The planning was exhaustive.

It had been Blaine's idea but Kurt took the reins immediately, which was really the point of the whole thing. He needed to be sure of every detail, cover every base, dot all the i's and cross the t's, and any other metaphor he could come up with for being Eagle Scout level prepared. He even gave the event its name: Slave Weekend. Although Blaine suspected he'd only done that to prevent him from coming up with something more . . . colorful.

Aside from answering all questions as honestly as possible and wondering if there was a way to trademark Slave Weekend and then make it a required at least quarterly occurrence, Blaine didn't do much at all. Well that wasn't true. He imagined.

Kurt was graduating, they'd be moving to New York soon, and at some point in all the looking forward and planning Blaine had realized that going forth into their real, full-time lives together meant leaving Lima. And leaving his apartment, where so many of their big moments had taken place. Once they closed that door behind them for the last time they would probably never see again the spot on the wall between the kitchen peninsula and the little table where Kurt had made Blaine recite his name over and over while spanking him with a wooden spoon. Or the place next to the couch where Blaine had knelt while for the very first time Kurt had held him as he shuddered through an almost violent release. Or the corner of the bedroom where Blaine had been hung from the ceiling for his birthday spanking. Amid all the wonderful beginnings there was an ending as well, and Blaine wanted to mark it. He wanted to celebrate everything they'd learned about and with each other in these four rooms. And of course, being Blaine, he wanted to mark it by an act of complete submission. Slave Weekend.

Kurt, being Kurt, had expressed all kinds of reservations right off the bat, but not before Blaine had seen heat flare in his eyes. Every detail had to be addressed, Kurt said. If he was going to let Blaine fall into that kind of deep headspace for an entire weekend, then he needed to know every like and dislike, every want or don't want, ahead of time. He also very specifically needed Blaine to understand that this would be different from his birthday. That had been all about Blaine. But if this was to be truly for both of them then Kurt would dominate in the way that made him happy.

Blaine listened to him, smiled, nodded, answered all questions, and got hard.

“The kneeling pillow is non-negotiable. You know how I feel about that.”

“I'll give you sleeping on the floor but you have to use the camping pad again. This isn't a dungeon and I refuse to turn it into one.”

“You're absolutely sure about the plug? Because I will use that. A lot.”

To be more accurate, Blaine tried to get hard. The cage immediately put a stop to it.

That had been one of Kurt's first requests, and the thing that had let Blaine know he was taking the idea seriously. Because Kurt loved the cage. It did something to him, seeing Blaine's cock contained like that. Blaine had seen him get hard just from touching the key on its chain around his neck. They'd played with the cage throughout the year, working up to occasional stints of a week or a week and a half. But now Kurt was implacable. A month in the cage prior to the big weekend. It would wind Blaine up, he said, and take him to new levels of desperation. It would put him in the state that Kurt wanted him in. Yes, it was longer then he'd ever gone without release before, caged or not, but wasn't that the point?

“After all, as your dominant isn't it my job to push you past what you telI me you want so you can experience what you really want but are too scared to say out loud?”

Blaine really, really tried to get hard when Kurt said that.

In the end Kurt had several pages of careful notes to make him feel comfortable and safe going into the weekend, and Blaine had a constantly leaking cock, the world's sorest balls and complete faith in Kurt, notes or no notes.

* * *

He realized as he pulled into the driveway on the fateful Friday afternoon that the one thing they hadn't covered was how they were going to start. Kurt was here – his car was parked at the curb – so Blaine climbed out into the afternoon sunshine, collected his mail from the box, and headed for the door with no idea what to expect when he got there.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. He didn't even have to get all the way in the door. Hands grabbed him as soon as he'd turned the knob and if Blaine had any residual fear that Kurt wanted this any less than he did, it disappeared as he was dragged into the apartment, spun around, and pushed face-first into the door the moment it latched behind him.

Blaine's bag fell to the floor, the letters floated after it, and he pressed his hands to the wood above his head in an instinctive surrender. Kurt's arms wrapped tight around his chest and his lips sucked hard at the skin behind Blaine's ear. The aggressiveness of it made Blaine's knees wobble and he had to lean back against Kurt just to keep himself upright.

“Did you do what I told you to before you came home?” Kurt's breath was furnace-hot against Blaine's skin.

“Yes . . . yes, master,” Blaine breathed.

“Where's the key?”

“In my wallet, in the bag. With the cage key.”

Kurt hummed into Blaine's ear. As if drawn by the mention, his hand slipped downward to wrap around Blaine's crotch. Even through his jeans, the touch made Blaine's cock swell hungrily against the bars of the cage. God, he was horny. He was always horny. He had to exert every ounce of will he possessed to keep from thrusting against Kurt's hand. That was one of the rules of their game this weekend. Blaine was to accept everything Kurt gave him and beg for nothing. He existed for Kurt's pleasure; his own was irrelevant. Besides, it would have been useless. The cage allowed no meaningful stimulation. But the hint of warmth from Kurt's hand was so tantalizing that Blaine couldn't help moaning and spreading his legs wider in invitation.

Kurt laughed softly at his display. “So desperate,” he said. “You'd hump my hand right now, wouldn't you? If I let you? Even though it wouldn't do you one bit of good.”

Humiliation had been something Blaine had specifically asked for.

Blaine didn't have time to answer. Kurt was popping the buttons on his jeans, pulling them down to Blaine's thighs to reveal the items that decorated his cock, balls and ass.

The cage had been there all day, every day, for the past month. Blaine felt more familiar with the sensation of its strict containment than with the freedom of erection. He could barely remember how it felt when his cock would fill with blood and stretch, unencumbered, to its full length. It had been a prisoner for so long, held in check, hobbled, and yet always responding to the eroticism of its situation with valiant attempts to break free. A month of being fucked and teased and held and used with no release had left him almost constantly dripping and twice, when Kurt was fucking him, using his fingers and lips and tongue and cock to drive Blaine into a pitched frenzy of need so fierce that he was certain he would die if he wasn't set free and allowed to come, cloudy semen had dribbled from his flaccid cock and out the end of the cage. It was a sensation Blaine had never experience before, a burning almost-orgasm whose peak would never come. A twisted parody of release that left him shuddering and humping the cage mindlessly against the bed. Both times Kurt had held him and soothed him but he'd been unmoved by Blaine's desperation. The cage stayed firmly in place, a reminder that, for now, only one of them was allowed to come. And every “no” from Kurt only made Blaine's arousal more unbearable.

He'd worn the cage for a month but he'd only added the testicle cuff this afternoon, hiding in the faculty bathroom at Kelvin Elementary School to lock it in place as soon as his lessons were over for the day. The cage ring already pushed his balls down and out so the cuff added a stretch that made his eyes cross and sweat bead on his forehead. He'd come close to safewording out, at that point. But he held on and breathed and thought about Kurt until finally the added pressure and pain had diffused into the general ache that he'd been living with for weeks.

The plug was brand new. Kurt's latest toy. Also inserted in that bathroom in a slow press of advancing fullness. Blaine had worn plugs before, of course, but it had been a long time. In his state, the feel of it sliding into place was almost orgasmic. He'd fucked himself a few times with it – he couldn't help it.� It was the opposite of the cage. The cage clamped against the swell of erection, keeping his cock tiny and useless. But the plug opened him, stretching his ass wide and accessible. Making him ready to receive Kurt's cock – his master's cock, once they got home and slipped into the dynamic. Making him useful. The cage meant denial but the plug was all about acceptance. And balance, because the only thing that mattered more to Blaine than his own release was his master's pleasure.

Kurt's fingers took their time exploring Blaine's adornments. He stroked the skin of Blaine's cock where it pressed hopefully through the bars of the cage until Blaine wanted to cry with hopeless frustration. He squeezed Blaine's full, hot balls, gently, but hard enough to make Blaine moan against the door. With his other hand he tapped the base of the plug, snug between Blaine's cheeks, and rocked it deeper. Blaine pushed back against it – he knew he shouldn't but he couldn't help it. As it bumped against his prostrate he felt a forlorn dribble of fluid fall from the tip of his cock. Kurt must have seen it as well, because he moved quickly to catch it on two fingers which he lifted to Blaine's lips.

Shuddering with humiliation, Blaine opened his mouth and when Kurt's fingers breached him he sucked them eagerly, savoring the flavor of Kurt and himself combined. He pulled them as deep as his master would allow, and whined when they were eventually withdrawn.

“Do you think there's time for me to fuck you before we go?”

Go? The thought was piercing but fleeting because his master's tongue was tickling his earlobe and his fingers were toying with the plug and before Blaine had a chance to fully process the idea that they might be going somewhere the sensations wracking his body drove out any thought but yes.

“Please, yes, please . . . master . . . please.”

There was fumbling behind him, but with his forehead practically pressed to the door Blaine couldn't see anything Kurt was doing. His pants were shoved lower and he kicked his shoes off then struggled one leg out of them so he could spread himself properly. Then, so quickly that he cried out with the suddenness of it, the plug was pulled from his ass, dropped somewhere, and his master's slick cock teased at the emptiness it had left behind.

Slick? Blaine hadn't seen lube. Although to be fair he hadn't seen much of anything but the door since he got home.

Again thought was driven out, this time by the sheer staggering relief of it, like falling into water on the hottest day of the year, like scratching that itch you can't reach that's driving you mad. Which is exactly what his master's cock was doing, sliding over sensitive flesh and building sensation that Blaine couldn't get any other way, not with the cage enforcing denial. Sensation was what he craved, and with his cock locked into irrelevance his ass had become the center of his sexual universe. He lived to be fucked, and the cage seemed to inspire Kurt to new heights in that department.

He braced his hands and forehead against the door and arched back in a silent plea for harder and faster. His master hummed a little approval at the change of angle and rewarded him by speeding up, working toward the pounding Blaine longed for.

“God, yes, thank you, yes,” Blaine panted. Pleasure radiated from his core, grew and stretched like a flexing cock, and even though he was gasping for air he felt like he was breathing properly for the first time in forever. Each slide was a crescendo of tactile stimulation, filling all the empty spaces that being locked and bereft had opened in him. Behind him his master's breath was heavy and laced with tiny sounds that only drove Blaine higher. This was what he was for. Serving. Bringing his master to the brink of ecstasy and then dropping over that edge. Giving him what no one else in the whole world ever could. Only Blaine.

Kurt sped up, pushing toward completion, pounding into Blaine over and over as hard as he could with no regard for the locked, yearning, painful perfection he was inflicting. Blaine's eyes filled with tears – not from distress, no, but because deep at the heart of the fiery frenzy and clenching need and frustrated despair Blaine could see what he'd been waiting for, blooming like a black hole, devouring all other sensations with a force that nothing could escape, sucking him down in a free-fall into its arms.

At the dark center of the galaxy of sensations his master forged inside him, quiet, simple peace waited to catch him as he fell. It softened him, lifted him, left him lighter than air even as his body rocked into the door and his voice cried out from far away with each heavy thrust. His master's moans and gasps felt like the only thing keeping him from floating away, up through the ceiling and out into space. Pain and pleasure, his master's, his own, were like supernovae exploding around him. He watched them, entranced by their beauty, from the moment of singularity that held him. All around him they flashed into brilliant existence then faded in slow motion.

And then his master pushed deep, pressed him hard into the wood of the door, shuddered against him in convulsive jerks that tugged Blaine back toward his wracked body. He found he was moaning in long cries timed perfectly to his master's tremors, lending his own voice to his master's pleasure. When the cock inside of him finally withdrew and in swift substitution the plug slid back in, Blaine's knees gave out and he fell to the floor, gently, thanks to his master's supporting arms.

They were both quiet for a long time. His master seemed to know instinctively that Blaine needed time to come back and to sort out the cacophony of his body's reactions. Everything he'd been feeling before had been shattered, sending bright pieces flying in all the wrong directions. His balls ached in his shoulders. His breath heaved through his ass. His cock dripped and dribbled from his eyes. His master's arms held him tight; his hands pushed up the shirt he'd never taken off and splayed wide, covering as much of Blaine's skin as they could. Lips brushed the back of his neck and left a trail of kisses above his collar. Eventually a soft cheek pressed against his jaw.

“Wow,” his master breathed, and Blaine knew he wasn't talking about his own experience at all.

“Thank you,” Blaine said, or tried to say, but the words ran together and some of the consonants went missing.

“Shhhh.”

Hands continued to soothe, until all of Blaine's sensations migrated back to their proper places. The plug spread against the walls of his ass, his head rested on his master's shoulder, his cock dangled between his legs, safe and contained and dripping.

His master seemed to sense the exact moment that he came back to himself, and just before he would have squirmed with the itch of drying sweat and other secretions the arms holding him loosened. Blaine shifted onto his knees and pulled his back straight. As soon as he was holding his own weight his master stood up, ran fingers through Blaine's damp hair, then tsked in mock dismay.

“Look at the mess you made,” he admonished.

Blaine had fallen exactly where he'd been standing, so the little puddle of clear fluid was right there between his spread knees. And his cock was still adding to it: one long drip clung to the end of his cage.

“You'd better clean that up,” his master said, “so we can shower and get ready to go.”

“Go?” he asked tentatively.

“It's Friday night, Blaine.”

Friday night. Fuck.

“Carole will kill me if we're late.” The fingers in Blaine's hair gave his head a little push downward toward the puddle on the floor. “So get busy.”

Fuck.

Blaine's guts twisted into a Gordian knot of fear, desire, humiliation, excitement. Because he couldn't think of anything else to do, he bent forward under the pressure of his master's hand and obeyed.

* * *

They were silent in the car on the way to the Hummels'. Blaine alternated between watching Lima go by outside his window and watching Kurt handle the steering wheel. He was still caged, still ringed by the ball cuff, still plugged.

Outside it was May instead of March, the light was brighter and the air warmer, but to Blaine this trip felt just like the very first one he'd ever made. There was the same fear of how he'd be received, the same breathless desire to run in the opposite direction. And, he had to admit if he was being fair, the same confidence in Kurt. That was still there, despite his complete bafflement as to what Kurt's motives could be. They had talked and negotiated and made list after list to cover every possibility (and a few impossibilities) that might pop up this weekend. How the hell had Kurt managed to let Friday night dinner with his parents slip his mind?

The answer, Blaine already knew, was that he hadn't. No, this was something else, part of it. Blaine had said he wanted to be surprised and challenged by his slave weekend but this . . . they'd crossed completely into uncharted territory. He had no idea what Kurt expected. He had no idea what he himself wanted. He did know that the knots in his belly hadn't loosened in the slightest since he'd been on the floor licking up his own precome and he couldn't pretend, no matter how much he might like to, that they were all from anxiety.

Kurt was no help. He drove, silently, but there was no tension about him. No, he looked as relaxed as any other Friday night – even more maybe. No one looking at him would ever have suspected that bringing Blaine-as-slave to his parent's house was in any way unusual for him. He didn't even look at Blaine until they pulled up to the curb in front of the Hummel house. He switched off the engine, turned in his seat, and took one of Blaine's hands in both of his. His eyes probed Blaine's, looking for something.

“Do you remember your safeword?” Kurt asked.

Blaine gave a tiny, tight nod.

“Blaine!” Kurt's voice was stronger – more like a command.

“M . . . master?” Blaine wasn't sure if he should say it or if it was even what Kurt was looking for, but speaking the word brought back the memory of that well of peace he'd found inside himself kneeling in Kurt's arms by the door.

“Do you remember your safeword?” He stressed remember, as if the fact of the safeword was more important than the actual word itself.

Blaine straightened a little and managed a squeeze of Kurt's hands. “Yes master,” he said, and while his voice was still breathy with uncertainty, he felt strong enough, at least, to manage to open the door and get out of the car.

“Good,” was all Kurt said before he released Blaine's hand and turned to his own door. He climbed out and headed up the driveway without a backward glance.

Blaine followed, a few paces behind, trying with all he had to summon that sense of peace again. Birds were singing, a gentle spring breeze made the budding trees rustle, and he tried to concentrate on the soothing sounds of nature. But the closer they got to the house the faster his heart beat, until he was sure it was trying to escape his chest altogether. And the closer they got to the house the more his cock throbbed, although it was possible that was just his pulse beating against the bars of the cage and not arousal at all. The pulse theory didn't really account for the moisture he could feel trickling with each beat, though. He really wished he knew why fear and arousal were always so intertwined for him.

Ahead, Kurt kept walking, as if he cared not at all whether Blaine was behind him.

Blaine froze when the front door of the house opened, and both Burt and Carole spilled out onto the porch and down the steps to meet them. Even their appearance didn't inspire Kurt to look back and check on him. Carole called out to Kurt, who sped up to meet them. She gave Kurt a hug, then passed him to Burt, and then . . . they all turned and headed into the house together.

Blaine they ignored completely. As if he wasn't even there. As if he was nothing more than . . . than a slave, beneath notice, following his master in case he was needed.

For a moment Blaine was rooted to his spot on the driveway, watching the others climb the porch steps again. Kurt had prepared them. He'd prepared them but not Blaine, he hadn't even given him instructions and while, yes, Blaine had to admit he had asked to be surprised this weekend and he'd asked to be pushed, he certainly had never expected to be asked to be a slave over dinner with Kurt's family.

But was pushing someone only in the direction they wanted to be pushed even pushing at all?

One foot in front of the other up the smooth bricks of the driveway, the four steps leading up to the porch; they'd all gone inside but they'd left the door ajar so that he could come in without knocking. Blaine's sweaty palm slipped on the doorknob but he managed to turn it and close the door silently. He hovered in the dim, cool entryway, slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the coat tree next to Kurt's. Hands clenched tight at his sides, he moved just far enough forward that he could see into the living room.

Finn and Rachel were nowhere to be seen. Just realizing they weren't here banished half the tension from Blaine's body. Kurt really had planned this. Carole and Burt both sat in armchairs; Kurt was alone at one end of the couch, his back to Blaine, talking to his parents, looking as casual and relaxed as he ever had. He didn't seem at all worried about Blaine. But Blaine knew him well enough to know that that spot on the couch next to him was left open on purpose. He could walk in, cross left of the couch, sit down beside Kurt, use a soft kiss to the cheek to hide a whispered safeword, and enjoy dinner with everyone else. Or he could go right instead and kneel, in front of Burt and Carole, next to his master's long legs, and his weekend of slavery could continue uninterrupted.

Even he wasn't quite sure which way he planned to go. Not until he was halfway across the room. No one looked up; the conversation continued just as if a tormented, yearning, anxious submissive wasn't about to take what felt like the biggest step of his life. Or not.

Without even consciously choosing, Blaine found himself going right. His eyes lowered to the floor before he even got all the way to the couch. His hands loosened and his breath flowed more easily. His body, once committed, accepted its fate. His mind less so. It was still racing as he came around the arm of the sofa and folded himself silently to the floor by Kurt's feet. He held his breath, but there wasn't even the tiniest pause in the chatter above him.

Then a warm hand settled on his head and squeezed, once, in silent approval, before the fingers relaxed to stroke almost absently. And as he knelt there with those fingers caressing him Blaine could feel the quiet darkness begin to grow from deep inside him. Where before it had pushed aside need and desperation, now it pushed aside fear. It grew with each rhythmic pass of fingers against his scalp, until he felt . . . good . . . he felt good and right and triumphantly obedient kneeling there in front of everyone.

He would feel even better, he thought, if he rested his head on his master's thigh. And so he did, and was rewarded with another approving squeeze. The peaceful feeling swelled to encompass him, drowning out the voices passing over his head, and he drifted, safe and content.

* * *

Blaine was high, joyously, head spinning-ly drunk, although he hadn't had a taste of alcohol. No, all he'd had were sips of water from a cup his master held for him and bites of meat and vegetable and bread taken from his master's own fingers as he knelt next to his chair in the dining room.

On the outside he was a picture of perfect slave comportment, hands folded in his lap on the ride back to his apartment, slipping out of his clothes without being told the minute he crossed the threshold, waiting with infinite patience on his knees in the bedroom for his master to have need of him again. On the outside nothing had changed. But he felt full of the bright pop of champagne bubbles and the dark seduction of aged whiskey. His head spun with excitement and, he had to admit it to himself, pride.

He'd done it. It had scared him so much, so much that he'd nearly safeworded right there in the Hummels' living room. But he hadn't. He'd trusted his master to know what was best for him and he'd trusted himself, and the deep, unspoken desires that his master always managed to see no matter how he tried to hide them. And now he was filled with a towering sense of triumph. He wanted to laugh and dance and sing and the fact that he could kneel in silent stillness despite the cacophony inside him only made him more joyous. He felt for the first time that he was truly his master's perfect slave. No matter how far down into the deepest parts of himself he looked, the most hidden corners where he kept his most frightening insecurities, nowhere could he find even a whisper of doubt.

And his master was proud. He hadn't said anything, not while they were at his parents' or on the ride home, but Blaine had seen it, written as obviously as if the letters were tattooed in his skin. The way his eyes had shone, the way all the concern had slowly faded from his expression. And there had been a moment – Blaine was sure he'd seen it happen – when his master had realized that he didn't need to worry about Blaine anymore. His laugh had become louder and more genuine, he seemed to stand taller and he'd even unselfconsciously given orders, commanding Blaine to clear the table for Carole when dinner was finished, and to fetch their jackets before they left. He'd stood so tall in his authority and he, Blaine, had done that. He was the one who'd given his master that confidence by trusting him and obeying him. Both times he'd responded, “Yes master,” in front of everyone and he hadn't cared who heard, he wanted them to hear, he wanted them to know the kind of man he served and to understand the power of his dominance through the actions of his slave.

He'd done it. He'd done it all and now he was giddy with it. He wanted more. He couldn't wait for what came next, not because he needed any particular action or outcome, just because he wanted to keep feeling this way. He wanted to serve and feel his perfection, feel the connection between slave and master, the symbiotic offering and receiving, of submission, pleasure and pain. He felt an invisible but tangible connection between them, as he knelt and his master moved around the room making preparations, like the leash he'd worn before.

When everything was ready, his master came to stand in front of him. He was dressed in soft cotton pajama pants and no shirt – Blaine's favorite look after complete nudity. His cock bulged half-hard through the green plaid fabric. He stood for several long minutes, just watching Blaine, and although Blaine's gaze was obediently lowered to the floor, he could almost see himself through his master's eyes: willing, compliant, beautiful.

“Look at me Blaine.”

He raised his eyes to meet his master's, hoping he looked as full of love and trust and joy as he felt. He suspected he did, because his master's smile was radiant and he held out his arm so that Blaine could carefully remove his cuff. Then he gestured for Blaine's arm and performed the same service for him. He set both the cuffs on the dresser and then knelt in front of Blaine so that he could wrap his hand around Blaine's cage and its eager occupant.

“I bet you'd like get this off for a while,” he said.

There was a part of Blaine that wanted to shake his head in denial and assure his master that all he ever wanted was to be used in whatever way pleased him the most. But he also knew that his master always wanted honesty. And in any case, his cock had already given him away by spouting yet more precome right onto his master's hand. Blaine was kind of amazed there was any left. Although, he thought as his master raised his hand to Blaine's lips for cleaning, they were doing a lot of recycling.

Later – Blaine wasn't sure how much later because he sort of got lost in the taste and scent of his master's skin – the hand pulled away and his master stood and turned his back, but not before Blaine noticed that his half erection was now at full mast.

“Go lie down on the bed. On your back.”

He would like to have flown to the bed in immediate and complete obedience, but in truth just standing up left him a little light-headed so he took his time instead, breathing deep and slow and reaching for the core of peace that hadn't left him since he'd first knelt in the Hummels' living room. He climbed on top of the duvet and lay down, head propped on two pillows. His master was rummaging in the bottom left dresser drawer – that drawer – and Blaine's careful hold on his breathing faltered when he turned around with four cuffs in his hands.

The ankle cuffs were another recent purchase and his master put them on him first, attaching each one to an eye bolt screwed into the footboard of the bed. His arms were then bound in the same way, so that he lay spread-eagle and defenseless. Blaine pulled against the cuffs, just to test them, but of course they held firm. The bondage only added to the sense of peace creeping over him. He was already beginning to float a little, and he gave himself over to it freely because he knew that's what his master would want. And so he completely missed the next thing, at least until the tug on his tender, swollen balls brought him jarringly back to reality.

A thin chain had been attached to his testicle cuff at one end and to the eye bolt dead in the center of the footboard at the other. It was taut but didn't pull, at least not until one long finger plucked it like a guitar string and Blaine moaned with the sharp lance of pain. The message was clear. Stay still and he'd be reasonably comfortable. Move, squirm, evade, and his balls would pay the price.

His master came to sit on the bed beside him and smiled down at his helpless form. “You were very, very good tonight,” he said, idly caressing one of Blaine's nipples as he spoke.

Pride swelled Blaine's chest again. “Thank you master,” he said.

“I think you deserve a reward. So I'm going to set you free for a while. But that's all,” he warned. He tried to look stern but his happiness was too transparent to make that successful. “You don't get to come.”

Blaine fought away the disappointment that clutched at his throat. He knew he had no right to expect anything. But he had to admit he'd hoped. Of course he'd hoped. It had been a whole month. Every “no” had ratcheted the tension and need higher and, erotic as that had been, he really, really needed to hear a “yes” sometime soon.

Meanwhile his cock spurted yet another stream of the never-ending supply of precome. It landed warm on Blaine's belly.

His master laughed. “You don't even know what you want anymore, do you?” he asked.

Blaine looked him. He really, really wanted to say that of course he knew what he wanted, he wanted to come thank you very much. But his master demanded honesty. “I want whatever will please you the most,” he said.

He was rewarded with a kiss, swift and surprising but also gentle enough that surrendering to it began to bring back the floaty feeling that had made his head spin before. When it broke off he whined and lifted his head to chase it, but then his master reached for the chain around his neck, the one that held the keys to the restraints locked onto Blaine's body. Blaine let his head fall back and closed his eyes in anticipation.

The lock clicked; the cage lifted away. The ring at the base had to stay, the chain from the cuff was in the way and even if it hadn't been, Blaine's cock went instantly hard the moment it was free. Blood rushed in almost violently, angry that it had been kept away for so long. It was glorious, luxurious after so long cramped and bound, and Blaine's ass muscles clenched to push into the flow, at least until the sharp pain in his balls reminded him why that wasn't a good idea. He lifted his head instead and stared down at himself. It had been so long he felt like he was greeting a stranger. His hands pulled at their bonds in a futile attempt to touch it again. He longed to feel its weight, full and turgid at last after so many weeks of cringing and small. But there was no way, his master wouldn't allow it, and he whimpered in frustration and let his head fall back again.

“I bet that feels good after so long,” his master teased in a complete abuse of understatement.

Staring up at the ceiling, Blaine could only nod.

“Do you wish you could touch it?”

Another nod.

“Do you wish I would touch it?”

Blaine's eyes flew to his master. The possibility had never even occurred to him. To be set free and not even touched? His whole body clenched against it, and splinters of agony pierced his balls again.

“Please,” he begged through teeth clenched against the pain.

“Please?” His master's eyes were shadowed and inscrutable but his cock was hard as could be. The thin pants hid nothing.

Blaine's own cock contracted in rhythmic beats that pulled on his balls just enough to make his breath hitch through his tightened throat.� His master could see it, of course he could, and he rested a hand ever so gently over Blaine's throat then stroked down, down, a slow caress down to Blaine's diaphragm where it lifted, found his throat again, and repeated. Long and slow the warm hand followed the path of Blaine's breath until the clench began to unlock. When his breath was smooth and unhindered again, his master rested his hand over Blaine's heart and said once more, “Please?”

“Please let me serve you,” Blaine said, quickly, before he could change his mind.

Blue eyes flared with fire and pink lips twisted into the one-sided smile that Blaine loved so much. “That's my good boy,” his master said, and his hand left Blaine's chest and curled around his eager cock.

Blaine thrust up before he remembered that he shouldn't, and then cried out for the third time as his balls spasmed against the chain that held them.

“Be still or I'll have to stop,” his master warned.

Being able to keep still seemed about as likely as being able to fly. After such a long confinement Blaine's cock was more sensitive than it had ever been. Even the oh-so-slow strokes of his master's loose fist were magnified, like he was pumping into hot, clenching flesh. After a month of nothing, nothing from that part of his body but clenched and cringing frustration, every sensation was amplified exponentially. Warm fingers felt burning hot; slow and teasing touches made him yearn to pump mindlessly until he finally, finally fell over the edge into the ecstasy that he'd been denied for so long.

“Oh fuck, please, please,” he begged, when his master's thumb circled the head, slick with precome. It was too much, he was too sensitive; he managed to endure only three glorious swipes before he had to moan, “I'm close, I'm close,” tears filling his eyes because he knew what would happen next.

And of course the hand disappeared, and the force of the disappointment combined with the effort to keep his body still sent the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Shhhhh.” Fingers wiped the moisture from his cheeks. “Tell me how it feels.”

Blaine closed his eyes. “It feels like you're burning me up from the inside out. And I need to explode but I can't, I can't let go. I want to, I want to so much but I can't.”

“That's right.” Lips replaced fingers, pressing kisses to Blaine's cheek, his temple, his eyelid. The hand moved down again to wrap around his cock, tighter this time. He stroked hard and fast and it took every ounce of will Blaine had to hold still. He wanted so badly to thrust up into his master's hand and push himself over the edge. Only the thought of the pain held him back. He was close, he was so close, and he waited, he told himself he could wait, he could stay quiet and let the unbearable friction go on and on until it was too late, it was building, it was right there in his balls churning for the millionth time to finally be allowed to explode out into proper ecstasy, and this time he could just let it come, instead of ending in an agony of frustration like every other time for as long as Blaine could remember.

But instinct was too strong, and the desire to obey, and at the last possible moment he shouted a warning. The heat and friction disappeared but it was too late, his balls clenched against the chain and hot fire exploded through them, he cried out in pain even as he felt the monstrous orgasm burning toward him almost, almost break. It was right there, it had to peak, he would die if it didn't and yet still he hung in desperate anticipation, it thundered in his ears and twisted every cell in his body and he reached for it with everything he had, sacrificed even his aching balls in the hope that maybe the pain would give him that last millimeter he needed.

The despair of the moment he realized that it wasn't going to happen was like nothing he'd ever felt in his life.

“Blaine.”

As the noise in his head began to fade he realized he was pulling frantically at his bonds and chanting, “Please touch me please I need it please I can't anymore master please please please . . .” With an effort he closed his lips against the words.

“Blaine.” His master sounded insistent. Blaine opened his eyes. His master's face swam, not quite in focus, above him.

“What's this, Blaine?”

He looked down where his master indicated. His eyes found their focus in time to see a single long drip of milky fluid make its way down his still-throbbing cock, one pathetic dribble, that was how close he'd been. Looking at it made him want to wail his frustration like a thwarted toddler.

“I don't remember giving you permission to come,” his master said.

Blaine gasped. No, he wanted to say. That's not fair. I didn't come. I don't deserve to be . . . but then he raised his eyes to his master's and oh. His master's eyes. His master's eyes were blue and deep and through them he could see – he could see right inside his master's mind. Trust me, they said. And I love you. And more, so much more, there were volumes there in his master's eyes that he'd be happy to just lay here forever and read but then a finger slid up the shaft of Blaine's cock – he shuddered at the pleasure of it – and smeared with his imitation of release it was presented to his lips. He suckled at it until it was pulled away, still staring deep into his master's eyes.

The rest of it passed in a blur of heat and pressure and blue eyes full of shifting clouds. His master's plaid pants disappeared, then he was on the bed, straddling Blaine's chest, his cock only inches from Blaine's lips, but when Blaine struggled toward it he was pushed away.

“No. This is your punishment. You don't get to help. You can only watch.”

Oh he watched. He watched his master's face as he stroked himself, kneeling over Blaine's bound and chastised body. He watched those blue eyes soften and lose focus and finally drop closed altogether. He watched as the muscles of his chest expanded with each heavy inhale. Blaine's fingers stretched and clenched their need to touch and his head struggled to lift off the pillow for just a taste, but he fought it back. He forced himself to wait, obediently, mouth open, hoping to at least receive a taste of his master's release.

In the last moment the blue eyes opened again and locked with Blaine's, and whatever his master saw must have been the exact thing he needed. He moaned Blaine's name and came, and Blaine closed his own eyes just before the first hot spurts landed on his cheek, and his nose, and, blessedly, ecstatically, in his mouth.

His last thought, before he floated away, was that his master was wrong. He may not have been allowed to touch, but his pain, his desperation, his obedience, they fueled every orgasm, every ounce of pleasure his master experienced. He was the source of it all. They were each enslaved to the other, really. Even if his master did get most of the orgasms.

His cock gave a little twitch at that thought, but he felt much too content to try to do anything about it.

* * *

Kurt was surprised by how sad he was when Sunday afternoon finally arrived, bringing an end to what he was sure Blaine, when he was thinking straight again, would try to give some silly name like Slavapalooza. Or maybe Slavestock. He never knew what Blaine would come up with. Of course, he'd be glad to have Blaine back in the bed again at night, and being cuddly on the couch and all, but there were things about this weekend he would miss. He hadn't expected that.

Next to him Blaine slept, cuddled against Kurt's side, completely worn out from the orgasm that Kurt had finally ripped from him after lunch. He'd come so violently after his long denial that he'd literally screamed with it, and pulled at his bondage hard enough to make the bed slide noisily across the floor. All things considered, it was probably lucky they were so close to moving out. Kurt really didn't want to have to face any of the neighbors after that.

He'd been excited about the weekend, but he'd also been afraid. He knew he'd overplanned; poor Blaine had probably wanted to throttle him a hundred times this past month and not just because of the chastity cage. He'd made list after list and still he'd worried that he'd lose his way and screw it up. But as it turned out, all he had to do was look into Blaine's eyes. Every time he did he saw such faith that he managed to push aside his nerves and rise to each occasion. At least Blaine seemed to think he did. Kurt wasn't sure he'd ever seen Blaine as content as he looked now, sleeping it off. It was a shame to wake him, but their time had run out.

It was also surprisingly easy to wake him, considering everything he'd been through all weekend. It only took a few shakes and Blaine opened his eyes and gave Kurt a sleepy but still stunning smile.

“It's four o'clock. I have to go soon,” Kurt murmured.

Blaine lifted himself just enough to shift on top of Kurt, wrapping an arm and a leg around him as if to hold him down. “I don't want you to go.”

Kurt kissed the top of Blaine's head, where his curls were still damp from exertion. “Just a few more weeks and I'll never have to go.”

“It's what I live for,” Blaine said. He snuggled closer, rubbing his check against the hollow of Kurt's shoulder. “Thank you for this weekend. It was just what I needed to get through to the end. I think I can still feel all the places you came on me.”

Kurt laughed. “I thought you said it was supposed to be a goodbye to the apartment?”

“That too. But for some reason everything feels harder as we get so close to the end. And to be able to let go like that for a while was amazing.”

“I didn't push you too much?”

Kurt felt Blaine shrug against his encircling arm. “I was scared a few times, I guess. But being scared turns me on. And you always kept me safe. It's not fair, really, when you think about it.”

Kurt shifted enough to look at him. “What's not fair?”

“I'm eleven years older than you. I should be the one making you feel safe, not the other way around.”

Kurt gave him his best stern look. “Do we need to have that conversation again?”

“No,” Blaine smiled back at him and snuggled against his chest.

“Besides, you do make me feel safe.”

“I do? How?”

“Just like this.” Kurt hugged Blaine tighter against his body. “When you trust me. When you put yourself in my hands so willingly, that makes me feel safe. I feel safe to be who I am and . . . to want the things that I want. You validate me in a way nobody else ever could.”

He felt Blaine's lips move against his chest and knew he was smiling. “I like that,” Blaine said.

“I thought you would.”

“We should take pictures.”

“Pictures?” Kurt asked.

“Of the apartment. All the important places. Like where you spanked me that first time, and we could take a picture of the pulley before we take it down and the shower . . . we had some epic sex in there . . . Oh! And the spot in front of the chair where I knelt for you the almost first time!”

Kurt sat up, spilling Blaine onto the mattress. “So we'll have a bunch of pictures of empty walls and floors and ceilings?”

“Empty in the pictures, but we'll know.” Blaine rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled up to close the distance between them. “We'll know.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

That eyebrow wiggle was Kurt's weakness and Blaine knew it. “I supposed we could take pictures,” Kurt said, “but just for us. I don't want to have to explain to my dad why we have a picture of your floor.”

“You don't think he would appreciate that it was the first place you ever told me to come for you?”

Blaine's words brought back such a vivid image of that afternoon, with Blaine in his arms, stroking his own cock, begging Kurt to hold him as he came, that for some unaccountable reason Kurt found himself blushing. “Okay, we're definitely taking a picture of that piece of floor. And possibly printing a wallet-sized version I can carry around with me.”

Blaine answered him with a kiss.