by Spubba

Bondage. Some NC. Lime. Sven waxes philosophical.

Characters: Everybody.

Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron. I just tie 'em up.

“Every trainer of beasts or men knows that there are three forms of restraint.” The black-suited figure paused in mid-step, the patent boots squeaking softly as he turned to face his student. Sven’s face was unreadable as he continued his pacing around the silent men. Pidge looked up into the cold crystal eyes, detecting nothing, no emotion behind them. He’d heard them referred to before as ‘glass eyes’, a doll’s eyes, eyes without expression, without feeling. Those eyes were coldly observant, as unflinching as a camera, as they surveyed the captives.

“The first form of restraint. Vocal. The restraint of command.” Sven reached for the thin leather strap attached to the first man, naked except for his collar. The man stepped forward, black eyes downcast, the velvety black hair falling softly over his ivory shoulders.

“Of course, such restraint is not limited to spoken orders only. Sometimes only a gesture is needed to convey intent.” With that, Sven placed the palm of his hand gently on top of Keith’s head. The young man knelt immediately in a single, graceful, fluid motion; legs spread wide, he displayed himself without shame, without embarrassment. He placed his hands, palms upright, on his knees, relaxed, open in his posture. The somber black eyes remained fixed on the floor in front of him.

“Beautiful,” Pidge muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

“It seems ironic, ne?” Sven’s thin lips twitched in an abstraction of a smile. “That the one who gives the commands, takes the submissive role so readily? Not so, my friend. Remember: The man who is the best leader, also makes a great follower. It excites him, releasing control to me. And to you.”

Pidge stepped forward, his tight breeches clinging to his wiry frame, tapping his riding crop gently against his brown leather boots. He studied Keith’s still form for a moment, emerald eyes taking in the luscious curves of the sculpted marble body that knelt before him. Taking Keith’s chin lightly in his gloved fingers, he raised the fine-featured face. The black eyes remained downcast.

“Look at me,” whispered Pidge, not unkindly.

Keith obeyed. Pidge couldn’t stop the hint of a smile from creeping across his face as he gazed into the obsidian depths. Almost spontaneously Pidge caught the ivory lips in his own mouth, sucking on their softness. A soft, purling sound escaped from the back of Keith’s throat as he returned the kiss, his lips quivering with want.

Abruptly Pidge broke away, smiling over at Sven, who chuckled slightly.

“Such a one is useful, no? Yet there is something to be said for the spirit that remains unbroken. Which brings us to our next method of restraint: physical.”

Stepping over to the second figure, Sven reached for the reins that trailed from the captive’s bridle. Obediently the pony stepped forward, his hands strapped behind his back with heavy black leather cuffs, his feet shackled even in their heavy pony boots.

“Physical restraint is not limited to the restriction of movement. It includes sensory deprivation as well.” Sven pointed to the blindfold on Lance’s bridle.

“How would you classify the artificial aids? After all, they are used to convey tactile commands.” Pidge took a rein and squeezed lightly. Lance relaxed his jaw, obediently giving in to the pressure on the bit, inclining his head towards the tightened strap.

“Ah, excellent observation, my friend. Yes, you may be able to classify them as command restraints, if your slave is properly trained; however, they also tend to physically restrain as well.” With that he caught Lance in the mouth, swinging his head around. Lance, with his center of gravity thrown off balance, had no choice but to follow. “The advantage of physical restraint is that it leaves no choice in the mind of the slave whether or not he will follow a given command. That control has been taken from him.”

“So it may be used to correct a disobedient slave.”

“Only to a point. Personally, I dislike using excessive force. There is no beauty in that. Which brings us to the third option available to us.”

They stepped over to the last man, a naked, dark figure hunched on the floor, kneeling quietly with his hands bound behind his back. As they approached the hulking fellow, he raised his head, looking up at them unabashed with glazed eyes, their lids heavy, the coarse features slack, the mouth slightly agape.

“Chemical restraint,” said Sven. “To some trainers, the absolute last-ditch resort for taking the edge off a particularly disobedient slave. We have a variety of cocktails available for our use, from those meant to relax inhibitions, to general anesthesia. Very, very useful in our line of work.”

The deep baritone voice rumbled softly in his throat as the last man spoke, the words slurred, barely understandable as they passed his lips. “So help me… I’ll kill you… you sick rapist bastard…”

Sven grinned openly this time, the cold eyes glittering as he nudged Hunk with the toe of his boot, enough to knock him off balance, sending the big body slumping to the floor. “Of course, as you can see, there are some obvious, and undesirable, side effects to the use of heavy drugs in restraint. It’s all up to your discretion and personal tastes.”

Pidge knelt beside the bronze body, stroking the strong arms, whispering in the slave’s ear as Hunk struggled to right himself, railing against the muzzy drug-induced fog that clouded his brain.

“So, which do you think you’d like to try first?”

Pidge cast Sven a wicked grin, and bent down, cupping Hunk’s cheek in his hand, planting a firm kiss on the moist, salty lips, a kiss that was enthusiastically deepened by the big slave. He reached around behind his friend’s back and unfastened the shackled wrists.

Sven gasped.

But instead of rising and strangling the boy, the big man knelt quietly before the small feet, planting tiny kisses on the toes of his boots.

“Master,” came the whimper.

“I think vocal restraint will suffice,” said Pidge simply.

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