Kurt loved checklists. Really loved them, in a way that some people might have found a little disturbing. A good checklist was like slice of perfect control made tangible on paper, something that made Kurt feel like his universe was in order and well in hand. In making a checklist he decided what was important, in what sequence, and he felt an almost physical sense of satisfaction as he completed each item. Or in this case, supervised its completion.

He relaxed back into the couch with his paper and pencil and added checks for the most recent items. The floors had been swept and mopped, by Blaine; the bed linens had been changed, also by Blaine; the appetizers had been prepped and were stacked on trays in the refrigerator to go into the oven at the exact right time – Kurt had done that one himself because while Blaine was a good cook in his own right, Blaine in the state he was in at the moment shouldn't be anywhere near sharp objects or open flames.

There were only two open items left on Kurt's list: decorate and drive Blaine crazy. His decorations were almost complete, with the exception of the part that required Blaine. And as for drive Blaine crazy, if the whimpers and moans currently emanating from Blaine's corner of the living room were anything to go by, Kurt had that one well in hand.

He set the list and pencil on the stone coffee table and propped his legs up next to them. He had some time. He might as well enjoy his handiwork.

It had taken Kurt a while to really embrace the idea of Slave Weekend. There had been so much to think about, worry about, and the sheer responsibility of it always daunted him. But as time went by it became more and more obvious that Blaine wanted exactly what he said he wanted out of it. To not matter. To only serve, with no concern at all for his own needs or desires. To be kept strung out and desperate, fulfilling Kurt's whims however they presented themselves. And the more Kurt accepted that the more he was able to relax and concentrate on himself – and slowly he began to approach each Slave Weekend with more excitement than apprehension. Each step he took to deepen his control during those weekends, each fantasy he enacted on Blaine's body, was met with such moaning, writhing, leaking enthusiasm that Kurt couldn't help wanting to trust his instincts and take things farther and farther. He was still there for Blaine, of course, and he always tried to plan at least one big boundary-pushing scene each time, but for the most part he just let himself be catered to in both sexual and mundane ways, and tormented Blaine, of course. He loved tormenting Blaine. He liked to think he'd raised it to an art form. At least, it certainly looked like art from where he was sitting.

Blaine was kneeling in his corner, a special place they'd set up for him when they'd moved into the new apartment. He was naked, of course, on his small cushion with his hands spread out on top of his thighs. Kurt had put them there deliberately, unbound, and had forbidden Blaine to move them so much as a millimeter. Bondage had its advantages, but Kurt loved to watch Blaine twitch and tremble as he fought to control himself. Those long fingers rested so close to his poor, denied cock, and although Kurt knew Blaine's obedience would never let him break the rules and touch himself, he also knew that the impossible possibility was a torment in itself.

Blaine's cock was gorgeous, as always, straining against a thick ring that weighted it down so it stuck out almost horizontally, dripping long strands of precome down between Blaine's legs and onto the floor he'd spent the better part of the morning cleaning. Kurt could see Blaine's ass muscles clenching against the instinct to rut into the air; not an easy task with the vibrator Kurt had slid into his ass and left buzzing for the past half hour. Blaine's chest shone with sweat and his neck muscles stood out, thick and corded with the effort of holding himself back. Normally just the little vibrator wouldn't have presented so much of a challenge, but Kurt still insisted on at least a month of chastity before a Slave Weekend. After four weeks of teasing and denial, even the heavy cock ring wasn't enough to completely stave off the orgasm Blaine craved but didn't dare allow himself. The vibrator provided just enough stimulation that he had to concentrate – his eyes were closed with the effort of it – to avoid accidentally slipping over the edge, but not enough to actually override his self-control. Kurt loved the way it made him shiver and whine, lost to everything except the sensations it was inflicting on his body.

Their newest toy was firmly in place, a penis gag that muzzled Blaine's mouth completely, muffling his cries. Gags made Kurt nervous - he was always concerned about safety and taking away Blaine's voice complicated that – but they'd arranged at least six different safe signals and Kurt had to admit he loved the effect the gag had on Blaine. Like other forms of bondage, it paved the way into a deeper submissive mindset immediately. It seemed to free Blaine; he was noisier with the gag than without it and Kurt was a big fan of noisy Blaine. Still, he made sure to stay close whenever they used it, just to be safe.

As sweet as the sight of Blaine's distress was, though, Kurt did still have two items to finish checking off his list before his guests arrived and his latest boundary-pushing plan was put into effect. He slipped off the couch and knelt in front of Blaine, close, but not touching. He didn't do anything, just waited, mirroring Blaine's position, hands on his thighs, for Blaine to realized he was there. Blaine seemed to sense him right away. His eyelids fluttered open and, finding Kurt inches away, they immediately crinkled into his best attempt at non-verbal begging.

Kurt smiled and leaned closer, pressed his lips to the leather gag, which made Blaine whimper long and sharp, like a frustrated child. But when Kurt pulled back Blaine followed him forward, seeking for more of even that whisper of contact.

“None of that,” Kurt admonished. “I thought I told you not to move?”

Blaine tried to say something around the gag, but all that came out were more whining cadences.

“It would help if I touched your cock, wouldn't it? A few strokes to ease the ache?”

Sharp syllables of agreement came from behind the gag but that was all. Blaine didn't even nod his head, mindful of the command not to move.

“But do you deserve it, Blaine? After all, you moved when I told you not to. And,” Kurt put a hand on the top of Blaine's head and tilted it down to look at the floor between his legs, “you've made a terrible mess. After all your hard work this morning. Don't you think you'd better clean that up?”

Blaine's eyes closed again, briefly, because the humiliation of being forced to lick up his own fluids always sent him spiraling. His cock spurted a nice big addition to the puddle.

“But I'm not sure I want to take that gag out yet. You'll have to wait to clean up later when I'm done with you,” Kurt said. He stood up and for a minute just stared at Blaine from that angle, because he never got tired of the way Blaine's eyes looked when they were pleading up at him from below. But there was work to be done so he couldn't linger too long. “Crawl over to the other corner,” Kurt commanded, tilting his head toward the corner of their apartment that had been cleared for the Christmas tree they still hadn't bought. “And don't you dare let that vibrator slip. I promise you won't enjoy the punishment if you do.”

Blaine groaned a token protest, but the shiver that rippled through his body looked to Kurt like abject desire. “Don't make me wait,” he warned, and was rewarded with another shudder, then Blaine leaned forward oh so carefully and leveraged himself onto hands and knees. He moved slowly, but there really was no way to crawl across the room without rocking the vibrator against his insides. He arched his back as he went, thrusting his ass high into the air to help keep the toy seated. Kurt let himself enjoy watching Blaine struggle, inch by inch across the floor. He enjoyed it so much that he had to indulge in a little surreptitious rubbing of his own cock, just to ease the ache.

When Blaine finally reached the corner Kurt had sent him to he didn't know what he was supposed to do next so he simply stopped, facing the wall, back still arched and ass rocking gently.

“Oh, good boy,” Kurt purred, moving to kneel behind Blaine. He had work to do of course, but he couldn't resist taking advantage of Blaine's provocative position. He grabbed the base of the vibrator and slid it slowly out of Blaine's hole, then fucked it back in, out and in, angling it to provide maximum stimulation to his already so-overstimulated boy.

Blaine wailed behind the gag and dropped to his elbows, cradling his head on his hands and pushing his ass even higher in the air. He rocked back into each thrust, helpless to resist, overcome by need, and Kurt knew he should take pity on him but he couldn't resist reaching for the remote and clicking the toy to its highest setting.

He expected more cries and rutting but Blaine went silent and still, too overwhelmed, apparently, to even move. Kurt placed a hand on his spine and could feel, beneath the rigid muscles, a deep and heavy trembling. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he slid the vibrator out of Blaine's body and Blaine whined as it went. The temptation to replace it with his cock was strong, but Kurt resisted. He had things to do, and there would be time for that later.

“Stand up and face me,” he commanded, pushing to his own feet and switching off the vibrator.

Blaine didn't move for a moment, so Kurt prodded his heavy balls with one foot. “Get a move on. A perfect slave doesn't make his master wait.”

Muffled syllables that Kurt suspected were yes, master came from behind the gag, and Blaine started to climb to his feet. When he was upright he turned, his cock still jutting out almost comically with the weight of the ring that encircled it. His eyes shone, soft and not quite focused, above the gag.

Kurt knew he was grinning at Blaine like he'd done something wonderful; he didn't try to hide it, even as he spoke with the most commanding tone he could muster. “Now spread your arms and legs, like an X.”

That, at least, Blaine could handle in his strung out state. He didn't even look puzzled, just obeyed, spreading wide and following Kurt's directions as Kurt positioned him in the corner so that each wrist and ankle touched a wall on either side. Kurt snagged his pencil from the coffee table and lightly marked the wall at each point of contact, then rewarded Blaine for his obedience with a tight hand around his searching cock and a few relieving strokes. Blaine sighed in one long hum, his eyes falling closed again, but he held perfectly still while Kurt fondled him, despite what must be almost unbearable temptation to thrust into Kurt's fist.

“Oh, so good for me!” Kurt said, close to Blaine's ear. “This kind of perfection deserves a reward.”

Blaine made more muffled sounds that, despite the gag, Kurt clearly understood as thank you master. Kurt dropped to his knees in front of Blaine and took his straining cock in his mouth in one quick motion, as deep as he was able. Blaine cried out as much as he could with the penis end of the gag filling his mouth, and the cry was drawn out, raising in pitch as Kurt sucked hard and pulled back at the same time, an evil push/pull that he knew would drive Blaine even closer to the edge. When his lips reached the head he flicked his tongue over it, quick and light, and Blaine's cry broke up into short, shuddery huffs.

Kurt pulled away and looked up at Blaine, who seemed to be in another world entirely, head thrown back, eyes closed, neck once again knotted with tension. His chest heaved with the effort of simply breathing and still he trembled from head to toe. Kurt couldn't help smiling, because while this was good, today was going to get so, so much better.

“Since you're being so good you can fuck my mouth,” Kurt said, and he laughed at how quickly Blaine's eyes flew open and his head tilted down, staring at Kurt like he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. “I'm serious,” he assured him. “No coming, of course, but as long as you think you can hold back . . .” He raised an eyebrow like a challenge and something that looked a lot like fear flitted through Blaine's eyes before he closed them again. Kurt could see his jaw muscles clench as he bit down on the penis gagging his mouth, and when he leaned closer and pressed his lips to the head of Blaine's cock, Blaine pushed forward. He slid himself into the seductive warmth of Kurt's mouth with another long, low, humming moan, but when he began to thrust – slowly, carefully – the moan broke off into more stifled words, this time a chant of thank you master, repeated over and over. His hands slapped flat against the walls, giving him more leverage to thrust, and soon the sharp tang of precome was bursting against Kurt's tongue. It was a taste Kurt loved; the essence of Blaine's complete submission to his will.

The chanting eventually unwound into whining that pitched higher and higher as Blaine came closer to the end of his self-control. His thrusting slowed but didn't stop, and while Kurt couldn't tip his head back to look, he could hear from the way Blaine's breathing stuttered and broke that he wouldn't be able to continue much longer. He lifted his hands to Blaine's ass then caressed down his legs, over skin damp with sweat and muscles tight and shivering with effort. Blaine carried on, valiantly, well beyond what Kurt would have predicted he could endure, until in the end just the head of his cock slid over Kurt's lips, in and out, and even the desperate whimpers had ceased in the face of superhuman concentration. It was Kurt who finally pulled away, leaving Blaine's cock to surge and bounce against the weight of the cock ring, precome pooling and already dripping down toward the floor. When he looked up he found Blaine's face red, eyes closed, brow lined with effort and tiny rivulets of sweat and possibly tears making their way down his cheeks.

He stood up and took Blaine in his arms, carefully, stepping to one side to avoid any accidental stimulation of his cock. And perfect, wonderful Blaine still didn't move – he kept his hands and feet exactly where Kurt had placed them and only pressed his head into Kurt's neck with a tiny, muffled sob.

“You can move now,” Kurt whispered in his ear.

Blaine fell into Kurt, wrapping his arms around him, and Kurt held his weight and stroked his back. “You're so good for me,” he murmured, soothing, “such a good boy. Absolutely perfect.”

Blaine could only whimper back, trapped into silence by the gag.

Kurt carefully lowered him to the floor, until he was kneeling again. Then he unbuckled the gag and slipped it out of Blaine's mouth.

“I think you might have left teeth marks this time,” he said, but Blaine wasn't listening. Blaine was already leaning in again, emboldened by the permission to move, pressing his warm, damp lips against Kurt's neck and sucking gently. Kurt could feel Blaine's tongue flick against his skin, tasting him. Blaine was trying to be provocative; he knew all of Kurt's most sensitive places and took advantage of them ruthlessly whenever he had the chance.

“That's enough,” Kurt said, pushing him back.

“Please,” Blaine begged. His eyes were dark and pleading and his voice sounded rough and unused, even though he hadn't actually been wearing the gag that long. “It hurts so much. Please let me come. Or just fuck me, please. I need something.”

But Kurt's moment of compassion was over. He still had work to do. He stood up, watching Blaine's eyes follow him in anticipation, then slipped the toe of his shoe under Blaine's balls and pushed up until Blaine sucked in his breath, just to remind him that no matter how much it hurt now, Kurt could always make it hurt more. And although Blaine had begged for relief, Blaine's cock made its enjoyment of the rough treatment obvious. “Do I have to remind you that this isn't about what you need?” Kurt asked.

“No, master,” Blaine breathed, and he lowered his head, chastened.

“I still have a list of things to accomplish. And you have some cleaning up to do.” He waited until Blaine looked at him again, then pointed to the two puddles of precome on the floor, one in each corner. “With your tongue.” He pressed his foot a little harder, just to add to Blaine's humiliation at the thought of licking up his own precome. “If you get to come today, it won't be until much, much later. And only if you're absolutely perfect.”

He kept up the pressure on Blaine's scrotum until Blaine thought to stammer out a strangled “Thank you, master.” Then he pulled away fast, so that the quick drop and bounce of his balls made Blaine wince.

While Blaine crawled painfully toward the first damp spot and lowered his mouth to the floor, Kurt went back to the couch and picked up his list. He made a precise check mark in the box next to drive Blaine crazy. That was a mission well-accomplished.

*�� *�� *

Blaine was in hell. Which was also paradise. He'd reached that place where agony was ecstasy and pleasure brought him nothing but pain; where he truly had no idea whether he'd rather be hurt or teased because it was all one. The yearning was unbearably exciting; the gratification excruciating. He sometimes thought he could lose his mind from the indecision of it all, if he was ever actually forced to make a choice. Fortunately, there was only one thing he was expected to think about.

Kurt. Master. Tormentor and sanctuary. Lover and conqueror. All the myriad fractured thoughts and feelings and needs crystalized, eventually, into one shape, one person. And all he ever needed to worry about was in that one person. Kurt was the wind that buoyed him up and the anchor that tethered him to earth. Kurt was all he wanted, all he could afford to want when he went this far, Kurt held the space for him and let him fly or fall as he needed to. He would thank God for Kurt, if he believed in God, but he believed only in Kurt so he thanked him instead.

“Thank you, master.” He repeated it each time a limb was clipped into place against the wall. He was back in the living room, spread like and X in the corner again, but this time each wrist and ankle was cuffed and attached to anchors Kurt had secured in the walls. He was stretched tight but firm on his feet, with the taste of his master's come still fresh in his mouth. Kurt secured the last cuff then stood before him, still breathing hard from Blaine's thorough worshipping of his cock. Blaine leaned forward as much as his bonds would allow, which wasn't much at all, but he needed to try anyway, to press his body closer to his master's. He didn't even come close, of course, but Kurt smiled at the attempt.

“I have something very special planned for you tonight, Blaine,” Kurt said. He stepped closer, finally letting their bodies touch, Blaine naked and Kurt clothed, Blaine's cock trapped between them, the rough fly of Kurt's jeans pressing into the over-sensitive underside. Inside Blaine the heaven/hell ratio tipped firmly in heaven's direction.

“Thank you, master,” Blaine breathed again, for the contact, and for the special thing, whatever it turned out to be.

“We're having a little party,” Kurt said. “Or, I guess I should say I'm having a little party.”

Blaine stopped breathing. He didn't have a choice. His chest was suddenly too small for his lungs to expand. His master just smiled at him, and ground his hips in a circle, rubbing rough friction against his cock.

“We talked about this,” Kurt finally said, still grinding slowly, “and I've decided it's time to take your public submission a little farther.”

They had talked about it. In hypotheticals, of course, because Kurt loved to surprise him, but also in detail. The things Blaine would and would not be okay with; the things he feared and yet craved.

“So I've invited some friends for an early Christmas party,” Kurt went on, as if Blaine wasn't about to suffocate right in front of him, “but since we don't have a tree yet, you're going to fill in. Breathe, Blaine.”

Obeying his master was automatic for Blaine. Air rushed into his lungs with a whoop, pushing for space in his tight chest.

“I'm going to decorate you,” Kurt said matter-of-factly, his eyes staring deep into Blaine's and radiating confidence and reassurance. “And my guests will be allowed to touch you.”

Blaine felt his eyes go wide, and he had to remember Kurt's command in order to keep breathing. But his cock spasmed with excitement.

“They can tease you, if they want, or hurt you, gently. Everyone's been informed of the rules and everyone knows what the limits are. But I'm not going to explain them to you. You just need to trust me to know what's best.” Kurt laid a hand on Blaine's chest, over his heart. Blaine was sure he could feel it beating at triple speed.

Kurt waited, for a safeword, Blaine was sure. But instead of caesura, Blaine found himself whispering, “Yes, master.” As soon as he said it his stomach twisted in the good way, the humiliating exciting way, and his cock danced against gravity and the ring.

Kurt grinned at him, and that alone was worth the fear Blaine felt. “I'm not going to gag you this time, but I am going to blindfold you. And once the blindfold goes on, you're not allowed to speak except to safeword or to warn whoever's touching you that you're getting close to coming. And you are definitely not allowed to come. Understand?”

“Yes, master.”

“And I'll always be close to you. If you need to safeword, everyone will leave right away and it all ends. Got it?”

“Yes, master.”

“You'll be perfectly safe all the time,” Kurt said.

“Yes, master.”

Kurt rewarded Blaine with a kiss, deep and satisfying, but swift. He pulled away all too soon and turned his attention to the large box sitting on the sofa. When he turned back to Blaine he had a black satin sleep mask in his hands. “Once this goes on, no more talking,” he warned, slinking closer to Blaine, teasing. “Anything you want to say beforehand?”

Blaine's mind was whirling with questions, everything from who was going to be coming to this little torture Blaine party to what he was supposed to do if his nose itched, and a hundred things in between. He was thrilled, terrified, excited, aroused; he was pretty sure he was feeling every possible human emotion all at the same time. But of course absolutely none of that mattered. When he opened his mouth to speak, the only thing that came out was, “I love you.”

He was rewarded with Kurt's lopsided smile, the slightly one-sided one that went straight to his heart. Kurt went straight to his heart too, pressing his palm where he'd had it before, just above Blaine's left nipple. “I love you too,” he said fervently. �Then he slipped the blindfold over Blaine's eyes. As Blaine's vision was cut off, he felt lips brush his ear. “Here we go, baby,” Kurt whispered, and he nibbled gently at Blaine's earlobe then disappeared.

Losing his sight and Kurt's touch at the same time disoriented Blaine and he could feel panic looming, but Kurt's voice came almost immediately from only slightly farther away. “Breathe, Blaine,” he ordered again, and Blaine automatically obeyed. Breathing helped keep the fear at bay. Kurt was here, Kurt was close, he'd said he would stay close. In fact, now Blaine could hear Kurt rummaging in the box on the couch, sorting through the mysterious contents he hadn't let Blaine see.

In no time at all Kurt was back with him. He didn't speak, but he touched, clipping something to Blaine's left wrist cuff and then winding whatever it was down Blaine's arm and around his waist a few times. Then he circled Blaine's cock and balls in some kind of intricate pattern, restricting them not too tightly – he was pretty sure the cock ring was tighter – but certainly securely enough that he'd be constantly aware of it. Once his genitals were well-trussed, whatever it was wound down his left leg, trailing off over his foot.

Kurt went away again but came back quickly with another of whatever it was. This one was clipped to his right wrist and wound down that arm, criss-crossing over his chest like armor before wrapping tightly around his ass, between his cheeks, separating them, and finally down the right leg.

There was some thumping and bumping, a few mysterious clicks, then Kurt's voice came again, more breathless than before, “There, perfect.”

More shuffling in the box. This time as Kurt moved closer Blaine heard the unmistakable tinkling of jingle bells.

“This is going to hurt,” Kurt said, but his mouth on Blaine's left nipple was the opposite of hurt. Kurt's warm tongue flicked and teased until Blaine was moaning, his nipple standing at enthusiastic attention. Then Kurt's tongue disappeared and the promised pain arrived in the form of a jingling clamp, tightening on his sensitive flesh, the sensation magnified by Blaine's lack of vision. He sucked in air with a long hiss and the clamp jingled – Blaine realized it must have a bell attached. Dear God, every time he moved he was going to jingle like a reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh. Heat rushed through his body; it distracted him enough that he almost missed Kurt's teasing of his other nipple, but his nipple didn't require his attention in order to respond and the clamp bit down sooner than he expected, sending more sharp pain through his chest, and adding to the musical tinkling.

“Very nice,” Kurt said, and he flicked the bells which jingled again, merrily, and made Blaine moan with pain. There was moment's silence. Blaine could tell Kurt was moving but he couldn't tell where until Kurt said, “This is going to hurt worse,” his voice coming from lower down. Blaine realized immediately what he meant and managed to stifle the impulse to beg just in time, but he whined his fear, like a dog, and strained away from what he knew was coming.

Kurt's hand closed tight and punishing around his balls until he stilled, and when it released, its pressure was replaced by the sharp, pinpoint crush of two more clamps, grabbing his sensitive skin, and more bells, chiming in jauntily as Blaine trembled and tried to breathe through the pain.

“Just one more thing,” Kurt said, and Blaine flinched instinctively but although he heard a sound like a flipping light switch, nothing happened. “Perfect,” Kurt said.

Blaine wondered what was perfect, then slowly he realized that whatever was wrapped around his body was starting to get warm. Not hot, it was a pleasant feeling – too pleasant, when the warmth started to make its way into the sensitive flesh of his cock and balls, and along the cleft of his ass. They were lights, he realized in a sudden flash. Christmas lights. He was wrapped in them, his dick was trussed up in Christmas tree lights with jingle bells hanging off his nipples and balls and their friends were about to come in and see him that way.

He pulled at the clips anchoring him to the wall, but they held firm. There was no escape. Panic bloomed in his belly and pushed its way up to his chest but then a hand settled on his cheek and soft lips pressed to his. “Relax,” Kurt murmured against his lips, moving from casually sadistic to deeply loving in that head-spinning way that was Kurt's specialty. “Stop thinking and let yourself be what I want you to be.”

Blaine wanted to do that. He knew it was the only way to get back to the peaceful heaven/hell place that he'd been in before Kurt had told him what they were doing tonight. But he felt like a bug pinned to a board, or one of those poor dead frogs they'd had to dissect in middle school science class. Stretched out with his deepest fantasies laid bare for everyone to see.

Kurt just kept kissing him, tiny pecks to his chin and cheeks and nose, nibbling on his earlobes and sucking on his neck, and finally stroking one finger over the crown of his cock, the only part not encased in the warming lights, and of course the pleasure tempered the pain and the humiliation added to both and soon Blaine's head was spinning in the right way, his thoughts attenuating like the moments before sleep.

“Good, that's good,” Kurt told him, and he sounded proud so Blaine must be doing something right. “Keep feeling it. I'm going to go into the kitchen and put a few things in the oven, but I'll be able to see you and hear you the whole time. Keep breathing. You're going to be amazing and everyone who sees you is going to want to die of jealousy.”

Blaine hummed a little acquiescing sound and Kurt slowly pulled away, his finger on Blaine's cock lingering the longest, circling lazily, winding the pleasure higher, until finally it too slipped away. And somehow, Blaine relaxed. He oriented his mind on his master and the tiny sounds he made as he moved around the kitchen, on the clicks of cabinet doors and the strangely springy sound the oven door made as it levered open and closed. The more he relaxed the more he felt, both pleasure and pain, the warmth of the lights pressing against his asshole and around his balls, the clamps biting and pulling, the stretch of his limbs in the strict positon, which began to feel more protective than it did exposing. In the kitchen his master started to sing, quietly, and Blaine hummed along with him. Their combined voices vibrated through his body and jingled his bells and he was happy, because he was his master's good boy and that was all that mattered.

Then the doorbell rang.

It boomed like a claxon into Blaine's quiet mind and once again he had to bite down on words just in time, forcing his alarm into a nonverbal cry.

“Just a minute!” Kurt called out, and in seconds his arms were around Blaine and his voice was warm and reassuring in Blaine's ear. “You can do this. Think about how you're going to feel when it's over. When you conquer your fear. You can do this.”

Blaine pressed his head hard against Kurt's, holding onto him for as long as he could. But when the doorbell rang a second time he nodded. Kurt's lips pressed hard to his cheek and then they were gone. With the click of the door latch Blaine knew he was committed.

“Sorry to be impatient, honey, but it is cold out there, and you know we're not wearing very much under these coats!” The voice filled the room, extra-loud to Blaine's sensitive ears. “I love some ice play as much as the next dom, but there's freezing Bruce's bits then there's freezing Bruce's bits, if you know what I mean.”

Blaine held himself very still, pretending to be the tree he was supposed to be, but he was already relaxing. Bruce was the sub half of Bruce and Lars, a bonded couple they'd met at an art opening shortly after they'd moved to the city. They were part of a small group of friends that Kurt and Blaine called their scene friends – bonded gay couples who enjoyed each other's company but also sometimes called on each other when one of the couples needed a more public scene. Of course, these would be the friends Kurt would invite to this particular party; Blaine should have known that.

“The new place looks amazing. Of course it does, it's yours. The door's closed Bruce so get your ass on the floor.”

“Thank you. Blaine helped, of course.”

“Oh, we all know who has the decorating talent in your family. Blaine has many lovely qualities but his sense of proportion leaves much to be desired. Show me to the food, that train ride was much too long . . .”

Lars didn't even comment on the fact that Blaine was standing in the corner buck naked and wrapped in Christmas lights. Relief flooded Blaine's chest. He was sure he'd be touched eventually, but Kurt had prepared the guests well. Just as he'd said. Trust his master. That was all he had to do. His master would always take care of him.

Something brushed his leg and he tried to pull away before he remembered that he couldn't, then he realized that it was someone, not something, someone crawling, who curled up on the floor pressed against his foot, warm and naked like himself. It had to be Bruce, who loved puppy play, greeting him in the only way he was allowed, and cuddling close in submissive solidarity.

“Awww, look, my puppy's curled up under your tree,” Lars' voice was still booming, but at more normal Lars levels now that Blaine wasn't quite so keyed up.

The doorbell rang again, so Blaine didn't hear Kurt's answer.

More people arrived, making the party four couples in total, if Blaine was counting correctly. Jack and Caleb, who were pretty strict 24/7 master and slave, Sean and Nathan, who on the other hand would have been indistinguishable as dom and sub without their cuffs, although Nathan had a massive kink for exhibitionism that the others helped him satisfy, and Jeff and Steve, who fell closest to Kurt and Blaine on the expressions of dominance scale. The more voices Blaine heard the calmer he became, and Bruce was a constant presence, heavy on Blaine's right foot.

It was a long time before anyone touched him, long enough for Blaine to begin to drift on sound of many voices and the sensations that warm lights and sharp clamps continued to shoot through him. When the first touch came it barely registered, just a gentle hand on his waist, rubbing at a patch of skin not covered by lights, and a soft voice, pitched to calm.

“He's beautiful like this. You're a lucky man, Kurt.”

Blaine couldn't tell who it was; he didn't want to try to identify the voice. He liked the fog in his brain that muffled the sound. He didn't want to do anything to disturb it.

Another hand, maybe from the same person or maybe from someone else, brushed the bells hanging from Blaine's balls, setting them tinkling and sending new spasms of pain through him. Blaine groaned, but his still-hard cock throbbed excitedly.

“How long has it been since he's come?” someone asked.

“A little over four weeks.” That was his master's voice. There was no fog that could hide that. Blaine's head turned toward it.

Someone tsked sympathetically.

“Just because denial's not your kink doesn't mean no one else enjoys it,” a voice said.

“Enjoy is a relative term.”

Another hand joined the one on Blaine's waist and the one brushing his balls. This one went straight for his cock, wrapping around it and the lights that encircled it, pressing the sharp points of the warm plastic into his flesh and push-pulling until Blaine whimpered at the added discomfort. Then suddenly there were more, someone slid between him and the wall to stand behind him in the corner and reach around, tweaking his clamped nipples and sending shockwaves through his torso. The more he moaned the more people seemed to come and touch him, and he had no idea whose hand was whose, no idea who was wielding some kind of soft brush teasingly on the head of his cock and who was running the pointed pinwheel over his ticklish ribs. It happened so gradually that he didn't have a chance to panic before sensations overwhelmed him and he had no choice but to surrender to them.

Soon he was moaning freely, despite the humiliation of having everyone witness how much being used like this turned him on, or maybe because of it. Nothing stayed the same for long – the pinwheel was used on his balls, the soft brush around the clamps on his nipples. The uncertainly, combined with his helplessness, was intoxicating and very soon he felt his ever-present arousal mature into a swiftly-approaching orgasm, looming so unexpectedly that he had to try to pull away even as he gasped, “Please, I'm close, master!”

The hands didn't go away, but the lightened, loosened, left his cock alone and concentrated on other places while he drifted back from the edge. The pinwheel pricked in his armpit. Fingers teased his ass cheeks. And when he'd fallen far enough out of danger his cock was tormented again, too.

The cycle repeated itself, over and over. Blaine lost count of how many times he was dragged to the edge of orgasm; how many times he had to beg them to stop. The breaks between peaks got shorter and shorter as his tormentors began to feel the rhythm of his arousal, until he felt like he'd been hanging forever in a torturous hell of not-quite-enough, that same hell that was also paradise, the hell he craved with everything in his being.

And through it all the heavy presence of Bruce rubbed against his leg.

He couldn't have said how it ended. One edge was the last one, and though he was floating close, the pressing urgency began to recede, ever so slowly. He'd long ago lost track of how many hands were actually on him, so he didn't feel the loss of any particular one until the last, which like the first pressed to his waist then slowly lifted away. He whined at its loss. He still needed. He needed so much; he longed for more. Every touch brought possibility; without them he was bereft. Eventually, even Bruce was gone and Blaine was completely alone in the dark.

Until one soft cheek pressed to his and one unmistakable voice full of emotion whispered, “You can't even imagine how proud I am of you right now.”

He felt tears fill his eyes and he wanted to answer but he just whimpered behind his closed lips, obedient to the last.

“You can speak now,” his master said.

“Was I good?” he asked, his voice heavy and hoarse.

“You were so much more than good. I don't have words for how good you were.”

He knew he shouldn't beg for anything. He knew pleasing his master should be enough. But the throbbing in his cock had taken over his whole body and felt like he might die if he didn't at least ask. “Please,” he breathed, “please, it hurts so much.”

“I know, baby. I'm going to fix that.”

Hope surged at his master's words.

“But first I have to get you unwrapped.”

The clamps were torture. Blaine had to press his lips hard together to keep his scream in his throat when his master freed first his balls then his nipples. He sobbed as firm fingers rubbed the feeling back into the clamped places, but by the time the pain faded, the throbbing in his cock felt like it had doubled.

The lights were next, and though his master was gentle, even the careful movements that freed his cock and balls left him moaning his need. Once the bindings were gone, and the heavy cock ring released, he felt swollen, his balls too big, swinging in impossibly long arcs between his legs.

The fingers that had brought pain before, came back with caresses, rubbing his balls so very gently, and stroking his cock, loose and languid, easing him back toward the release he'd glimpsed so many times tonight.

“Do you want to fuck my mouth, like before? But come this time?”

The tears in Blaine's eyes escaped and soaked into the mask he wore. “Please. Oh God, please, please, please. . .”

“Okay,” he could hear laughter in his master's voice. Then blessed heat enveloped his abused cock and it seemed to swell even more, knowing that this time its release wouldn't be frustrated.

He was pulled so tightly but he could move his hips just enough to ease back through his master's lips and then slide forward, pulled by sucking counter-pressure. He went slowly, savoring this rare opportunity, letting all the frustration of weeks of denial and teasing and the pain and pleasure and torment of the evening build. He reminded himself that people had seen him, like this, this desperate and needy and helpless to his master's will, and the humiliation only pushed him higher. So did the slurping sounds that came from below – the sounds of his master sucking his cock. He longed to be able to see it. God he wanted to watch his master, there on his knees, on his knees for Blaine because Blaine had been so good and he was so proud, but of course he couldn't see because that was how his master wanted it. Even on his knees, his master maintained full control and that was the thought that finally sent Blaine barreling over the edge, crying out his pleasure as his master sucked, hard, and he came with all the force of his weeks of anticipation, wracked and shuddering and sobbing in pure, glorious, bone-deep relief.

When it was over he hung in his bonds, some tiny part of his brain that hadn't been turned to jelly impressed that whatever Kurt had rigged up could hold him so securely. Because there was no way he could hold himself.

The blindfold lifted away, but he kept his eyes closed. There was no bright light against his eyelids – Kurt must have turned off the lamps – but he wasn't at all ready to see the world or the evidence of his evening yet. Releasing his feet was easy, but Kurt had to hold his weight to free his arms; Blaine tried to help but his legs were useless. Of course, Kurt was more than strong enough to handle him. His Kurt. Buff at last, just as Blaine had predicted the first day they'd met. He giggled a little, drunkenly, at the memory.

“What's so funny?” Kurt asked as he lowered Blaine to the floor. Blaine landed on something soft – something that definitely hadn't been there before, but he didn't have the energy to even try to figure out what it was. He just snuggled into it gratefully, and curled around Kurt when he lay down beside him.

“Later,” he answered, saving words because he suspected he didn't have many left and he had something more important to say. “Was it . . . truth?”

Kurt rose enough to pull something warm over them, then lay down again and tugged Blaine onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him tight. “Was what the truth?”

“About . . . proud.” Blaine hoped Kurt understood what he meant because he could feel sleep taking him and he knew he wouldn't be able to explain.

“Are you kidding me right now? Blaine, you were so much more than I ever . . .”

Kurt kept talking but Blaine had heard the important part. So he gave himself up to sleep, exhausted, Kurt's praises filling his ears and his heart.