As a Dominant, Kurt loves denial.

He loves to put Blaine through his paces, edge him within an inch of cumming and then ruin it for him – with ice, with a few smacks to his shaft, or a hand clamped around his balls.

He loves to listen to Blaine whimper, loves to hear him beg. Loves the way he breaks down when any hope of relief disappears and he knows he’s in for a long, long wait. Then there’s the constant teasing, brushing over Blaine’s erection with the back of his hand just to leave him cold after the heat from his hand fades. Stooping from time to time to blow hot air on Blaine’s crotch, implying things he has no intention of doing yet. Kurt gets Blaine hard over and over, then, right before bedtime, when they might usually make love, Kurt locks him up and makes him sleep in his “puppy place” – a six-by-six foot square of rug on the cold, hard floor. Kurt will keep him caged, in agony for weeks – his very own wound up little play thing.

Having that kind of power over his sub’s release is almost as exquisite as orgasming himself…which he might do in front of Blaine while Blaine can’t touch. Kurt will lounge around the loft in his tightest clothes, or walk around naked, stopping every so often to stroke or finger himself, moaning at how wonderful it feels. He might tie Blaine to a chair so he can watch Kurt masturbate in front of him, or not watch, the chair turned away so all he gets to do is listen to his Master pleasure himself alone.

Sometimes Kurt does cum, making a mess on the floor for his sub to lick up.

That kind of control is the ultimate aphrodisiac, and Kurt never gets enough.

But Kurt also loves denial as a masochist.

Truth be told, denying himself is his secret weapon.

As a teenager, it was his method of overcoming stage fright.

In high school, Kurt suffered from massive stage fright. Just the thought of performing on stage would cause him to break out in a cold sweat. His knees would go weak. He’s clench his fists until his hands went sore. He’d come close to vomiting. Sometimes he’d even lose his voice. His choir teacher suggested not using the bathroom before he had to perform theorizing that if he had to go bad enough, the pressure on his bladder and the overall discomfort would give him something to concentrate on besides being scared. Kurt decided that he was more frightened of wetting his pants on stage than of puking on a judgmental audience, so he experimented on his own with different techniques. He felt that his teacher might be on to something, but the man’s solution was ludicrous.

Kurt analyzed his problem logically, examined his reaction to the fear he felt. He realized that right before he went on stage, aside from the wooziness and the nausea, his muscles would lock up and his stomach would tense. If he could find a way to counteract that reaction, it could be a big help. He needed to learn how to relax by some means so all-encompassing that there could be no way for him to shut down…or pass out.

He tried massage, meditation, soothing herbal teas, but none of them did the trick. One night, out of frustration and desperation, when the butterflies in his stomach wouldn’t calm the fuck down and he couldn’t stop his voice from trembling, he turned to masturbation to help him relax…and it worked like a charm. After being stressed out for hours, ratcheted to the point that his head was about to explode, his orgasm was more than climactic. It was atomic. He was so loopy afterwards that friends he had known for years accused him of being tipsy. But after that night, rubbing one out before a performance became part of his routine. He’d do it while he was getting ready, in the shower when he’d normally be running scales under the hot water and steam, then sometimes again in the bathroom right before. It worked for a while, but it wasn’t fool proof. He became used to it, and discovered he could be completely relaxed from an orgasm and still tense up from nerves seconds before he stepped out on stage.

The night of the NYADA Winter Showcase, his situation became dire. He was called out by Carmen Tibideaux herself, Dean of Vocal Performance and Song Interpretation, to sing for the crème de la crème of students and faculty.

He was going to choke. He just knew it. This was his one shot to get into the school of his dreams. He didn’t have a clue what to do.

Straddling a private toilet in one of the vacant dressing rooms with only seconds to spare, he was so frazzled, he couldn’t cum. His dry palm had chafed his cock raw. No matter how hard he tried, no matter who he fantasized about, there was no way he could make himself climax, and the mad rush to do so made things even worse.

He might as well walk out then and there, he thought. He was through.

But he couldn’t. This is what he wanted, and come hell or high water, Kurt Hummel wasn’t a quitter.

Kurt had been wearing a pair of the tightest pants he owned, so he had to tuck his erect cock – an experience he’s never had to repeat, but would never wish on his worst enemy. But more agonizing than torqueing his raging hard-on into an unnatural position was being so close to the edge and yet unable to cum. His cock throbbed through his entire performance, every breath in an experience in consequential torture.

The emotionally apropos tears leaking from his eyes were more genuine than anyone ever knew.

He sang ‘Being Alive’, and it was widely recognized as one of the greatest performances of his NYADA career.

That’s when he realized the secret – the true power of denial, and how it could not only drive someone to the near brink of insanity, but could sharpen focus by keeping the physical distraction targeted elsewhere, leaving behind clarity of thought.

A physical distraction that he could control.

Nowadays, when on-stage performances have made way for meetings with icons of the fashion world, some of whom make outrageous demands, and others who sit quietly on the sidelines while Kurt pitches ideas for his own label, personal denial is not just a part of his routine. It’s a full day process from stimulation to release.

Kurt’s denial is a personal experience. It begins first thing in the morning during his shower, which, for this purpose, he takes alone. He strokes himself slowly while he clears his mind. He breathes in deep, ruminating over the sensation of build-up and plateau, build-up and plateau as he edges himself close to orgasm, then backs away. Depending on the extent of his nerves, this preparation can take close to an hour, and can include twisting his nipples or fingering himself, but always ends with a blast of cold water on his genitals. He inserts his own plug up his ass to keep himself on the verge, spread open and wanting. He keeps an egg vibrator on hand in his messenger bag for times when he needs an extra push, to preempt knots in his gut when they threaten to come back, if he feels his mouth go dry, or his hands begin to shake.

Throughout the day, he taunts himself with images of his sub – pictures that Blaine has sent him on command that Kurt stores on his phone for just such an occasion.

Selfies of Blaine taken in various public bathrooms, ass pointed toward the mirror where Kurt can see his plug, shining silver and engraved with the initials KH, peeking out from between his cheeks.

Pictures that Kurt had taken of Blaine bound to their bed, ball-gagged and caged, his stunted cock straining and leaking with arousal.

One photo of Blaine dressed up as Kurt’s own personal plastic fuck doll in a purple latex bodysuit with only his cock exposed, available for Kurt’s use.

A video he took of Blaine, face obscured by a black leather hood, his cock hooked up to an electro-stimulator, bobbing with every shock of electricity.

A picture of Blaine’s ass striped with red welts after a particularly intense caning.

And the pièce de résistance, a photo of Blaine’s sweet, innocent eyes, tearing at the corners, looking up at Kurt, his ruby red painted lips stretched around Kurt’s cock.

Kurt uses those images to inch him farther and farther to the edge, until just the sound of Blaine’s moans could literally have him flooding his pants with cum. But they don’t linger in his head when he’s in front of a crowd. With only the dull ache in his cock and balls to ground him, he’s at his leisure to talk at length about new style trends, the schedule for Fashion Week, his upcoming business trip to Milan and what he expects to accomplish while he’s there. He jokes and laughs and chit-chats over finger sandwiches and mineral water, and nobody is the wiser.

Not even his boss, Isabelle, who seems to have a knack for knowing everything.

When his meetings are over, and he needs release, he texts Blaine.

Be ready for my disposal.

And depending on the kind of day he’s had, he follows with either:

Head down, ass up.

Or –

Mouth open, eyes shut.

Having spent three hours laying the groundwork for his new design scheme and getting approval from his boss’s boss to use the center spread to showcase his fall line, it’s definitely a ‘mouth open’ kind of day.

Kurt appreciates denial, its multiple variants and how they can be used to reinforce his control, not only on his submissive, but on himself as well. Sitting in his office, loading up a new template on his laptop for next month’s issue with a grin on his face, he can attest to the fact that it serves his purpose. But unlike Blaine, Kurt has the power to end it at any time.

And when he’s ready, he doesn’t like waiting for release.

The fact that he’s doing this to himself, underneath the nose of everyone he works with, makes it all the sweeter. He’s even devised a way to extend his play at work – a private tongue-in-cheek code that he keeps for himself, especially since the busybodies at Vogue don’t let him leave without asking if he has plans for later, eagerly prodding him for information as if they expect him to say that he’s winging last minute to Belize. If he intends on taking Blaine from behind, he tells his colleagues that he has a late night Pound class with his boyfriend. If he’s about to violate his sub’s mouth, he says he’s looking forward to making Blaine a quiet dinner at home.

As soon as he leaves the office, his sole focus becomes getting back to his loft as quickly as he can. He could hail a taxi, but he chooses to endure the subway ride home - the rocking, the jarring, the crowds and the heat bringing his body to a rolling boil, testing the limits of his endurance.

When he gets home and sees Blaine on his knees at the door, eyes shut and mouth open, ready to be of service, that’s when Kurt’s limit is usually reached.

Most times he takes Blaine without even closing the front door.