His heart raced as his partner loomed over him. A black turtleneck was stretched over him, but Doyle knew of what the shirt concealed. He trembled as he lay, still-clothed, face-up, spread-eagled on the bed. Bodie stared down at the jade eyes. Hungry sapphire orbs, half hidden by silken lashes, raked over the lopsided, elfin face haloed by riotous tangles of curls, the willowy, sensuous form that eagerly opened itself out for plunder. His heart thundered.

Doyle's body jerked and quivered as strong, calloused fingers ripped open the rayon shirt. Of course, he would have to buy another tomorrow; he would have to charge it. Could his MasterCard take any further burdens before protesting with messages of charge declined?? But that was far from his mind as Bodie's rapacious fingers ripped the shirt in shreds, exposing the pulsating, hairy chest. Bodie gloried at the bare fuzz which begged to be caressed. Perhaps he could do something new -- what would be the effect of a tube of Nair on the tender hairs?

Other things remained to be done. He unzipped the tight jeans, ripping them off. Doyle groaned, his tousled amber locks bobbing with the thrashing head. His poor MasterCard! Oh well, for such delectable pain as this... The dominating, ravenous form of Bodie stood over him. Bodie had once been in the jungles, had played something called 'the Game.' This was what Bodie had promised to him this night; it was to be a surprise.

Bodie carefully removed his black turtleneck, then stepped out of his pants. He strode over to a drawer. Doyle's heart panted and fluttered. Bodie took out four silk scarves and a dog collar, laying them on a table next to the bed. Last of all, he brought out a fine black whip, whose handle was in the shape of a certain bodily appendage. He cracked it, then laid it next to the other accoutrements. Doyle lay on the duvet, passive and submissive, the full, round lips quivering in terror and invitation.

Bodie strode toward the lithe form which quavered on the bed. Hard muscular hands tweaked the honeyed twin peaks of nipples, rolling the trembling figure over onto his stomach. Waves of tortured pleasure coursed through Doyle's whole being as waterfalls of tears sprang from green eyes. This was merely the foreplay

Bodie's hands stroked the creamy white round globes which pulsated underneath them. He growled like King Kong as his fingers probed into the tight, hot, puckered, virgin hole. His partner's fey form bucked and undulated at the hands which plundered, which pillaged and raped.

Tangled, silken ringlets wriggled. Agony and ecstasy coursed through him as Bodie withdrew the fingers from the thrusting arse. Bodie strode toward the table, where all the accoutrements lay. Ray's body quivered, quavered and trembled. His partner would possess him, enslave him, dominate him completely. Soft, velvet, silken moans escaped from the dusty-rose lips. Rivers of tears escaped once more from the jade eyes, flowing over the trembling, bruised mouth (he had run into a training bar during one of Macklin's workouts that day), and over the broken cheekbone (that was from a workout in art school). How Bodie was fingering the scarves, the collar, the slender lash. Doyle burrowed his body into the duvet as he anticipated the forthcoming punishment, the rapturous, glorious pain he deserved so completely.

But Bodie left the equipment on the table. He was leaning into his eager ear, murmuring. Ray lay in abject subjection. The velvet voice caressed him, enveloping him with the power of its utter dominance. It purred as it whispered one word.

"NO."

-- THE END --