It's a rare occasion when Kurt comes home early in the afternoons. It's even rarer when Blaine isn't already there, stopping by the loft for a few hour reprieve between his job as a substitute high school teacher and rehearsals for the musical that he's starring in. Kurt misses his sub. More than anything, Kurt wishes Blaine was there. It's been a trying day, and it's only 1:15. Having his sub available to take his frustrations out on, using his obedience to regain his control, would be a rejuvenating cap to this stressful day. Just like Blaine, Kurt's been burning his candle at both ends - getting ready for Fashion Week, doing the obligatory PR, substituting for Isabelle while she's off in Milan covering an up-and-comer's burgeoning career, all while caring for an anxious sub. A moment of absolute quiet, with no responsibilities, no one relying on him, would be cathartic, and so important to his own well-being, that he's willing to indulge in one afternoon without his sub.

Kurt drops his bag on the kitchen table, along with the day's mail, which includes a discreet, brown cardboard package that arrived for him at his office. Kurt specifically waited till he got home to open it. He knows what's inside, knew the second he saw the return address on the label, which is why opening it up at work was not an option.

Kurt had to replace his favorite flogger when the leather grips wound around the base came loose and the handle split in two. He mourned the loss of the one tool he's owned the longest, but it actually turned out to be fortuitous. He and Blaine are in a committed, long-term relationship (the longest of his life so far), and his flogger breaking made Kurt realize that he should honor it, and Blaine, with a brand, spanking new flogger. But Kurt didn't just jump online to his favorite supplier and order any new one. He went the extra step of having one custom made by a leather craftsman who specializes in floggers - a gentleman he met at a Dom convention years back.

Kurt goes to the kitchen and comes back with a pair of sharp scissors. He slices carefully through the brown paper packing tape, using just the tip to ensure he doesn't accidentally nick the contents of the box. As cliché as it sounds, opening this box feels like Christmas morning, not only for the excitement of seeing this new toy, but because of what it represents.

It belongs to him and Blaine. It represents them as a couple – two together, thoroughly in love, completely owned by one another.

Kurt opens the box flaps and reaches inside. He can feel its outline through thick packing paper. He can already smell the leather. He imagines the sturdy handle, the woven leather pressing its pattern into his palm, the mop of tails, that distinctive swoosh sound they make as they cut through the air, and it gives him a jolt. He swallows hard, his heart racing at the thought of what's underneath his fingers, how it will fit perfectly in his hands, how it will become an extension of himself. He can't help but think how lucky Blaine is to have this, and how much he's going to enjoy watching Blaine experience its sting on his skin.

Then again, it does belong to the two of them, in every conceivable way.

It's been a long time since Kurt's used a flogger on himself, and now that he has this time alone, he thinks its long overdue.

Kurt's never been anyone's sub, and he has no desire to be. It's just not something that's in him. He doesn't even desire to try. But impact play is something he's always enjoyed, by way of self-flagellation especially. There's just something about the snap of hide that makes him hot, something about being spanked that turns him on, but in a kind of narcissistic way. If it ever came from someone else, someone trying to execute any kind of control over him, it would most likely make him too angry to enjoy. He could probably train Blaine to do it for him – give him the opportunity to learn as part of a reward – but it might not be the same.

Regardless, Blaine's not there, and an inexperienced hand is not what Kurt needs now.

Flogging himself is something he hasn't done since he's gotten involved with Blaine, possibly longer, a relief he craves that he hasn't allowed himself in forever. Well, considering the fact that he vowed to try out all the toys he bought for his sub on himself – for Blaine's safety, of course – Kurt sees it as his duty to give it a go.

Kurt tears open the paper, and there it is. And it is glorious – a true work of art, with its long handle and elk hide tails. He ordered it in traditional black with purple woven throughout, since purple happens to be Blaine's favorite color. It's specifically constructed so that the handle has a bit more snap than normal, like a riding crop, to accommodate Kurt's swing. Kurt takes it out of the box and holds it up, not letting the tails anywhere near the table top or the ground. The sunlight hits it, and the hide shines. Kurt smiles. There are few things in the world more sensually appealing than brand new leather. He hangs it from an arm of his standing coat tree, which he uses less for coats, and more for displaying his various toys.

Kurt undresses, clearing his mind as he takes off his shoes and his socks. He unbuttons his slacks, and pulls the tails of his shirt free. He works through the buttons from the bottom up to his neck, then lays the shirt out on his bed. He removes his pants, laying those out on the bed as well. Wearing his boxer briefs, he returns to the living room to get the flogger. He decides to set himself up in front of the window, with the curtains pulled open wide, not for exhibition, but to feel the sun on his skin.

He retrieves the flogger from its hanging place. He holds the handle, taking a moment to measure the weight of it in his grasp, to get comfortable with it in his hands. He takes a deep breath and gives it a swing away from him, blowing out as he does. The handle gives, he hears the tails snap, and his cock, growing hard inside the cradle of his cotton boxer briefs, bobs against the fabric.

He drags the tails along his skin, up one leg and then the other, then holds them in front of his abs and lets them dangle there. The elk hide is supple. It feels almost like velvet. Kurt, who's always been extraordinarily tactile sensitive, shivers when the tails brush his torso. He knows if he doesn't start now, the anticipation alone might make him cum.

That would be a waste, not to mention embarrassing as hell. Thank God he'd be the only one there to see it.

Kurt's rusty. He knows he probably won't get it right the first time. His hands have most likely forgotten technique, and his muscles, the correct amount of force. He twists the handle in his hand, lifts his left arm up, and with his right, gives himself an experimental smack on the flank. There's a snap, and the pattering thud of the tails coming in contact with his skin. Kurt doesn't know how he did it. He doesn't know how he managed to get the right amount of thud and the exact amount of sting. The tails slide down his flesh, and an, “OhmyGod,” slips past his lips. He does it again the same way, and again, switching sides, focusing on the same spots until they start to become sore, until the bite passes the threshold of pain that he prefers.

He has a need to feel that thud, that sting, all over his body, on every inch of his exposed flesh. His thin cotton boxer briefs have got to go. An impatient hand reaches for the waistband to his underwear, shoving them down to his ankles, finding even this short pause unbearable with this need in him bubbling up strong. He searches out new, fleshy places to hit – his thighs, his calves, he bends over and circles the tails around to hit his ass, flick over his balls, all with the same addictive results.

He sweats across his hairline, behind his knees, down his back; his hands have begun to shake, and he's not even close to where he wants to be.

He hisses when he hits himself again, the tails grazing across his back, sharp, then soft, and most likely leaving raised marks on his skin. But why should he care? The only man who sees him naked is his sub. The only man who touches him is his sub. And if his sub really cares for him, he'll think these marks are beautiful, the same way Kurt thinks that the marks he leaves on Blaine's skin are beautiful.

He can't exactly perform Florentine this way, but he manages to spin the flogger handle in his hand, transferring the tails from one side to the other after every blow, using the same skill he perfected handling sai swords when he was younger.

Who knew this was the way he'd end up using that skill?

In the midst of this build up, the intensity of his oncoming orgasm growing steadily, he hears a key turn in the lock, and the loft door slide open. He feels the vibrations on the hardwood floor when Blaine walks in. There's the sound of a bag falling to the ground, and a gasp when Blaine sees him. Kurt doesn't scold him, though he should, seeing as Blaine is standing in the open doorway, staring at Kurt in shock. But Kurt can't stop, even for something as necessary as discipline. He's too close to cumming, too close to his own long sought after release, and really, the idea of Blaine stunned into breaking the rules this way (they have a strict rule that prohibits Blaine from watching his Master masturbate without express permission), is probably the one thing he's been missing. It brings Kurt to his knees. It makes his rock hard cock throb, it makes his body shudder. He moans, and Blaine whimpers. After that, one last hit, harder than the rest, has Kurt cumming all over the wood floor.

There's a second when it's actually hard for Kurt to think. His mind, completely blank, deals solely with the sensation of pain on his skin, the unraveling coil of heat in his stomach, and a ringing in his ears from clamping his jaw tight when he came. As those sensations dribble away, Kurt's brain pulls itself together, reminding him of the steps he has to take to get back to where he wants to be.

First would be to put the flogger somewhere sanitary. He chooses the chair closest to him and lays it down, arranging the tails with one hand so that they don't hang off the side.

Next would be to stand up and handle his disobedient sub. He attempts to make it to his feet, but at present, they don't want to hold him.

On his hands and knees, panting toward the ground, he hears the loft door slide shut.

“Master…” Blaine starts. Kurt slaps a hand flat on the ground to silence him. Kurt doesn't need to be on his feet to command him. An obedient boy like Blaine knows when his Master wants him to keep his mouth shut.

“No one gave you permission to watch, pet,” Kurt says with some effort.

“I know, Master,” Blaine says softly. “But, I…”

Kurt slaps the floor again, and Blaine goes quiet. His heart slowing, normal feeling returning to his muscles, Kurt brings himself to his feet, his legs shaking as what remains of his orgasm leaves him slightly weak, especially at the knees, from pressing into the hard wood floor.

Kurt doesn't look at Blaine while he walks away; he simply swings a hand and motions to his abandoned spot on the floor.

“Get your pretty mouth over here,” Kurt commands, “and clean up this mess.”

“Yes, Master.” Blaine drops to his hands and knees and crawls across the floor as Kurt makes his way to the bathroom. Halfway to the door, Kurt catches Blaine's reflection as he kneels, bent over the puddle of Kurt's cum, preparing to lick it up. Kurt watches his good boy. He has to acknowledge to himself that he wouldn't have cum half as hard without Blaine being there, and as Kurt feels relieved of nearly all his stress, he should really find a way to reward his sub.

“And, pet,” Kurt says, watching Blaine only through the mirror, his eyes locked to the floor.

“Yes, Master?”

“When you're done there, get undressed and wait for me at the bathroom door. When I get done in the shower” – Kurt looks at the chair with the flogger stretched out, waiting to be useful again – “I'll introduce you to our new toy.”