Blaine squirmed on the hard wooden chair in the corridor outside the office. His heart raced, his palms sweated, his blazer seemed to pull too tightly across his anxious shoulders. There was a deep rumbling in his belly, like the harbinger of some cataclysmic eruption, and his fingers curled around the seat of the chair, but whether to cling to its relative safety or to provide leverage to fling himself into the unknown, he couldn't have said.

Behind the door he faced, he could hear rustling, shifting and mysterious clattering as the occupant went about whatever preparations he made before confronting yet another insubordinate Dalton student. Blaine could see him, in his mind's eye, carefully putting the office in order and creating space. He could see him sitting cool and perfect behind his gleaming desk, contemplating the discipline to be administered. Contemplating him.

Headmaster Hummel.

Blaine had been in love with Headmaster Hummel since the moment he'd introduced himself to the assembled student body of Dalton Academy in the dining hall on his first day in residence. Tall, young, impossibly beautiful, Mr. Hummel was the exact opposite of his predecessor, Headmaster Turner, who'd been about a hundred years old and mysteriously always seemed to leave the smell of cabbage behind him whenever he exited a room. Mr. Hummel only left a wafting hint of cologne. And he was a dom. Blaine could tell even before he spotted the cuff on the new headmaster's left wrist.

Blaine was confident that he would soon come to the headmaster's attention. He was something of a star at Dalton: lead singer of the National Champion Warblers, member of the student council, and founder of Dalton's Gay-Straight Alliance club. And all that as a marked submissive. He was the kind of boy headmasters noticed, appreciated, even relied on. Headmaster Turner had always made a point of acknowledging him when they passed in the hallways. But Headmaster Hummel barely looked at him. When required in student council meetings, he sat at the head of the polished conference table in one of his many slim, devastatingly stylish dark suits that showed off every angle of his body to perfection and never even glanced in Blaine's direction. When present at impromptu Warbler performances he smiled and clapped and even tapped his foot occasionally, but never gave Blaine the attention his front-and-center position demanded. No matter how hard Blaine tried, how many chance encounters he arranged, or how he posed and preened in front of the man, Headmaster Hummel acted almost as if he wasn't there at all.

It infuriated Blaine. But it also made him long for that attention all the more. The tall, graceful headmaster became the star attraction of Blaine's already rich fantasy life. And more, he began to haunt Blaine's dreams, touching him, teasing him, staring deep into his soul with those gorgeous cloudy-sky eyes while doing things to his body that spread to every point on the spectrum between agonizing and ecstatic. He assaulted Blaine's senses until his body simply couldn't take anymore and he exploded awake to trembling aftershocks and sticky sheets or, even better, the throbbing perfection of a not-quite-far-enough erection that he forced himself to endure because, he pretended, the headmaster hadn't given him permission. It was delicious, but it was never enough.

And then one fateful day Blaine had overheard Charlie Wakefield bitching to his cronies on the lacrosse team about the new headmaster, and the wicked ruler he'd threatened Charlie with when Charlie had been sent to the office for one of his probably many offenses. The headmaster hadn't dared to actually hit him, the jock bragged. No, Charlie Wakefield was a dom, too powerful, as he told it, to ever drop his trousers and submit to such a humiliating punishment. And Hummel had recognized that and, prudently, backed off. But Blaine had seen Charlie absently rubbing his ass when he thought no one was looking.

Blaine didn't know what had really happened with Charlie Wakefield in the headmaster's office. He only knew two things. He hated Charlie Wakefield possibly more than he'd ever hated anyone in his life. And he had to find a way to get into that office himself.

Which was how he ended up here, shifting on a hard wooden chair, trembling alternately with fear and excitement, facing the heavy door behind which Headmaster Hummel was preparing. For him.

“Come in, Mr. Anderson.”

The words, muffled by the door though they were, hit Blaine like dynamite, square in the chest, and he suddenly felt quite dizzy at his own daring. This was it. Alone with Mr. Hummel in his private office, with the genuine possibility of a spanking. Blaine's knees positively quaked as he navigated the two steps to the door and turned the knob.

He was there, sitting behind the bare antique desk, resplendent as always in navy blue pinstripes, a pristine white shirt, and an elaborately knotted black tie. Backlit by the sun in the window behind him, he seemed to glow with an otherworldly halo, and it took several seconds for Blaine to just remember how to breathe.

“Have a seat.” The headmaster gestured casually toward another hard wooden chair, set facing him on the opposite side of the desk. Without a word – honestly Blaine didn't think he could speak if he tried – he wobbled to it and sank gratefully into its support. The movement took his eyes away from Mr. Hummel just long enough for him to realize that the desk wasn't completely bare after all. One item rested on it. An old-fashioned wooden ruler, narrow and thin, lines and numbers marching across its surface.

Blaine realized the fatal flaw in his plan as his cock began to swell at the sight of the ruler. In the loose Dalton trousers there was no hiding it; the bulge grew to obscene proportions, even held in relative check by his underwear, and only their positons with the desk between them hid it from Headmaster Hummel. Of course, Blaine thought. Of fucking course. Weeks and weeks of trying to get the headmaster to look at him, and now, now when he finally had his undivided attention, when Mr. Hummel was staring at him with those blue green eyes like Blaine was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen, Blaine was hard as . . . well, hard as a horny teenager whose dearest fantasies featured this very man doing all sorts of filthy things to him.

He squirmed on the chair, partly to try to adjust his unfortunate problem and partly from the pure humiliation of the situation. Of course, the humiliation didn't exactly help with the problem.

The headmaster must have thought his fidgeting was from anxiety, though, because he finally spoke, favoring Blaine with an almost-smile.

“Mr. Anderson. I have to admit, I don't quite know what to make of you.”

“Sir?” Blaine managed to squeak.

“I've looked at your file. You have what may be the cleanest record I've ever seen from a high school student. Never a demerit. No visits to the office. Every teacher you've ever had has raved about your ability, your effort, your respectfulness.”

Blaine stared, speechless. Mr. Hummel had looked at his file? Mr. Hummel had looked into him, wanted to know about him? The headmaster fell silent and Blaine realized he was waiting for an answer. “Yes, sir,” he said inanely.

Mr. Hummel leaned forward in his expensive leather chair and clasped his hands on the desk, so near the fateful ruler. The sight only exacerbated Blaine's problem.

“So do you want to tell me what happened in Professor Clarendon's class this morning?”

Blaine hadn't thought he'd be asked to explain himself. He'd expected swift justice with no questions. “I – I don't really know sir. I guess maybe it all just got to be too much? The pressure, I mean. I just – needed to relieve the pressure.” And he certainly did, he thought, squirming to find a better position on the hard chair. His balls felt twice their normal size and density and the unforgiving wood wasn't helping.

Headmaster Hummel stared at him with those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through him, until Blaine began to wonder why he'd ever wanted the headmaster to look at him in the first place. When he finally moved, it was only to trace one finger up and down the length of the ruler as he stared. Someone in the room whimpered. Blaine was dreadfully afraid that it had been him.

“I was considering,” Mr. Hummel finally said, “letting you off with a warning this time, since it's a first offense.”

The whimper repeated itself. This time Blaine couldn't even pretend it hadn't come from his own throat. Could all his efforts have been for naught?

“But then I thought, what better time to break a habit than before it becomes a habit?” One sculpted brown eyebrow arched in a movement that was too tiny to be as graceful as it seemed to Blaine. Both Blaine's heart and his cock soared. But he didn't even care about his telltale erection anymore. He just wanted to feel that ruler clipping his ass, and pretend that the headmaster was his master, punishing him for not being quite good enough, honing Blaine's submission to his own exacting standards.

“Stand up, Mr. Anderson.”

Blaine swallowed heavily around the lump in his throat, and stood.

“Take off the blazer.”

Reluctantly Blaine unbuttoned the only thing hiding his state of arousal. Turning his back to drape it over the chair gave him a moment to catch his breath before he faced the headmaster again.

A tiny twitching of his lips was all the sign Headmaster Hummel gave that he even noticed Blaine's . . . condition. But Blaine felt his face flush hot anyway. His cock was so heavy it almost seemed to overbalance him but when he reflexively shifted his weight back to counter it, the effect was to push the offending organ even farther forward, as if he was presenting it. The twitching became an actual smile, despite the headmaster's best efforts to prevent it, and although it made part of Blaine wish that the floor would open up and swallow him whole, his cock only surged harder. Apparently, it was perfectly happy to be the center of Headmaster Hummel's attention.

Thankfully, the knowing smile was short-lived. Mr. Hummel quickly pulled his expression back to one of stern disapproval. Blaine's cock didn't like that as much but it made his insides quiver with expectation. This was it.

“Drop your trousers.”

Blaine was grateful that his fingers didn't fumble. He didn't want to appear afraid. He wanted to show the headmaster that he could take the punishment he deserved with all the grace of any experienced submissive. And he wanted to be able to tell himself that he was good enough and had proven worthy of the headmaster's attention and discipline.

His uniform pants dropped easily from his hips and pooled around his feet. They released his shirttails, which fell over his bulge but didn't quite cover his underwear.

“Those too.” Mr. Hummel's eyes dipped to indicate his black briefs.

Blaine clamped down hard on the part of him that wanted to turn tail and run. Instead he pushed his underwear down to his knees in one swift move. But he wasn't sure if he was meant to just reveal his ass for the spanking or to remove them completely, and then he was still wearing his shoes, so he wasn't sure if he even could remove them completely, and for a moment he was caught in indecision, bowed forward over the erection that had sprung up eagerly as soon as it was freed.

“That's far enough.”

Now Blaine had no choice but to slowly straighten, each inch revealing more of his naked and excited cock to the headmaster. By the time he was completely upright he was sure his face must be scarlet. Headmaster Hummel abandoned all pretense of disinterest and simply stared. Blaine's humiliation was complete when his dick chose that moment to pulse out a trickle of pre-come, just in case anyone in the room had any doubt as to its opinion of the proceedings.

“Well aren't you full of surprises,” the headmaster smiled, and when his eyes met Blaine's it was clear that there was no more pretense between them. He understood completely. And that made it so much worse – or better, depending on which part of Blaine's body you were asking. The headmaster reached for the ruler and slid one finger along the edge of it as he spoke. “You're going to stretch yourself out over my desk, the long way –” he waved the ruler over the desk to illustrate, “– and if that –” another gesture, this time aimed at Blaine's cock “– makes any kind of mess on my vintage mid-century hard rock maple, well, I'll have no choice but to punish it too.”

A statement like that, Blaine thought, was pretty much a guarantee that a mess would be made; the mere suggestion that the ruler might be used on his cock made his whole body tremble with the suppressed desire of months of fantasies. He wasn't sure it mattered anymore what Headmaster Hummel actually did with the ruler. There was no way Blaine was escaping this office without humiliating himself further than even he had ever dared to dream of.

The headmaster tilted his head meaningfully toward the desk, so Blaine shuffled to the side of it as best he could with his trousers around his feet and his briefs hobbling his knees. Under Mr. Hummel's evaluating eye he draped himself across the desk, the cool of it shocking his overheated body, until he was settled, stretched out, his cock trapped between the cold surface and the soft heat of his own belly. His sweaty fingers curled around the desk's decorative molding, grabbing for what precarious purchase they could get.

“Farther,” Mr. Hummel breathed.� His voice was soft and intense. Blaine concentrated on that as he reached and pulled until his toes barely touched the ground, instead of thinking about how he was now basically laying across the desk, presenting his ass for the headmaster's pleasure.

He felt the covering shirttail flipped up, and any chance of not making a mess on the desk ended, Blaine thought despairingly, excitedly, when something that could only be the ruler pressed firmly against the flesh of one cheek and his cock spurted another trickle of approval. His heart shook like a rattle in the hands of a manic infant and he turned his head to one side and closed his eyes.

“I think ten, since it's only a first offense,” Mr. Hummel said.

When the silence dragged on and the ruler didn't move, Blaine realized the headmaster expected an answer. “Thank you sir,” he said, so quietly that he could barely hear himself.

Still the headmaster hesitated, leaving Blaine hanging on the precipice in an agony of anticipation, so close to experiencing what he'd only dreamed of. His ass twitched under the press of the ruler, but still it didn't move. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He surrendered the very last of his dignity on one, heartfelt plea, accompanied by a completely shameless ass wiggle.

“Please sir.”

Swift as lightning the ruler was gone and back again, smacking sharp against Blaine's expectant ass and pushing a cry from his chest. Heat stung where it connected with Blaine's body but it was as much relief as pain – the finally of scratching an itch that had been tormenting him forever, or falling over the edge of orgasm after weeks of pulling back. The pain didn't frighten him at all. He wanted more of it. He wanted all of it.

“One.” He hadn't been told to count but he did it anyhow, in a strong, steady voice, just to show the headmaster how good he could be.

The blows came quickly, all on the same cheek, two, three, four, five; Blaine counted them all although by the fifth strike his voice was quavering. It wasn't just the pain or the emotional release, each stroke pushed his body toward the opposite end of the desk, rocking his poor, beleaguered cock between conflicting points of hard and soft, hot and cold. As it leaked it slipped more easily in its own fluid, making the delicious pull towards ultimate relief so much harder to resist. Each smash of pain built on the last and Blaine's fingers grappled with the edges of the desk in a desperate bid for some kind of control. Because if he actually came on the headmaster's desk while he was being punished, he might die of humiliation. But he also thought he might die if he didn't.

There was a pause after the fifth stroke, which should have given Blaine time to recover some of his flayed self-control. But in the sudden silence he could hear Headmaster Hummel breathing, hard, harder than the exertion of the act warranted. The idea that the headmaster might be as affected as he was by what was happening made Blaine's stomach clench. He was pleasing. His pain was pleasing. As needy and strung-out as he was, and feeling decidedly lopsided with one ass cheek hot and throbbing and the other untouched, Blaine didn't think he'd ever been happier.

The pause was brief, then the blows fell again, on the opposite cheek this time. They hurt more than the ones on his warmed-up side had, which Blaine found strange. The first brought tears to his eyes and his throat convulsed momentarily before he could squeeze out a “six.”

Seven, eight, nine and ten came, again, in quick succession, each harder than the last. Pain and need built to a peak and Blaine gave himself over to them, abandoning any pretense of control. His ass flexed under the ruler, which humped his cock harder against the desktop, but he didn't care. His deepest fantasies were coming true and he might never have this chance again. By the end he wasn't even sure if he was still counting. He was too overwhelmed; he couldn't think about anything but the ruler, Headmaster Hummel, himself, and the hard wood that was driving his cock toward long-awaited completion.

Then it was done. The blows stopped raining on his ass, and Blaine was left rutting helplessly against the desktop. And with a sharp, “Be still,” the headmaster took even that away from him.

The pain-drawn tears spilled over and Blaine was crying, because it was over, because he hadn't even realized how much he craved the humiliation of spilling all over the desk until the opportunity gone.

A hand settled in the middle of his back – he could feel its warmth even through his shirt - and the headmaster, in a voice that was gentler than it had been so far, said, “You did so well. Relax. You're right where I want you to be.”

Blaine cried a little harder at that, and the hope that it ignited, but the hand caressed him almost lovingly, up and down his back, each time sliding a little farther toward his aching ass. And finally, in a moment that made Blaine want to climb onto the school's roof and shout in triumph, the hand kept going, stroking past his shirt and over the heated flesh where the ruler had fallen. Down on the right, then back up again on the left. He shivered under the touch, and his cock sent a little more precome trickling onto the polished surface of the desk.

Then the hand was gone and the headmaster's voice regained its careful composure. “You can stand up now.”

Blaine pushed himself away from the desk, stumbling a little – he had forgotten that his knees were still bound by his briefs – and trailing a smear of fluid from his cock along the desktop as he moved. He stood red-faced and tear-stained under the headmaster's scrutiny. He hardly dared to imagine how he must look, his pants down, his ass angry red and still twitching, his cock upright against his shirttails as they fell around it.

Mr. Hummel came close to him and stared deeply into his eyes, searching, it almost seemed to Blaine, but he couldn't imagine for what. He held the headmaster's gaze, his head high, and tried to hide his fear that he was about to be sent back to his dormitory, his fantasy well and truly over.

But something changed in the headmaster's eyes as they watched Blaine so intently. He seemed to make a decision; his back straightened and he turned his head just enough to glance at the desktop, then back to Blaine.

“Well, it looks like you made a mess after all, didn't you?”

Blaine turned to look. A puddle of fluid, some of it smeared in a long line toward them, stained the desk, proclaiming a guilt there was no way to deny. He turned back to the headmaster.

“Yes sir.” He didn't even try not to sound hopeful.

“I supposed you need a little more punishment after all.”

“Please sir.” He at least tried, this time, to uphold the illusion that he was afraid.

“Lift your shirt.”

Blaine's hands trembled as he ruched his shirt up out of the way, exposing his cock once again to the headmaster's sharp eyes.

Long fingers moved toward his erection and Blaine held his breath. He was absolutely sure that if Headmaster Hummel actually touched his cock, he would explode. Possibly literally. His cock stretched toward the touch, begging as loudly as Blaine was sure his eyes were. The approach was slow but the culmination swift. In a move almost too fast to see the headmaster wrapped a hand around his cock and at the exact same moment brought the ruler down with devastating speed to smack just once flat across the glans.

Blaine doubled over with a cry as pain exploded through his dick, but he was grateful for it. He was certain the pain was the only thing that kept the orgasm storming in his balls at bay. It surged, but found itself blocked by the wall of agony in the head of his cock. It was absolute torture, but blissful at the same time, and even as his knees buckled under the weight of it and he fell to the floor, a part of him hoped that this was only the beginning.

But alas, Headmaster Hummel dropped the ruler on the desk and stood over Blaine, now kneeling in complete disarray at his feet.

When his head began to clear and the pain settled into a dull, leaden weight in the pit of his stomach, Blaine looked up at the man who now towered above him. And suddenly it didn't matter to him at all that the punishment was over. Suddenly everything was perfect. Because from this angle even the long lines of Headmaster Hummel's impeccably tailored jacket couldn't hide it. Mr. Hummel was hard.

The room began to tilt around Blaine and he sucked in mouthfuls of air, panting like an animal at his master's feet. He'd done that. His submission and his pain and his obedience had caused it and that thought drove all caution out of his mind.

“Please sir,” he begged, open, shameless, desperate.

“Please what?” The headmaster stood perfectly still, smirking down at Blaine as if he already knew exactly what Blaine wanted, but was still going to make him say it.

Instead, Blaine pushed higher onto his knees, let his lips fall apart, and tilted forward, exactly as if he was nuzzling at a cock that he couldn't quite reach.

Headmaster Hummel took one step closer, still smiling that self-satisfied smirk, bringing his cock very much within reach, unbuttoned his jacket so that it fell away from his crotch, and said, “You may.”

Blaine almost died on the spot. Even in his fantasies he'd only ever been touched. He'd never dared to dream of anything like this. Still, he forced his shaking fingers to move. He reached for the button, just the button, and although his brain felt like it was on fire he managed to push it through its hole. He pinched the zipper tab as delicately as he could and pulled, slowly revealing the dark briefs below, the only thing that stood between Blaine and the object of his devotion.

The headmaster's pinstripe trousers, unlike Blaine's loose uniform pants, did not fall but merely opened, so Blaine had no choice but to reach into the opening in the front of the briefs and pull his cock free. A shudder rocked his body as he did so, but he kept his movements slow, reverent, as the headmaster deserved and must expect from him.

The cock was beautiful. Thicker than he might have expected, but Blaine was certainly not going to complain about that. His mouth watered at the sight of it and the throbbing in his own cock tipped farther and farther into pleasure and away from pain. He vitally needed to know what it tasted like and smelled like and he leaned forward again, eagerly this time, his whole body spring-tight.

“Blaine.” The headmaster's sharp voice stopped him and he looked up, one hand still circled around the smooth flesh.

“I'm sure I don't have to tell you what the punishment will be if you get even a speck of . . . anything . . . on this suit.”

Blaine shook his head emphatically. “No so. I'll be perfect sir, I promise.” Then, daringly, he tilted his head so that he was looking through his lashes in what he knew had to be perfect submissive form. “I'll swallow every drop,” he said, with the fervor of an oath.

He was rewarded by the first trickle of precome that afternoon that came from a cock other than his own. And not even more admonishments from the headmaster could have stopped him from reaching with his tongue to lick it away.

The headmaster's hum of approval was all the encouragement he needed to dive in in earnest. The first tiny lick was repeated, over and over. Blaine was teasing himself as much as he was Headmaster Hummel; this was probably the only time in his life that he would get to do this and he was going to make it last. He licked until he couldn't stand it anymore and the headmaster was pumping his hips in tiny thrusts that seemed beyond his conscious control. Only then did he slip his lips over the crown of the gorgeous cock and down, down as far as he could go, sucking in long slides up and down. The taste, the scent, made him light-headed and he wrapped his arms around the headmaster's legs to keep his balance. When that was tolerated, he went farther, caressing up his legs, oh-so-daringly over his ass, even letting his fingers press along the crack as they slid back down. Whatever the headmaster would allow him, Blaine was determined to take while he could. His hands seemed to dance everywhere they could reach, but his mouth went slowly, carefully, keeping his promise to be neat and perfect. Soon the headmaster began to meet each dip of Blaine's head with a thrust, and Blaine, overcome by the intimacy and intensity of it, dug the fingers of one hand into his ass to encourage him forward. His other hand reached into the opening in the dark briefs and cupped the headmaster's tight balls, rolling them against each other. The force of the thrusting increased until finally Blaine could only hold his mouth open and be used, fucked, while his ass tingled every time it met his heels and his own cock streamed with frenzied lust.

His desire was building again, as it had on the desk, as it had for the ruler, but this time what held it back wasn't pain but Blaine's own need to fulfill his vow to his headmaster. To be perfect. Perfect meant obeying, and the more his senses were filled with Headmaster Hummel to the exclusion of all else, the strong the need to obey became. He hadn't been given permission to come. In fact, it had been expressly forbidden. So he refused. He clamped down, shoved the looming orgasm viciously away, even as the headmaster's thrusts continue to pick up speed, as his breathing stuttered and gasped, as the balls in Blaine's hand tightened in preparation.

Then, one hand falling hard on the back of Blaine's head, Headmaster Hummel sank deep into Blaine's mouth and froze, shuddering in sharp paroxysms, tiny noises Blaine was sure he didn't mean to make escaping from his throat. Blaine watched him as best he could, from his position, worshiping at the altar of his master's pleasure. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And true to his word, he swallowed every drop, greedily, wishing that it would never end.

But of course it did. The headmaster slowly returned to himself, opened his eyes, withdrew carefully from Blaine's mouth, and began to make himself presentable once more. Blaine bowed his head. Much as he never wanted to stop looking at Headmaster Hummel, he also wanted to show his humility, his obedience. He hoped, no he prayed that there was even a chance the headmaster wouldn't now send him back to his room, never to cross this particular threshold again.

He couldn't help looking, though, when Headmaster Hummel dropped to the floor to kneel in front of him. Blaine raised his eyes, feeling more vulnerable in his disarray than he could ever remember being, more even than he'd felt when he'd first dropped his pants and shown himself to Mr. Hummel. Now the stormy eyes took him in, head to toe, his swollen lips, his shirt with tails askew, his neglected and hungry cock, his hands, resting on his bare thighs, so close to that need but not touching. Only lying obediently still.

Mr. Hummel smiled and tilted his head a little to the side, almost as if he was about to ask a question. It made him look very young, Blaine thought. But no question came. Instead he touched a fingertip to the damp head of Blaine's cock, then wrapped all his fingers around it and slid down in one beautiful, agonizing stroke.

Blaine had to close his eyes. If he looked he would lose control, he knew it, so he threw his head back and let himself enjoy the amazing, improbable fact that Headmaster Hummel was teasing his cock, for as long as he could. It wasn't very long. He wanted it to last forever but his orgasm was closing in again, too fast, and it made him want to cry again but he opened his eyes and found Mr. Hummel's watching him intently.

“Please sir,” he said for the fourth, or was it fifth time? He was losing count.

“Please what?” The headmaster's hand slowed but did not stop. Each slide felt so good, almost miraculous. It was everything he'd ever dreamed of. But it couldn't go on.

“If you don't stop I'll come. I don't think I can hold back much longer.”

“Why shouldn't you come?”

Blaine could feel himself flush and his shoulders squirmed under the headmaster's gaze. He'd never imagined that he would tell anyone about it, especially not the headmaster himself. But he couldn't lie, not now. Not when he was laid bare like this and being tortured with pleasure that he knew he couldn't have.

“I'm not allowed,” he whispered.

“Really? Who says so?”

Miserable with humiliation, Blaine met the headmaster's eyes once more. “You, sir.”

“Me?” Headmaster Hummel said, surprised. His hand stilled on Blaine's cock, which made Blaine want to wail, but it still held him in its warm grasp. “I've never . . .”

“It's your ties, sir.” Blaine admitted. The headmaster only stared, so Blaine explained, “It's like a game, I guess, that I made up. Because I wanted it so badly. I wanted you to notice me and you never did so I made that part of it. I pretend that your ties are a signal to me.”

Headmaster Hummel was interested now, Blaine could tell, and he didn't seem to be angry. “How?” he asked.

“The color. If you're wearing a black tie, I have to edge myself once before I go to bed, but I can't come. Blue means I have to edge twice. There's a number for every color. But I don't get to come. I only get to come when you wear a red one.”

The headmaster's eyes widened in surprise. “I only have one red tie,” he said.

“I know. The one with ducks on it.” Mr. Hummel only stared at him so Blaine babbled on his admission. “I wanted to make it hard, because you seemed like you'd be really strict and I like that. I wanted to prove that I could be perfect for you no matter how hard it might be. And I have been.” He was pleading now, begging the headmaster with his eyes although he wasn't even sure what he was begging for. “I never slipped once. I was perfect. I don't want to disobey you now. Not after . . . all this. Please don't make me.”

Headmaster Hummel rocked back toward his heels and regarded Blaine in silence, like he was a fascinating puzzle of a kind the headmaster had never seen. When he finally spoke, his voice was firm. “So you've been using my ties all this time to pretend that I'm your dominant.”

“Yes sir,” Blaine murmured. He didn't know if he should say he was sorry. He wasn't, but at the same time it seemed like the thing to do.

“How long has it been since the last time I wore a red tie?”

“Twenty-six days, sir,” Blaine confessed.

There was another very long silence. Then in a tone of inescapable finality the headmaster said crisply, “This stops now.”

Disappointment cut thought his guts like a knife, and Blaine had to fight to keep from crumpling in on himself. This was a command, he told himself. A new command and he must obey even when he didn't like it. He'd known it was coming, of course. It was the only thing the headmaster could do. He just wished he knew how he was going to manage without his fantasy of submission to get him through the days.

Then the lean body rocked back toward him and the hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke again.

“From now on,” the headmaster was saying, and Blaine had to struggle to comprehend his words because the hand was practically flying along the length of his cock and it felt like heaven and hell combined, “you will wait to come until I actually give you permission. You will come to this office every day after classes are over, we will discuss your behavior, and I will decided whether you deserve pleasure or not. It will usually be not. You were right about that. I'm extremely strict. Disobedience will be severely punished. Do you understand?”

Blaine gaped at the headmaster, even as his hips pumped up into the sliding fist. Yet again his orgasm was looming and it didn't seem like Headmaster Hummel was planning to stop anytime soon.

“Do you understand?” he repeated.

“Yes sir. Please sir!”

The headmaster flat out grinned at him. “Don't come,” he commanded, and it was a command, a command that seemed impossible to obey considering the heat and friction he was forcing Blaine to withstand but Blaine would obey it. He would die before he disobeyed this first real command from his master. But the hand was unrelenting.

“I'm so close sir, please can I come?” Just speaking the words he'd said so often alone in his fantasies pushed Blaine even closer to the point of no return. His eyes slipped closed so that he could better concentrate his efforts.

“Not yet,” came the breathless answer. “Look at me Blaine.”

Blaine opened his eyes and found blue ones, so close, staring back. There was a challenge in those eyes, and he wanted so badly to meet that challenge and exceed it. And so with superhuman effort he endured when everything in his own body and in his master's was driving him to surrender. He held that blue gaze and endured. And just when he thought he could hold on forever if that what was required of him . . .

“Come now.”

The world went black, then white, then sight left him entirely as he followed his master's command into an abyss of ecstasy.

�

“That was amazing.”

From behind Blaine Kurt laughed breathlessly. He'd managed, in true always-in-control fashion, to swing them both around so that he was holding Blaine in his lap, leaning up against the side of the desk. All before Blaine had properly come down from his orgasmic bliss.

“Well I am a consummate actor.”

“Of course.” Blaine leaned back and let Kurt cradle him. “You were perfect. I can't believe you managed to keep everything clean but my shirt.”

“Yes, well, I am also a natural dominant.”

“That's an understatement,” Blaine said, unbuttoning his come-splattered shirt. “Where are your parents, by the way?”

“Last minute campaign trip to Columbus for the weekend. I decided to take advantage of the opportunity.”

“And I'm so glad you did.” Blaine finished with his shirt and shrugged carefully out of it, then shifted in Kurt's lap to cuddle face-to-face, at least as best as he could approximate it there on the floor.

“I hope it was worth it. Because you're the one who's going to spend the rest of the weekend sanitizing my dad's desk.”

“With pleasure.” Blaine smiled and kissed Kurt with soft, gentle lips, the kind of kiss that always made Kurt sigh in that particular content way that he had. There was little in the world that made Blaine happier than that sigh. “I almost died when I got your text. You really are an evil genius, you know?”

“Natural dominant,” Kurt said again, as if that explained everything.

“But where did you get the blazer?”

“I asked your mom to send it to me ages ago. A natural dominant is always prepared,” he intoned. “But more importantly, what the hell did you do to your hair?”

Blaine laughed and pretended to smooth his tightly gelled coif. “This is how I used to do it in high school. You've seen the pictures at my parents'.”

“Well seeing and seeing are two different things. I barely recognized you!”

“I guess I had a few control issues in those days. I know it's a little excessive.”

“No,” Kurt said, “I kind of like it actually. Not all the time, you know I'd miss your curls, but it does have a certain undeniable Montgomery Clift quality.”

“Hmmm. I like that.” They smiled at each other for a moment but then Blaine had to ask, “It was okay right? For you?”

“I don't do anything that isn't okay for me,” Kurt assured him, but Blaine must have still looked doubtful because Kurt kissed him gently on the nose. “I will admit I might have had some minor doubts about my ability to channel the strict headmaster, but once I got you in that room . . .” He trailed off, and the tell-tale flush crept up his pale neck toward his face.

“What?” Blaine prompted.

“You were so into it,” he said, and the flush deepened. “You looked like you couldn't decide whether you wanted to curl up in a ball and cry or rip my clothes off and eat me alive. I guess I liked that. It inspired me.”

“So what you're saying is that I'm actually the one responsible for your brilliant performance.”

“That is not what I said.”

“I'm pretty sure it's exactly what you said.”

Kurt shut him up with another kiss, a proper lip one this time, and a threatening squeeze of his still-exposed balls.

“No, I'm sorry, you're totally right I had nothing to do with it,” Blaine intoned in a pointedly high-pitched voice when they parted.

“That's right.” Kurt released his balls and climbed out from between him and the desk. “Put yourself together Romeo. I'm going to get this,” he scooped up Blaine's shirt, “in the wash before the stains set. And I'll bring us back a snack.”

“You take such good care of me,” Blaine called after him, watching his ass sashay as he crossed the room.

“Natural dominant, Blaine. Natural dominant.”

And sprawled on the floor with his ass still bare and gently burning and the flavor of Kurt's come lingering in his mouth, Blaine couldn't disagree with that one bit.