Smack.

The strike resonates throughout the open air of the loft - a loud, dull thup against both Blaine’s ass cheeks - this new swipe layered on top of older ones, lined up directly so that they manage to leave a single red stripe. Blaine doesn’t get a second to contemplate the blow, to register the combination of sting/hot/tingle/burn that follows since he’s expected, by his Dominant, to sing.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-maaaa.”

Smack.

“Again,” Kurt commands, succinct and unnegotiable.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-maaaa.”

Smack.

“Change the vowel.”

“Mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-moooo.”

Smack.

“Now take it up a half step.”

“Mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-moooo.”

Smack.

“Better. But your o’s are too covered. Try it one more time. And make it brighter.”

“Mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-moooo.”

Smack.

“Mmm, that’s a little better,” Kurt remarks, not as impressed as he could be.

Not as impressed as Blaine wants him to be. And Blaine wants Kurt to be impressed. He wants him to be proud. Blaine will stand there on the cold, hard floor, poised on the balls of his feet with tacks lined up on the ground beneath his heels to keep him that way, singing scales and arpeggios, hided till his ass is more welts than skin if it means hearing Kurt call him a good boy.

“Up another half step. And switch to eee.”

“Me-me-me-me-me-me-me-me-meee.”

Smack.

“Lose the vibrato, pet. You’re auditioning for Hedwig, not a Wagner opera.”

Blaine tries to swallow and almost coughs. His throat is getting dry, in part from singing, and in part from sucking in silently with every swat. But he’ll have to wait for water. Maneuvering around a dry throat is something he’ll need to learn if he’s going to handle a role as vocally punishing as Hedwig.

In that vein, having Kurt take over as his vocal coach temporarily is ideal.

“Yes, Sir.”

Smack, smack.

“Don’t talk. Just sing. All three vowels now. E-flat scale. Go.”

“Ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me…”

Smack.

“You’re a little too breathy over that break, Blaine.”

“…ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-meeee.”

Smack.

“Better. From the beginning. C-major. Go.”

The wooden ruler Kurt wields slices through the air one more time before Blaine can take a proper deep breath and open his mouth. It leaves rectangular scarlet welts on Blaine’s skin. Blaine feels them sprouting with every blow, but he doesn’t let them derail him. They’re an integral part of this exercise. Each hit is a tool towards improving his stamina as well as his tone. He has dancing and singing in heels pretty much down. But an entire performance in heels while climbing on sets, leaping, running, singing in a style he’s unfamiliar with…

Blaine had put a ton of work into his performance in Kinky Boots. It’s been a marathon from day one. But compared to that, Hedwig is the Ironman Triathlon.

Blaine’s agent found out about the audition for Hedwig shortly before Kinky Boots switched casts, and he felt that Blaine would be unmatched in the role. Blaine had experience that few people vying for the part would have, the kind of experience that the casting director was fiending for in a lead actor. Blaine’s vocal coach agreed that Blaine would be perfect, but he’d need to improve his range. It became thready at the upper range when it needed to be thicker, grungy. They worked for a week trying to get Blaine past that thin point, but he just couldn’t quite get there.

When Blaine came home one evening distressed, lamenting to his Dom that he was having trouble, Kurt stepped in to assist. Blaine hadn’t expected that, but he was honored and thrilled. Kurt had been performing most of his life, just like Blaine, but Kurt’s vocal range, as far as Blaine was concerned, was extraordinary. Superhuman. Why more agents aren’t knocking down Kurt’s door, Blaine would never know. But as much as Kurt hopes to perform on Broadway someday, he’s happy where he is, working at Vogue and living vicariously through Blaine.

Kurt started Blaine off easy, mixing traditional forms of vocal exercise with body repositioning and passive distraction. Once Kurt mapped out Blaine’s range from low to high, chest voice to head tones to falsetto, he moved on to less conventional methods. Kneeling with Blaine’s ankles off the floor was the first step. Changing to a position that forced him to lengthen his torso in order to maintain his balance helped keep his lower abdomen tucked and strengthened his breathing, adding power to his mid-range. Once that became a cinch, Kurt added a cock cage, one that was a half size too tight. The constant distraction of trying to control his cock in the cage was a practice in allowing muscle memory to take over when his nerves sabotaged him.

Then they moved on to Blaine standing upright with legs together, knees locked and slightly bent, arms outstretched, holding books in the palms of his supinated hands – more distraction, more core strengthening, more focus on breathing overall, while working at maintaining his posture, all in the same style platform boots he’d be wearing as Hedwig.

The addition of a wine glass filled to the brim with water made it all the more sadistic since he was spanked for every drop that left the glass.

Recently, they moved on to this – Blaine bent over the kitchen table, balancing on his toes to keep from leaning against his diaphragm, practicing his scales while Kurt spanks his bare ass with a ruler.

It’s not the cane, but it can smart just as badly, especially when it comes dangerously close to his balls.

But preparing for Blaine’s audition is a process. Once Kurt is satisfied that Blaine’s voice (and his ass) are sufficiently warmed up, they move on to part two.

Practicing Blaine’s audition piece – Sugar Daddy.

Kurt won’t admit it to Blaine just yet, but he thinks Blaine already sounds spectacular. He’s a shoe-in for the role. Only a couple of tweaks are necessary to ensure that he blows the competition out of the water, that the only name that John Cameron Mitchell and Stephen Trask remember when he walks out of his audition is Blaine Devon Anderson.

And Kurt is going to make sure he gets Blaine there.

“How are you feeling, pet?” Kurt asks, massaging Blaine’s sore and stinging cheeks, kneading broken skin roughly with cruel fingers. “You feeling good?”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine says, fighting not to back into Kurt’s touch. He’s to remain motionless as Kurt fondles him.

Motionless as Kurt prepares him for the next step.

All Blaine needs to do is concentrate on his music…and relax his ass.

Kurt gives his pet an appreciative slap to see if Blaine finches. Blaine nearly does, but he’s able to restrain it.

“You feeling confident? You ready to tackle that song?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Kurt’s hands disappear from Blaine’s ass. The cool air on his skin is a refreshing change of pace, but Blaine knows not to rely on it. It won’t last long enough to offer him any real relief. Blaine hears the snap of a latex glove as Kurt pulls one onto his hand, then the pop of a flip top bottle.

From here on out, the real work begins.

“Great. We’re going to pick up where we left off yesterday, but this time, we’re going to see how you do with all five fingers in.”