“22 … SMACK! … 23 … mmph! SMACK … 24 … urgh! SMACK! … 25 … Grr! Stay in, stay in, stay in! God dammit! Blaine!”

“I’m … I’m sorry, Sir,” Blaine says, panting from exertion. His hands are balled into the blanket so hard, he has imprints of the wrinkles in the fabric embedded in his skin. His back, steeply sloped like a mountain road, is cramping above his hips, and his legs shake like crazy. Yet, he bows lower on the bed, sticking his ass in the air in search of the next hit. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Kurt folds his thick leather belt in half, laying it over Blaine’s ass for traction as he tries to push Blaine’s new plug back into place.  He manages, but almost a second later, the plug bids a hasty retreat out of Blaine’s hole, and Kurt growls in frustration.

“If it slips out again, pet, we’re going to have to start over from the beginning.”

“I know, Sir.”

“You’ll have to lick the thing clean, we’ll have to put more lube on it, and we’re going to have to shove it back in there,” he reminds his sub, giving the base of the glass plug a twist, screwing it back into Blaine’s hole.

“I know, Sir,” Blaine hisses as his raw, sensitive rim catches on a single unlubricated patch of glass and pulls. “I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just …”

“Don’t say it,” Kurt warns, cutting Blaine’s explanation short. “You were the one who wanted to go up to this size, remember? I recommended going up just one size. You wanted more. You did your tasks and you earned it. Now we’re going to use it, and this is how you get you used to it.” Kurt raises the belt, preparing to swing. “Just … clench harder.”

“Yes, Sir, mmph.” The belt comes down on Blaine’s ass, and the plug almost immediately shoots out again. Kurt pulls Blaine’s legs out and down, trying to help with the clench, but it’s counterproductive. Blaine can’t use that as a crutch. Blaine has to do the work. This is what ass training is – learning to work around whatever his Dom decides to plug him with. Blaine tries. He really does try. But it’s no use. No matter how tight Blaine clenches, he can’t keep this new plug in. It’s just a bit too big. Not to mention that, in order to get it seated, Kurt had to be generous with the lube.

Blaine came home that evening sore from practice. He’d slipped and fallen on his rear about a dozen times practicing one dance, and from the hood of a car, too. That alone was enough to safeword out of this session today before they even started. Kurt would have understood. Blaine’s health comes first; Kurt is always telling Blaine that. But Blaine was looking forward to this. Since the second that plug arrived in the mail and Kurt pulled it from the box, Blaine wanted it inside him. He needed to know what that felt like. So Blaine has no one to blame but himself.

Besides, Kurt scheduled this session days ago. Blaine knew about it ahead of time. Sore ass or no, Blaine can’t say that Kurt isn’t being fair.

“SMACK! 26 … SMACK! 27 … Jesus Christ! … SMACK 28! Oh, the hell with it! 29 30 31 SMACK SMACK SMACK!”

Kurt puts out his hand and catches the plug before it can drop to the floor. “Urgh! Well, this may have been a waste of $20, pet.”

“Please,” Blaine sniffles, bowing lower, sinking into the mattress a far as the pillow top will let him. “D-don’t say that, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir, I …”

“Pet?” Kurt puts the plug and the belt down, and walks up beside him, a hand caressing Blaine’s shuddering back. “Blaine? Honey? What’s wrong?”

“I d-don’t …” Blaine shakes his head, his forehead pressed to the comforter beneath him “… don’t want … you to be disappointed, Sir.”

Kurt sighs. He thought this might happen. He should have been better at circumventing it. “Baby, I’m not disappointed. Frustrated, maybe, but not disappointed.” This isn’t about just the plug for Blaine. It’s about Blaine. It’s so hard for Blaine sometimes to understand that frustration at a situation that he happens to be involved in doesn’t necessarily equate to frustration with him. “This is for you, pet. We’re doing this for you. You wanted this, and I want to make this work for you. But sometimes I have to accept the fact that there are things outside of my control, and that’s not the easiest thing in the world for me. You trust me with your body, but I can only bend it to the best of your abilities. You’re not failing,” Kurt adds when he hears Blaine sob. “I’m the one who needs to back up a bit. Maybe it’s time for a break. Give you some time to …”

“No, Sir!” Blaine jerks up so suddenly he almost clocks Kurt on the chin. “No! Please! Let me try again?”

Kurt pets down Blaine’s damp hair, overlooking the interruption (which is normally punishable by an immediate spanking, but that seems redundant at the moment) and examining his face, the determination set in his eyes underneath a brow wrinkled with exhaustion. He’s on the fence. Kurt knows that rehearsals for this new musical are pushing Blaine’s boundaries. But Blaine thrives under that sort of pressure, healthy pressure, the kind that breaks you down just to build you back stronger. That’s Kurt’s job, too. To push Blaine’s boundaries. Blaine had taken the initiative by asking for the plug in the first place, and Kurt wants to see him succeed. Kurt has to take his cues from Blaine; he has to continue on as long as it’s safe.

As long as Blaine can stand it.

“Is that what you want, pet? To keep going?”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine replies with an enthusiastic nod that requires more energy than he has to spare. “Please, Sir. That’s what I want.”

“Good boy.” Kurt kisses his sub, smiling in approval against Blaine’s mouth. “You’re such a good boy. That’s what I like to hear.” Kurt pushes down on Blaine’s shoulders to put him back in a bow. Stroking along Blaine’s spine, Kurt returns to his spot behind his pet. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to put you into position, put that plug back in, and you’re going to hold for a sixty second count. If you can keep that position with the plug in for the whole sixty seconds, you’ll get thirty swipes with the belt. Agreed?”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine responds, relieved. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Happy to oblige, pet. Now, relax. Breathe in deep, and then breathe out. Concentrate on opening yourself up for me.” With another healthy dollop of lube on that Godforsaken plug, Kurt starts working Blaine open. Kurt hears him hum, an occasional hitch, but with less effort than before, the plug slips in. “If you need to safeword, you go ahead,” Kurt reminds him. “But I want you to know that you’ve got this, pet. You can do this.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Are you green, pet?”

“I’m green, Sir.”

“Are you sure you’re not yellow? It’s okay if you are.”

“I know, Sir. Thank you for reminding me, Sir. I’m green.”

“Then let’s begin.” Kurt sets a timer on his phone for sixty seconds. He gives the plug an extra shove so that Blaine’s muscles lock down over the curved neck before the base. Then he starts the timer.

“There you go, pet,” Kurt murmurs as he watches Blaine tense, his legs shaking less but his stomach muscles quivering more. Blaine has found a new technique, located different muscle groups that can help him with his task, and as admirable as that is, he still looks like he’s about to vibrate to pieces. “You’ve got this, you’ve got this,” Kurt repeats, then counts down – “5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … time! You did it, pet!” Kurt cheers with a playful swat to Blaine’s right cheek.

Kurt hears Blaine release a breath, but his body doesn’t relax. He’s still tense, thighs and ass twitching to keep the plug from escaping.

“I’m going to start off with easy swats,” Kurt says, “and then we’ll go progressively harder. Are you still green?”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine says, his voice strained. “Still green.”

“Good. Here we go.” Kurt pulls his arm back and lets the belt fly. The first impact makes Blaine jump. His ass, mostly muscle, barely jiggles, and for Kurt, that’s where the disappointment lies. He loves to see Blaine’s ass jiggle. But he would never tell Blaine that. Not in a million years. Blaine has been working so hard as a performer. His tighter ass is a consequence of that. No reason to make him self-conscious about it.

Besides, a tight ass has never been a deficit. Not in Kurt’s book.

The plug unseats temporarily with the second swat, but only by a hair. With the third swat, it pops back into place.

Harder and harder Kurt goes with every swat. Marks that started out as pink stripes become red brick welts, but Blaine holds on. Kurt alternates one cheek, then the other, then both, and then the backs of Blaine’s thighs. Blaine begins to groan, but he holds tighter. With the final swat, as Kurt announces 30 with pride, Blaine lets go, every one of his muscles relaxing at once. The plug comes loose, tumbling to the mattress. It bounces off, drops to the hardwood floor, and rolls away.

Kurt is glad that he took the extra step to have Blaine douche beforehand or they could have had a real mess on their hands.

“Welp,” Kurt says as Blaine collapses to the mattress, the glass plug spinning in a lazy, incomplete circle, both pet and toy done in for the night, “I guess that’s our cue to end this for now.” Kurt pats Blaine’s swollen cheek. “Let me get you all taken care of.” He puts away his belt, hanging it on the door of the closet, and returns to the bed with a tube of ointment.

“Please,” Blaine moans, swallowing breaths by the dozens as they start to slow down.

“What do you need, pet?” Kurt asks, carefully applying a lay of Preparation H to the rim of Blaine’s hole.

“Please … can we … keep the plug … Sir?”

“You can keep the plug, pet,” Kurt says, shaking his head that that’s the first thing on Blaine’s mind. God, he must have really enjoyed it. The possibilities with a plug that big are many, varied, and exciting, and Kurt gets hard thinking about them. “But I’m going to get you another one, for now, in the same size, made out of silicone, with a harness to keep it locked into your hole until you get used to it. Something you can even dance in. What do you think of that, pet?”

“Thank you, Sir,” Blaine says, giddy beneath an onslaught of yawns. “And thank you for taking care of me.”

“Not a problem, pet,” Kurt says, applying a second layer of ointment. “I have a lot riding on your ass, no pun intended. It’s one of my favorite things in this world, and therefore, must be protected.”