Title: My True Love's Eyes
Author: Bette St. Cloud
Date: Feb 3, 2002
Archive: No, thank you
Summary: MasterAlex shows SlaveWalter a thing or two, and learns something himself.
Warnings: BDSM, declarations of love, m/m sex.
Disclaimer: Yes, these characters belong to CC and 1013 Productions. Yes, I 'borrowed' them without permission from anyone.
My True Love's Eyes
Walter hates to be blindfolded, which is why I saved it for a very special occasion. I had a new toy for him. Well, for me, actually. It's a type of saddle for slaves, and I couldn't wait to strap Walter into it and take him for a ride. I installed it in our basement one day when he was at work, then waited for a lazy Saturday when we had nothing important scheduled. We shopped for groceries, came home and put them away, then settled on the sofa to watch a game. Walter noticed that I was taping it.
"This game special to you?" He knows I'm passing indifferent to American football.
"Well," I smiled, "*this* game is not important, but I actually have another game in mind that we might enjoy better." I slid my hand down his abdomen and lazily rubbed his thigh.
Walter drew a sharp, rushing breath and his whole demeanor changed. I drank it in, watching the muscles in his thighs relax so that his legs fell open to my searching fingers. His expression softened and he parted his lips slightly, telling me in all but words that he was willing to do whatever I asked of him.
"Walter, you're so beautiful. I want..."
"Whatever you wish, Master." He gently moved my arm aside, bent over and lay his head in my lap, depositing a kiss on my leg.
"My sweet slave. Go upstairs and get yourself ready for me. When you're finished, sit on the bed, close your eyes, and wait for me to come to you."
"Yes, Master." Walter was smiling as he slid off the sofa, the football game forgotten. I watched him disappear up the stairs and couldn't help shaking my head at my own good fortune. I couldn't believe I owned such a beautiful, willing, loving slave to worship and torture as I saw fit. It was enough to make even a battered ex-assassin believe in luck. I pretended to watch the game as I waited for him. I listened for the shower to go off, and when I heard the water stop running, I started my countdown. Five minutes later I opened the bedroom door to the beautiful sight of my slave waiting on the bed, eyes closed just as I'd told him.
There is no more wonderful sight than Walter in subspace. His entire body... yields itself to me; mouth, penis, ass, hands, feet, all mine. For that alone I adore this man beyond all reason.
Walter flinched when I dropped the blindfold over his head and tied it on. Like I say, he hates it, and he's such a sweet submissive anyway that I almost never use it. Today, however, I wanted to train him in another aspect of obedience and bring him to a deeper level of trust. When I saw his shoulders start to rise slightly, I knew exactly what I needed to do for him.
"Walter, you're such a beautiful slave," I pitched my voice to bedroom tones. "Your submission is the most perfect gift I could ever have."
I watched my words take their accustomed effect on him. His body was relaxing again, taking on that yielding quality I love so much.
"I love you naked like this, vulnerable, waiting for whatever I choose to give you."
His breathing grew deeper, slower, and I had to take a moment to pull myself together. It was all I could do not to simply turn him over and fuck him right there.
That wouldn't do, though. Had to keep my cool.
"I want my slave to do everything I tell him to." This was all the hint he would have that things were going to be different this time. Well, that and the blindfold.
"My beautiful slave. Come with me."
I pulled him to his feet and led him towards the bedroom door. He moved with confidence, but the minute he felt the warm air from the bedroom give way to the cooler air in the hall, his steps became hesitant and unsure.
"I've got you, my love. I'll take care of you."
That got him moving a little better, but when I put his hand on the bannister he hesitated again.
I knew exactly what was wrong. Walter feels insecure without his sight. That's why his glasses are the last thing I take off right before we start playing. Being able to see is important to him, and I usually accomodate his need. By taking his sight away, I was asking him to hand himself over to me in a way he'd never done before.
I ran a soothing hand down his flank. I was in front of him on the stairs, leading him so that if he stumbled I would break his fall.
"I love you, my perfect, beautiful slave. I love you so much."
He tried very hard to be brave, I give him full credit for that, but his breath was speeding up. Beneath my hands his biceps were very tense, and his steps were coming more and more slowly. By the time we reached the middle of the stairs he'd come to a full stop.
We just stood there, my petrified slave, and me with a hard-on that was threatening to break the zipper on my pants. I ignored it. This was not about me, it was about the beautiful man who'd entrusted himself into my care. I focused on the beads of sweat dotting his brow and ignored my bullying penis.
"Walter, you're very brave, and I'm very proud of you. We can take this next step whenever you're ready."
Walter didn't move except to hunch over as if he were protecting his stomach from a blow. For a moment I started to think I'd made a huge mistake, even though my instincts were telling me otherwise. But you know how it is with doubt. I began to wonder what he thought of a man who would subject him to this. I wondered if he was thinking of the thug who beat him in the stairwell, or the strutting little dictator who'd held his life in a palm pilot. For a moment I didn't blame him for distrusting me. Hell, I wouldn't have trusted me either.
Still, I'd started this. It was my responsibility to finish it.
"Breathe, slave," I told him. "Come on and breathe for your master, nice, slow, deep breaths."
The tension lines eased off his face. He stood there on the middle step and breathed for me while I held him. My Walter tried his best. He would get himself relaxed but then I would see his jaw tense up again, or his shoulders would twitch into a defensive hunch.
"You could never do anything less than perfectly, my love, and you know I love you and I will never abandon you. Tell me what's wrong."
Walter tensed up again. When he spoke it was almost a whisper. I had to strain to hear it.
"Scared," my slave muttered.
"I know, love. What are you scared of?"
His breathing was high in his chest, shallow and loud. Finally he shook his head. "I don't know."
"Shhhh." I soothed him. "It's okay. It's perfectly okay." I had an idea. "You're doing fine. I'm going to turn you around and take you back up stairs again, understand, sweetheart?"
I wasn't going to remove his blindfold. The whole point of this was to deny him this most essential sense and have him still trust me to take care of him. I realized, however, that he would have to be much deeper into subspace before he could let go of such a big part of himself.
"Come back upstairs with me," I coaxed. "You're doing fine, Walter. I know this is difficult for you, but you're doing very well."
The sweetest, most innocent smile broke his lips and it was all I could do not to lean over him and take his mouth in a brutal kiss right there on the steps. I disciplined myself, though, and walked him back to our bedroom, noticing how much he relaxed as soon as he got back where he felt safe.
"You're my most perfect possession, Walter. You're my living, breathing work of art. It's all I can do not to drive around with the windows open, shouting that I own the most wonderful slave who ever existed."
I led him to the bed and sat him down again while I tried to figure out how to get him through this without trauma. Almost on instinct I started to rummage through our toy chest.
Trying to keep as quiet as I could so that he would have no idea what was going to happen next, I pulled a pair of fleece-lined cuffs from the bottom of the box, and crossed back to where my slave sat waiting.
I picked up his right hand, opened the cuff and set his wrist inside it. I've learned to buckle the cuffs one-handed, and waiting is part of our games since it can be no other way. Waiting for my convenience is simply one of his duties as a slave, and I don't feel so much like I'm letting him down by only having one hand. (I know, I know. I completely believe him when he says my missing limb doesn't matter to him, but sometimes I'm much harder on myself than he is.)
At any rate, when I got the cuffs on him I made him stand up again. I pulled his hands behind his back, keenly aware that he would be more vulnerable than ever.
After I locked his arms behind him, I moved away to survey my handiwork.
He was magnificent, waiting for what came next, not knowing what was in store for him but trusting nonethelesess. He took my breath away.
"Oh, my love," It came out as a moan, but I couldn't help myself. He was just too beautiful to resist. I tilted his head to one side and kissed him thoroughly. It wasn't part of my plans, but I challenge anyone to try resisting a slave like Walter Skinner.
His erection poked at my thigh, reminding me of something else I could do for him. I rooted around in our toy chest for his cock strap. He moaned when I tightened it around his bobbing penis, making me feel most gratified.
Bound, trussed, and blindfolded, I led him through our bedroom door once again.
This time, there was almost no resistance. Denied the use of his hands, he had no choice but to trust me utterly, and he did so, walking down the stairs slowly and carefully, but with no hesitation.
I felt like I was floating, I was just that happy.
"How's my beautiful slave?" I checked in when we got to the landing.
"I am completely yours, master," he answered in a dreamy, faraway voice.
Is it possible to have an orgasm consisting solely of emotional bliss? If so, I had one at that very moment. Walter was under deep, actively demonstrating his love, his trust, and my utter ownership of him. I was as proud as if I'd just given birth.
I hadn't bothered to tell my slave about the new toy I'd bought us. It's an odd-looking contraption, but if you've ever seen a mechanical bull, you have some idea of what it's like. Of course, mechanical bulls don't have leg rests, and their pommels don't sport d-rings for securing your slave's wrists, but you get the drift. The saddle inclines at a 45 degree angle so his head is higher than his ass, and the fleece-lined leg holsters support his weight perfectly. Strapped in, he looks a bit like a jockey on a stallion, but I'll tell you this: no jockey ever looked as hot as my Walter.
My voice kept him calm during the process of strapping him in. He gasped at the unfamiliarity of it, then smiled when he realized that this new contraption left his ass perfectly exposed for my use.
"Mm. This is a nice new toy, Master. When did you get it?"
"Tell you all about it in a little while, beloved. Right now I'm going to give you something for that sweet ass of yours."
The something turned out to be my smallest dildo. I greased it up liberally then carefully inserted it up my slave's willing ass.
Walter gave a lovely little purr of appreciation as I moved the dildo in and out of him. That's all I did for some minutes, until finally my slave began to squirm.
"Be good," I murmured to him. "I'm going to be doing this for a long, long time, so you might as well just relax."
Walter moaned again, and I swear I could hear the pout in his tone. Still, after a minute he gave me a big, contented sigh, and I watched the tension ease out of the muscles in his back.
"That's my sweet slave," I murmured to him. "That's my sweet Walter."
His ass is so pretty. Not just the smooth, tanned globes of his cheeks, but in its hidden and secret places it's just as delightful as on the outside, the flesh smooth and slick and pink. In between, like a doorway, there's that perfect puckered opening, kept nice and loose from all my steady penetration. I love sticking things up Walter's ass. Dildos, buttplugs, my dick. This man was made for me to fuck.
For a long time I simply lost myself in watching him take it. His excitement built in waves. His ass clenched and relaxed around the dildo and his breathing sped up and calmed down, sped up and calmed down, giving me a perfect barometer of the sensations he experienced. I watched the muscles of his inner thighs shift as he tested his weight on the saddle.
"You okay?" I needed to check in frequently since this was a new toy for him.
"Mmm." His only answer was a purr of pleasure, but it was enough.
I sneaked a peek at my watch. Almost ten minutes had passed. It was time to up the ante. I pulled the dildo out of him, talking to him so he wouldn't feel lonely.
"Today this is all about your pain, baby. Actually," I lowered my voice into a purr I knew he'd find irresistable, "It's about my pain. The pain I'm going to take from you and keep for myself. I want you to let me have it all, Walter. I want you to take what I give you, and give me back all your pain for no other reason except I'm greedy for it, my love. I want everything, Walter. Everything."
"I love you, master," His voice was thick, breathless. "Everything I have, everything I am, belongs to you. Take my pain. I give it freely."
"Oh, love..." Any more of this and I would have tears in my eyes. I could already feel a lump in my throat.
I put my stump on his lower back, steadying him though I knew he didn't need it. It was the way I gave him my trust because he knew I felt insecure about my missing arm. I was letting him know that his trust in me was completely reciprocated by my trust in him.
"Mmmm," he sighed. I felt him relax even further under my touch.
Now the tears threatened to spill. It took me several moments before I pulled it together enough to concentrate on him, as a caring master should.
"I love you," I whispered, and began my second assault. This dildo was thicker than the last one. It would stretch him a little bit more. I watched his sphincter spasm once, twice, then settle down.
"This is different from what I usually do for you, beloved. Just coast on it and let the dildos do their work."
I understood what he would be feeling. This kind of play was slower, more debilitating than what he was used to. It would be a long, langorous wearing down of will, of resistance, of self. I knew how the inner walls of his ass would swell and become hypersensitive to any stimulation. I knew how each stroke would begin to make him feel raw, like a brillo pad was being shoved inside him. It would be pure discomfort, yet he would endure it because I chose to have it so.
In a way, I was working out my own sexual assault. This was how I felt when I was raped so long ago. I was giving it all to Walter because he was brave and strong, and by a miracle I don't dare question, he loves me enough to submit to me. I was the needy one, working out my issues in his willing flesh. His bravery would make me strong enough to face my own past, so I fed on him, took in all of his pain, absorbed it and let it strengthen me.
My Walter did not let me down. You should have seen him, fighting to take it all, fighting to accept the invasion because that's what I wanted him to do.
I took my time, lubing the dildos whenever I felt resistance, changing them out every ten minutes or so, each time switching to a bigger one. Three inches in circumference, five... seven... then eight... then nine... then ten...
He completely understood what I was doing. Sometimes I left him in silence to absorb the experience of his pain. Sometimes I talked him through what was happening. He screamed sometimes, which I permitted. Time passed slowly. We both fell into a trance-like rhythm. I was careful, but it hurt him badly, as I intended.
"God! Please!" he roared at one point.
It was a cry of agony. I listened carefully through the delectable sounds of his suffering. If I'd heard anything like protest I would have checked in again, but he was in a secret place, alone with his pain, and I let him have this time to himself.
"Hurt me! Oh, god, Hurt ME!" He reared back in the saddle, arching against the agony even as he welcomed it.
"I want it. Hurts so bad! Don't stop. Master!"
"I'm here, slave." I let my voice reassure him. "I'm here, I see you. I see how beautiful you are. How beautiful your pain is. Did you think I couldn't see you? I love you. I love the way you take it for me. So beautiful."
"I love it that you see me like this," he panted. "Never stop. Make me take it, master, don't ever stop."
"Not until we're done, slave."
He laid his sweaty forehead down against his bound wrists. "Thank you," he moaned."Thank you."
It was the last intelligible thing he said for a while. After a few moments he began to cry; abject, broken-hearted sobs that sounded like he was pouring out lifetimes of misery. For a moment I wasn't sure of what to do for him. I knew I couldn't stop until his catharsis was complete, but this was new ground for me, and I wasn't sure I recognized the shape of this particular need. I murmured encouragement to him, but didn't stop the slow but steady sawing in and out of his ass with my assortment of toys.
When his sobs reached a crescendo and showed no signs of stopping, I lost confidence, cursing myself for a fool. I just had to show off, right? I had to drag my slave into this unfamiliar dimension of servitude, just to prove that I was in control of him, didn't I? And look where it had gotten me. I had a beautiful slave I loved, tied up, dependent on me, and caught in the throes of emotional release, and I wasn't sure what to do next. I was bitterly ashamed of myself, and enraged at my inability to care for such a perfect slave, and I was so caught up in my self-recriminations that I almost missed it when his tears started to wind down.
Relief came flooding back so fast I was almost dizzy with it. Walter was telling me what he needed, and all I had to do was listen. His sobs were coming more slowly. I watched carefully, noticing when he began to ride his body's feelings again, rather than his emotions. His hitching breaths gave way to sighing moans, and the tension left his neck and shoulders as he settled back into the saddle and began to arch his ass up to meet my slow thrusts. Suddenly he was back with me, and we were dancing together, just like when he's under the whip or the paddle.
I laughed with relief. I couldn't help myself. It was just a new variation of the same wonderful ballet we always performed for each other, him holding himself open so I could take what I needed from him, and me, greedy for all I could get, reveling in his submission, gorging myself on his pain, and finally gratifying myself in his abused and willing flesh. I recognized this place because we'd been here dozens of times before.
"I love you so much, slave."
"I love you, master." He was rising up in the saddle now, his movements increasingly frantic. I was back in charge and loving it.
"My slave wants to come," I exulted. "My slave wants me to fuck him so he can come for his master, doesn't he?"
"Yes! Please! Fuck me, master. Your slave needs to come so badly!"
"Wait for it," I gloated. "Wait for it and take everything your master gives you."
"Mm, yes. Give me everything, master. Fuck me. Hurt me with it, make me take it from you. Oh, God, I need you to fuck me!"
Christ. If he kept that up I was going to need the cock strap or else come in my pants. "Shit," I murmured. "Show some mercy."
"Can't. Fuck me. Hurt me. Hurt me in my ass, master, it feels so good."
"Tell me." I wasn't going to last if he said one more thing, but I had to hear it.
"Feels so good," he murmured. "Feels like you're taking everything. I want you to have it. Everything. Fuck me. Please! God, hurt me. So good."
"God, Walter!" I was going crazy. I had to have him that instant or die. "I'm going to take it out now, baby, then I'm going to fuck you in that sweet ass of yours. Would you like that?"
The only response I got was a deep, contented moan.
The flesh inside his ass was so swollen that he cried out when I pushed my slicked-up fingers inside him. He was so loose that I was able to stick in all four fingers in at once without any resistance whatsoever. I considered fisting him, but that was another scene altogether and it could wait for another time. Walter was practically purring now, his voice raw with pain and contentment.
"Mine!" I declared.
"All yours," he agreed. "Yours forever."
After that beautiful catharsis, fucking was almost anticlimatic. Almost. I told myself to go slowly, to be gentle with him after what he'd just been through, but my excitement built to an almost unbearable pitch as soon as I stuck my dick inside him. His flesh was hotter than ever inside, swollen and throbbing from all the things I'd done to it, and the thought excited me unbearably. I couldn't fuck his whip scars, and I couldn't fuck his clamped nipples, but this... I was fucking him in the very same place where I'd wounded him; right where it hurt the most intensely, right where the pain would be most exquisite, and what's more, he wanted it. He strained up to meet me, screaming hysterically that it hurt, please don't stop, please fuck him, fuck him, make it hurt more, let him come! Please!
Fuck stupid and dazed with pleasure, I fumbled with his cock strap. I pulled it away from him and threw it to the floor, and he moaned with relief.
"Not... until... I say... you can," I managed to gasp.
He groaned in reply, throwing his head back, fighting a losing battle against the need to climax.
I could feel myself starting to lose control.
"Who do you belong to, slave?"
"Who uses this hole?"
"You, master, only you!"
"Come for me, slave."
Good thing our new toy was bolted to the floor. Walter convulsed with such force that the whole thing shook with his movements. Then his limbs went slack and his body sagged against his restraints. I came moments after he did, adding my screams to his then collapsing over his broad, sweaty back.
After a moment I roused myself, checking to make sure he was not cramped or restricted except where I wanted him to be, then I knelt down by his head, removed his blindfold, and waited for him to open his eyes.
Eventually he cracked his eyes a slit, then a slow grin split his face.
"Somebody's stoned," I teased.
"Uh-huh," he replied.
I unstrapped him and helped him down off the saddle and he immediately sank to the floor, his knees buckling under him.
"Can't move," he murmured. He looked up at me and laughed, but I could feel the muscles in his legs shaking as I knelt down next to him and pulled him into my arms.
His eyes were soft, his expression almost otherworldly. I love that look on him, that open, yielding expression that he wears for me alone.
"We have all the time we need," I murmured. I pulled his head to my chest and stroked him soothingly.
"You were fantastic," I whispered.
"I felt loved," he replied simply.
"Oh, God!" Now my tears spilled and there was no holding them back. I clutched at him, babbling, but unable to help myself. "I was so scared I wouldn't do it right. I wanted it to be perfect for you."
"Oh, Alex, it was perfect. I loved every second of it. It was so perfect I almost don't want to ever do it again."
I must have looked as stricken as I felt because he hastened to reassure me.
"Don't look like that," he murmured. "What I mean is, it was beyond amazing. I felt like I was in another dimension, like I was in a world where there was only you. I felt completely owned. Special. It was like... a trip to the moon." He paused, thinking. "It's so perfect that another trip would be excess because what you had, what you felt, where you've been, could never be duplicated. Does that make any sense?"
It was silly for the master to need comfort from the slave, but I couldn't help it. I needed him so badly it was like an ache.
"I want to put your blindfold back on."
He drew a shuddering breath. His body tensed then suddenly went slack against me. He laid his head against my chest again.
"I love you," he murmured.
"I love you too." My voice was barely above a whisper, but it was the best I could manage. I pulled my t-shirt off and used it to gently wipe his sweaty face and torso. Next time I would remember to bring his robe and some fresh towels. Well, no scene is one hundred percent perfect, but I'd forgiven myself for not being flawless and Walter loved me regardless, so I was as happy with myself as I could be.
Funny. I didn't know how badly a top could need aftercare, but I was feeling pretty wobbly after that intense scene. Of course, all my wobbles were on the inside where no one could see them. I think that's why I needed to blindfold him again. I had to give myself a little space to come down from where we'd been, and of course I couldn't blindfold myself because I had to take care of my lover.
To my everlasting pride and pleasure, he accepted the blindfold without a single bit of resistance. He gave himself over to me completely, following my lead as smoothly as water flows over rock. He even smiled as I fumbled on the landing to the upper floor. This was a Walter who had ceded me all his control, trusting me utterly, even when I fucked up.
I was overwhelmed again. All I wanted to do was sit down in my chair and weep with gratitude, but he was my first priority. I made him sit on the bed, uncuffed him, and took his blindfold off.
We gazed at one another, grinning. This had been the best, but I still wanted to make sure he was doing okay. I broke his gaze and went to fill the tub.
He followed me into the bathroom.
"What?" I was still trying to be the perfect top, in charge and in control.
"What just happened?"
"Nothing. I only want to get this water temperature just right. I think we could both use some winding down."
"You left me."
"Sorry, I didn't mean..." I shut my mouth abruptly.
"You left us."
He was right. I had. For a moment the self-loathing came back, so strong that I was frozen with shame.
"Alex," he moved towards me and took me into his arms. "What do you have to be sorry for?"
I couldn't answer.
He pulled me closer, folded me against his chest, and waited.
"I'm scared," I admitted. "I'm scared of how much I need you, and how much I love you. I'm scared I 'll fuck up somehow."
"That could never be," he murmured. "See yourself the way I see you."
"You are God to me, Alex."
The dam broke. All I could do was fit myself more closely into his loving embrace, lean against him, and cry. After a moment I tried to pull away, but he would have none of it. He held on to me tight, and finally I stopped struggling and just let loose with my own catharsis. And guess what? The world didn't end. I hadn't fucked up. I was not a bad top. I was just Alex. Alex who needed Walter more than he needed anything in this world.
After a while my sobs died down. I felt peaceful.
"I own you, you know." I had to say it aloud.
"Heart and soul," he agreed.
I pulled him towards the running water. "C'mon. I really don't want you to get stiff," I explained.
"Not my legs, anyway," Walter rejoined.
I kissed him. "Wiseass."
"*Your* wiseass," he murmured.
"That's right," I smiled up at him. My wiseass. My everything. Mine.
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