“Come on, cockslut,” Kurt drones, twisting the clamp on Blaine's right nipple to a symphony of muffled groans before sharply yanking it off, “you know the rules. They're simple, even for you. So, why do you keep breaking them?”

Kurt smacks Blaine's breast over the swollen and abused nipple before reapplying the clip.

After a few sessions, Kurt discovered that his perfect, demure baby boy has a definite defiant streak, performing whatever infraction necessary to insure punishment, each time upping the ante.

During one of their aftercare sessions when Kurt and Blaine discussed exploring and expanding Blaine's boundaries, Kurt broached the subject of simply adding more discipline elements so that Blaine wouldn't have to be punished so often. That was when Blaine sheepishly admitted just how much he enjoys the concept of being punished.

A trust fund baby with emotionally distant and standoffish parents, Blaine rarely got punished as a child. The times he had, he remembered, were among the few times when he had managed to garner his parents' undivided attention; the few times he felt like they really cared about him. When he came out in high school, his parents practically disavowed his existence.

Now he craves punishment. It's almost an obsession, and in some cases, the harsher the better. Kurt was correct in his initial assessment, when he first met Blaine and saw his immaculate house, with its clean edges, art that was relevant but not over-the-top expensive, minimalist design features, form and function neatly defined – Blaine fucking Anderson is kinky as shit.

In the top drawer of the dresser beside his bed, Blaine (deceptively sweet and innocent Blaine) hid a treasure trove of naughty toys – vibrators, prostate wands, plugs, beads of all sizes, and some more impressive hardcore stuff that even Kurt could only get online at sites that required special passwords just to look at their stuff.

Blaine likes to take it up the ass…and hard…which helped inspire his new nickname, and the set-up Kurt has devised. He tied Blaine spread eagle to the posts of his bed, legs spread wider than comfortable, a vibrating plug of nearly excruciating proportions lodged in his tight hole, his aching cock tied to a vibrator, and testicle cuffs locked above his balls so he won't cum.

Kurt smiles.

God, Blaine looks hot.

Kurt looks over his sub, writhing, biting into the gag tied tight over his mouth, eyes wide and dark, like a panic-stricken doe, trained on Kurt's every move as he sashayed around the bed.

Usually Kurt set the vibrators to high and left the room. This component of Kurt strutting and watching, taunting his sub as he struggles to cum was something new they agreed on – humiliation.

Blaine is a musician – an extremely gifted performer. In the last few months, Kurt has gotten the opportunity to watch his sub shine on stage. But Blaine is also a man who doesn't like to be stared at. Before his sessions with Kurt, Blaine had an almost debilitating case of performance anxiety, and when it took over, it crippled him. It triggered his sub nature. It made him vulnerable, easily manipulated.

That first night Kurt met Blaine, he had just come home from a performance at a nightclub where he was promised a set wage plus half of the total house. Unfortunately, it was a handshake agreement, and even though he outshined everyone's expectations, in the end the club owner reneged on their original agreement and just gave him a wage.

Blaine didn't argue with the man. He folded in on himself and left.

After his sessions with Kurt, after being tortured and tormented, stripped down and broken, Blaine changed. He gained confidence. He knew his limits.

Blaine no longer took shit from men like that.

“Come on, cockslut,” Kurt taunts, shoving the plug in harder for good measure, “I haven't got all day. Are you going to cum for me or not?”

Blaine tugs on the binds around his wrist in response, bucking his hips and groaning loudly. Kurt likes that reaction, so he shoves on the plug again, and this time Blaine squeezes his eyes shut.

“Don't you close your eyes!” Kurt demands, smacking hard at his cock tethered to the vibrator. “Your only job is to watch me look at you. So watch, cockslut!”

Kurt can see Blaine's ankles rolling in the ropes around his legs. Kurt rounds to each one, pulling the ends tight, restricting his movement.

The moan from Blaine's lips is one of pure agony. Kurt smirks, keeping a close eye on Blaine's body, watching the way his legs twitch, the way his balls strain in the testicle cuffs as his cock begs for release. His eyes shift to the clock by the bedside. Nearly thirty minutes. Just a few more excruciating seconds and Kurt will take the cuffs off. Kurt loves the effects of the testicles cuffs, the feeling of complete helplessness in the face of an impending orgasm that is constantly denied, but he doesn't want to do any permanent damage to his sub.

Kurt creeps up along the side of the bed, his smirk turning into a grin, his grin into the occasional chuckle, until his whole body shakes with cruel laughter when he reaches Blaine's body.

“Should I take these off?” Kurt teases, flicking at the metal cuff and Blaine's hard testicles with one wicked finger. Blaine doesn't respond other than to stare at Kurt, biding, tensing his limbs, stomach coiling with heat, edging toward insanity. Kurt's waiting for a response, so he smacks Blaine's cock hard again.

“Do I take them off, cockslut?” he yells in a rough voice. “Do I take them off?”

Blaine starts to nod violently, and Kurt, with his Cheshire cat grin, flicks the catch and lets them fall free, watching as Blaine's cock responds, pulsing painfully, thick white stripes of cum erupting from the engorged head.

Thank god for latex gloves, Kurt thinks, though honestly, he wouldn't mind Blaine getting him a little messy.

Kurt backs away and strips off his soiled gloves, watching Blaine's body convulse, his softening cock trying to shrink away from the persistently vibrating toy.

Kurt sits at the end of the bed, leaning back against the polished dark wood post to get the best possible view. Now that Blaine's cock is soft and oversensitivity has started to set it in, the anxious groans becoming louder and more desperate…now the real show begins.

“Let's see how many times we can get you to do that again.”

***

Blaine is nearly drenched with sweat, body limp from exhaustion by the time Kurt begins carefully sponging down his sub. Unbound, ungagged, toys removed and put away, Kurt drags a soft, wet cloth over Blaine's tan skin, soothing the angry red marks on his wrists and ankles and cleaning away every last drop of his cum. Kurt massages waterless shampoo into Blaine's hair, carding his fingers through the locks to revitalize his curls (and if Kurt happens to use the best of his private stash on Blaine's luxurious hair, that's his own little secret).

Kurt moves Blaine's body to roll the rubber sheet out from beneath him and lays him out on the expensive Egyptian cotton linens it was protecting. Kurt pulls the comforter up to Blaine's neck and looks down at his relaxed face, so close to sleep.

Kurt sighs.

“Blaine, baby?” Kurt whispers. “Are you up for ice-cream, or do you just want to sleep?”

Double-fudge chocolate brownie gelato had become part of their aftercare routine…and if Kurt fed ice-cream only to Blaine, and none of his other subs, then, that was another of Kurt's secrets as well.

“Hmmm,” Blaine hums. “Sleep, please, sir.”

“Alright,” Kurt says with a tiny pang of disappointment he has no intention of revealing to Blaine or anyone else. “I'll just lock the door, and I'll see you later in the week, alright?”

Kurt can hear a small whine that sounds like Blaine attempting to respond, sees the slight nod of his head, but far too soon Blaine drifts off to sleep.

And if Kurt leans over his sub and drops a delicate kiss to his curls before he leaves, Kurt will never tell.