s hands. A largish white one was tied to the ring on Hutch’s collar. Red ones were suspended from the chest rope to hang down each side under his armpits. White ones were strung from his hips in line with the red ones.

“Still think I’m putting you on?” Starsky crouched down, concealing something in his fists.

“No.” Hutch laughed. “I just think you are crazy. Just when I think that your schemes can’t get any more insane, you throw me a curve ball.” How he loved life with this insanely creative and childish partner of his. There had never been a dull moment when they were best friends, but now they were lovers, Hutch had no idea what plan Starsky would dream up next. In their work, he was totally in sync with Starsky. He read every move, idea and task perfectly. But in the sanctity of home life, he had been rendered clueless.

Starsky stood up and tweaked Hutch’s nipples.

Hutch realized that the pressure didn’t leave when Starsky moved his hands. He looked down at clip-on, flashing Santa’s head earrings adorning his nubs. The squeeze was gentler than nipple clamps, but still detectable. An invisible string tightened across his chest, joining the two points into one long tingle.

Starsky stepped back and admired his handiwork. “Very nice. Almost there,” he said in a hushed voice that was louder than a whisper.

Hutch stared in disbelief at Starsky. “What else can there be?” He’d been tinseled, ornamented and his nipple decoration flashed. Yes, he was Starsky’s Christmas tree all right. A intense rush of love for Starsky welled inside of Hutch. He felt very privileged to be on the receiving end of such adoration.

“Star on top of the tree,” Starsky said very matter-of-factly. Holding a large star, he climbed onto the chair and tied the star to the chain just above Hutch’s fingers.

Hutch inclined his head to examine the star. Positioned so that it completely covered his hands, ‘catch a falling star’ took on a new meaning. Hutch shook his head. He was becoming as crazy as Starsky. However, he liked the nonsense that flitted into his head when he least expected it. He was learning to take life less seriously at last.

A thud brought Hutch back to the here and now.

Starsky was crawling around on the floor.

“Whatcha doing now?” Hutch couldn’t quite see below his feet.

“Lights.” Starsky turned out the overhead light. Suddenly Hutch was bathed in a yellow glow. “Can’t have a tree without lights. I’ve coiled the strands of lights beneath your feet.”

Hutch was glad that the cabin had wooden flooring. The only rug was the one he used for kneeling by the door. “Feel like I am about to burned at the stake,” he quipped. There was a definite surreal mood washing over him.

“Looks like it, too.” Starsky dug back in his bag. “Maybe I should call you Joan from now on,” his muffled tease just reached Hutch’s ears.
“Don’t you dare.” Hutch rattled his chain. “This it?” Hutch asked half-heartedly. He was lapping up all the attention Starsky was lavishing on him. It was the most unconventional bondage yet, but also the most fun. He wished that he could ask Starsky to take a photo of him, but that would be too risky. It would be disastrous if it fell into the wrong hands. One of Hutch’s regrets was the fact that he rarely got to see his body in the wonderful visions that Starsky saw and gifted to him.

“I can burn it once it’s been developed and you’ve seen it,” Starsky said reading Hutch’s mind. “I picked up one of those Polaroid SX-70s in the pawn shop. It’s in my duffel.”

“That would be fantastic. What a good idea.” Hutch frowned. “Why didn’t I think of getting one of those cameras?”

“‘Cause you’re not always the brains of this outfit, schweetheart.” Starsky did his best Bogart impersonation. “To answer your question. No, I’m not finished yet. Just one more thing.” Starsky held up a square package.

“Presents.” Hutch nodded. Starsky couldn’t have a tree without presents scattered around the base.

“One present. The rest are at your apartment.” Starsky placed the red and white parcel on the chair and advanced on Hutch. He pinched hard at the root of Hutch’s prick.

“Oww,” Hutch winced. His erection softened quicker than soft serve in the summer. Before he had a chance to complain, Starsky had cock and ball rings wedged on Hutch’s genitals. “Starsk!”

“Shh. You’ll be more comfortable with less of a boner.” Starsky picked up the box, taking off the lid.

Hutch peered into the box. Under the wrapping paper, the box was made of plastic. “It’s empty!” he said, puzzled. Then he noticed that the red paper was only around three sides.

Starsky pulled at the two shorter sides of the box. One of the long sides split apart, the other was held together with a hinge that Hutch hadn’t seen under the paper.

Hutch was surprised to see a semi-circle in each half. And extremely astonished when Starsky clamped it around Hutch’s genitals, between his skin and the cock ring. The red box nestled snuggly against his groin and inner thighs with his cock and balls inside. His balls were squashed up on either side of his prick.

“I checked there were no sharp pieces. Made it myself,” Starsky said proudly. He dropped the small catch that locked the two sides together and replaced the lid.

Hutch watched his private parts disappear.

“Oops, nearly forgot.” Starsky dived to the floor. “A crown for the golden boy.” He climbed back on the chair, cramming a halo of mistletoe onto Hutch’s head. “In time honored tradition, I claim a kiss from the person standing under the mistletoe.” Cupping Hutch’s face in his hands, Starsky possessed his lover’s lips. His tongue probed every corner of Hutch’s mouth.

Hutch didn’t know if his light-headedness was due to the passion rising between the two of them, a lack of oxygen getting to his brain or the ecstatic high of his predicament. To be honest, he couldn’t care less. He was in love heaven, a place where only he and Starsky existed.

With one last bite on Hutch’s bottom lip, Starsky broke contact with Hutch’s face and leaped from the chair, almost burying himself in the duffel bag. “I know it’s in here somewhere,” he growled. “Packed it first to make sure.” More grunts followed. “Eureka!” Starsky backed out of the canvas and held up his find like a trophy. Striding to the fireplace, he turned and fawned appreciatively at the bound and decorated Hutch. “Beautiful. My beautiful Golden Angel.” He closed his eyes.

Hutch could see the telltale bob of Starsky’s Adam’s apple in the muted glow of the Christmas lights. “Hey, partner. Don’t you go getting all soapy on me,” Hutch chided. He jiggled as many parts of his body as the bindings would allow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Starsky responded. He opened his eyes and raised the camera to his left eye. “Oh, God. You look even more amazing through the viewer.” He took a couple of shots, and the Poloroids slid out the front of the camera. “Front and side view. So you can see yourself in all your glory.” He put the developing photographs onto the counter. “Takes a few minutes to develop.” He sat cross legged on the floor about three feet away from Hutch. Starsky tilted his head back, in a slow and lecherous survey of Hutch from his feet to his head.

Hutch could feel the color rising up his body in perfect sync with Starsky’s scrutiny. He hadn’t expected to be self conscious when he was with Starsky. Suddenly, he understood the anonymity of being blindfolded. He had never thought about the spotlight he was put under by his Master. “You look like a little pixie from up here,” he said in an attempt to put some of the focus onto Starsky.

Starsky closed one eye. “You’re not that far off of the ground.” He reached forward and tickled the bottom of Hutch’s right foot.

Hutch giggled. “Feels like it.” His mind wandered back to all the other times when he had been in bondage. Starsky had always stayed in the room. He must have spent hours just staring at Hutch all trussed up, and Hutch hadn’t even been aware of it because he couldn’t see. Now he was eye to eye with his Master. It was the oddest yet most erotic thrill in the world:-to watch the reaction in his lover’s face. Hutch reveled at Starsky’s ability to turn him into a piece of sculpture for his own enjoyment.

“Those pictures should be developed now.” Starsky sprung from the floor and skipped over to the counter. Picking up the first photo, he peeked under one corner before ripping the two pieces apart. He repeated the process with the second. “Perfect,” he crowed. Pivoting on his heel, he held a photo in each hand. “Behold the Hutch Angel Human Christmas Tree.” He poked the pictures under Hutch’s nose.

The images blurred in Hutch’s vision. He couldn’t tilt his head back to focus because of the post. “Move them a bit further away. I can’t see a thing.”

Starsky held the pictures up higher and a couple of inches back.

A lump rose in Hutch’s throat. Vain as it might sound, he did look ethereal. The gaudy decorations actually looked exquisite, plus the tinsel and star hid the bondage trappings. He appeared to be floating on a cloud of sunshine, not tied to a treated tree trunk in a cabin on a mountainside. This was definitely a Christmas Eve he would remember forever.

“Well?” The catch in Starsky’s voice made it obvious that he was nervously awaiting Hutch’s approval.

He had never seen his partner so unsure of himself. Especially when he had completed the task so confidently. Hutch understood why Starsky had adopted a more casual approach to this session. He wasn’t Starsky the Master, he was Starsky the Lover, giving Hutch what he loved the most. Bondage for Christmas with a side serving of Starsky magic. “It’s the most amazing thing I have ever seen. I would bear hug you if I could.”

“You really like it?” Starsky asked incredulously. He stepped to Hutch’s side and cuddled him, pillar and all.

Hutch tried to lean forward to kiss Starsky on the head but he couldn’t quite reach no matter how hard he tugged for that extra few inches. “Hey, bozo. Get your butt on that chair and let me kiss you.”

Starsky scrambled onto the chair like a two year old being offered a treat. He puckered his lips, keeping a cat’s whisker of space between his and Hutch’s.

Hutch closed the gap, kissing Starsky with all his heart and soul. He sucked eagerly on Starsky’s tongue wishing his penis was in Hutch’s mouth at that very moment. “I love you more than you can even imagine,” he said into Starsky’s open mouth.

Starsky pulled away. “I doubt that,” he challenged, “I would say that I have a pretty good imagination.” He eyed Hutch’s finery.

Hutch wrinkled his nose, pursing his lips at the same time. “I will give you that one, partner. Only you could come up with the human Christmas tree idea.”

Starsky rubbed his belly. “You want some food?”

“You letting me down?” Hutch countered.

Starsky shook his head. “I’ll feed you. I’ve brought finger food.” He caressed Hutch’s pubic hair. Grinning mischievously, Starsky stroked the soft skin of Hutch’s thighs with his fingertips.

Hutch writhed under the spider’s legs teasing his groin and thrust his hips for all he was worth. The brightly decorated box hiding his cock bobbed up and down. “Prick tease,” Hutch ground out between gritted teeth. Starsky’s touch ripped into his sensitive flesh, sending lightening bolts that exploded around the cock ring.

“I am not a prick tease,” Starsky said deliberately slowly. “Have I touched your cock in any shape or form in the last ten minutes?”

“No,” Hutch acknowledged. “You have done everything but.” He slumped in his ropes. A wet lettuce leaf couldn’t have been more limp. He was glad that he couldn’t see the state of his imprisoned member. It was difficult to tell if he had any sort of erection or not. His insides churned with lust and his nerve endings were on high alert. Hutch was close to bursting with pleasure.

“Guess I’d better burn these now that you’ve seen them,” Starsky said sadly staring at the photos. “Seems a shame to destroy such beauty.”

“Can I have one last look before you do?” Hutch was as disappointed as Starsky. Sometimes he hated having to be responsible and careful about everything he did. The job did put a damper on things. “It would be too risky to keep this sort of stuff. Imagine what would happen if someone found those pictures.”

Starsky threw his head back. “Yeah. Even if I put you in a full mask. IA would have a field day if they found pictures of bound masked men in our apartments.” He laughed. “I would love to see their faces though. The fun we could have.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “And the implications on our careers.” He could see Dobey’s puce face as clear as day in his mind’s eye. He mimicked their superior officer. “Starsky. Hutchinson. What in the blazes are you two doing with such filthy material?” He wagged his finger, or at least tried to under the confines of the star.

“And don’t try to tell me you are undercover as a porn photographer and his favorite model. I am not IA. I know what assignments you have,” Starsky finished. Tears ran down his cheeks and he held his sides.

Starsky’s infectious laughter made Hutch convulse. “Don’t, Starsk. It’s not easy to laugh when you’re stretched like an elastic band.”

Starsky held up the photos. His arms were shaking from the effort of containing his merriment. “You seen enough yet? You should have been a model not a cop. Preening over yourself like this.”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t you wish you could?” Starsky goaded. He swiveled his back to Hutch, bending over and wiggling his derriere. “Wouldn’t you love to sink your pretty little dick in my ass?”

Hutch ogled his partner’s perfectly formed and firm butt. He growled, a primeval sound if ever he had heard one. Firecrackers exploded in his groin and his endorphin level went sky high. “When I get down from here, I swear I will pummel that sexy rump into submission.”

Starsky turned around, waving his finger Hutch style. “I don’t think so, Blondie. Tonight you do as I say.”

Hutch groaned. “Sadist. You live for my pain.”

Starsky slapped Hutch’s stomach with the flat of his palm. “Masochist. And you love it.”

“Oww.” The sound was more effective than the sting from the slap. Hutch tensed his abdomen. He would be ready if Starsky did it again. Although, he had to agree with Starsky. Hutch had frequently begged Starsky to discipline him harder than Starsky had intended. Over time, Hutch’s pain/pleasure threshold had increased, and it took longer to reach the winged beast of sheer ecstasy.

Starsky rubbed Hutch’s belly tenderly. “Pink is definitely your color. My hand print is a pleasing addition to your ensemble.” Starsky patted the mark like an expectant mother soothing her unborn baby. He placed his hand onto the blemished skin before drawing it back a second and third time.
Hutch absorbed each blow silently. The wood chafed his back as each strike pressed his spine against the solid support.

“Red is so much better.” Starsky kissed the abused spot, then walked into the kitchen.

Hutch hung his head forward, wishing he could orgasm. The unexpected smacks had sent him reeling towards the point of no return. The cock and ball rings coupled with the chastity parcel was the safety line that had him teetering on the edge. Starsky was the only one with the power to push him over. The smell of burning permeated his nostrils. Water splashed into the sink.

“Dinner is served.” Starsky placed a large silver tray of food on the chair. He held a strip of fried chicken to Hutch’s lips.

Hutch clamped his teeth around the chicken, chewing thoroughly before he swallowed. And almost choked. “I don’t think I can eat like this,” he said coughing up the bit that had stuck in his throat.

Starsky quickly moved the platter onto the coffee table and climbed onto the chair. “Let’s get you down. You must be starting to cramp by now anyway.” He unclipped Hutch’s wrists from the chain.

With Starsky’s help, Hutch slowly lowered his numb arms. He manipulated his shoulder joints in a circle while Starsky massaged his wrists. Being released was more painful than being restrained. Hutch hated the discomfort that ensued when immobile body parts were suddenly forced into action and the blood flow returned.

Next Starsky unclipped Hutch’s ankles.

Pins and needles pricked at Hutch’s feet when he slid off of the bar onto the floor. The fairy lights dug into his toes. Luckily the ropes held him in place, otherwise the soles of his feet would have landed on the fairy lights.

Starsky pushed the lights away from Hutch’s toes. With amazing speed, he unknotted both body tethers and uncoiled them from around Hutch’s torso. “Leave the tinsel on your arms and legs,” Starsky ordered. “Don’t touch your body or the ornaments at all.”

“Yes, Master,” Hutch answered. He flexed his stiffened leg joints, stretching out all the kinks in his tight muscles. The package still decorating his groin bounced shamelessly with every movement. Hutch had to adopt a strange forward hip tilt to accommodate the extra bulk when he walked. His nipple jewelry flashed tirelessly.

“You got a problem?” Starsky asked, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. “Sit down and eat.” He grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge, setting them next to the grub.

Sitting was harder than Hutch expected. The parcel was very uncompromising and Hutch had no intention of asking Starsky to remove it. He finally settled cross legged on the couch and eyed the tempting platter of hors d’oeuvres. A selection of raw vegetable crudites with a salsa dip complimented the fried chicken. For dessert, there was sliced honeydew melon and chocolate sauce. Hutch snickered. Healthy food for him and a side of naughty for Starsky. Not that Hutch turned his nose up at salsa or chocolate sauce. “You did not have time to prepare all this in a half hour.”

“Huggy did the food,” Starsky said with a mouthful of chicken and dip. He dunked a piece of celery in the chocolate sauce and shoved it in Hutch’s mouth.

“Animal.” Hutch shuddered at the strange combination. He took a big swig of liquid. That just made it worse. He clamored to his feet and shimmied to the kitchen. A big glass of water diluted the assault of chocolate, celery and beer on his taste buds.

Starsky stopped eating and watched Hutch’s performance. “You are so cute, do you know that? Not many men would walk around dressed like a Christmas tree.”

“Not many men have a lover as crazy as you,” Hutch pointed out. He imitated the minister of silly walks all the way back to his seat, grabbed the tray and set it on the couch between them. “Or as loving as you. I appreciate the creativity and the emotion you pour into our sessions. I don’t care if you turn me into a clown once in a while. It’s done with passion and respect.” ‘I love you’ he mouthed to Starsky. There was no reason why he didn’t say the words out loud, except perhaps that silent seemed more intimate.

“Ditto,” Starsky said. “Now eat, all ready.” He dived enthusiastically for the food.

Hutch followed Starsky’s lead.

Very soon, there were only crumbs left.

Starsky reached over and yanked the earring clips off of Hutch’s nipples.

“Hey!” Hutch rubbed his stinging nipples. He moved the empty tray onto the coffee table out of the way.

Starsky shuffled into the empty space before Hutch had the time to bridge the gap. He suckled Hutch’s left nipple, then his right.

Hutch leaned into Starsky’s face and closed his eyes. Electricity filled his body as Starsky licked, sucked and nipped his nubs. He grabbed Starsky’s shoulders and dug his fingers in the strong muscles.

“Lay on your back,” Starsky said. He slid over Hutch’s right leg, carefully avoiding the red carton adorning Hutch’s genitals, and knelt between his thighs. “I think it’s time to open my present.” He gleefully flicked the lid off the box and poked at Hutch’s penis and testicles. “Hm, just what I always wanted.”

“I’m glad I got it right this year,” Hutch said, gazing at his encapsulated genitals. His hard-on had been kept in check.

Starsky unfastened the catch and freed Hutch’s sausage and nuts from the plastic prison.

Hutch breathed a sigh of relief, then gasped when Starsky whipped off the metal rings. Blood rushed into Hutch’s cock. His erection grew with alarming speed, throbbing and pulsating until it felt like he was on fire. “God, oh God.”

“Yes, my child,” murmured Starsky. He shucked his pants and shorts. Bending over, he produced a tube of lube from underneath the couch.

Hutch held his breath, mesmerized by the sight of Starsky squeezing a huge globule into his hand and liberally coating Hutch’s engorged member with the grease. It took all his iron will not to come in Starsky’s hand. He recited The Lord’s Prayer over and over to take his mind off the lava bubbling in his balls. If Starsky didn’t hurry up, Hutch feared that Mount Vesuvius was about to blow.

Starsky stuck his butt in Hutch’s face, dropping the tube onto his lap. “Do me.”

Did Starsky realize what he was doing to Hutch? Probably. He squeezed lube onto his index and middle finger, spreading it a little before he coated Starsky’s anus. Adding more grease, Hutch gently probed the hole and breeched Starsky’s sphincter with his lubricated digits. He poked Starsky’s prostate gland, stretching the canal. Hutch inserted his third finger for good measure. He liked to make sure that Starsky was properly prepared before penetration. “How do you want me?”

“Stay just where you are.” Starsky straddled Hutch and lowered himself down onto Hutch’s boner. When Starsky fully impaled himself, his balls slapped Hutch’s stomach.

Hutch propelled his hips up, driving further into Starsky, and gyrated to get the best angle. The warm, moist canal trapped Hutch in a viselike grip.

Starsky matched his pace. He grasped Hutch’s waist, gathering fistfuls of skin as he rode his blond stead all the way to the winning post.
Hutch’s orgasm detonated, blasting him off into the black hole of pure, unadulterated rapture. His body was weightless and the earth was light years away.

“Merry Christmas, Hutch.” Starsky tweaked Hutch’s nipples, reeling him back in from outer space. He eased himself off of Hutch’s softening penis and nudged Hutch over to give him room on the couch.

“Merry Christmas, Starsk,” Hutch mumbled drowsily. He kissed Starsky’s forehead, promising himself that he would reciprocate and give Starsky the best orgasm he had ever had on Christmas Day. As soon as he could move.