"This is pathetic. You're pathetic."
She taps one of her long, well-manicured fingernails against the plastic tube; the resulting tremors are so slight that he might just be imagining them. Nonetheless, a tingle shoots up his spine, all the way up to his neck, and he has to blink to clear his head. Kurt ought to be used to it by now, the way his desire is awakened by even the slightest touch, and how he is instantly denied by the uncomfortable fit of the plastic around his cock, but somehow it's like the more time that passes, the more enticing the thrill becomes.
Santana slides her hand around the tube completely and his breath catches. He can't feel much, only a hint of warmth from her hand and the way the device tilts as she fondles it. Oddly detached, he can admire her hands, long and elegant, her nails dangerously sharp, two (in Kurt's opinion) gaudy silver rings on her ring and middle fingers, scraping against the plastic.
They have been on each others' radars in the BDSM community for the last two years.
She has been his key-holder for the last three months.
She hasn't let him out once.
For his trip home for Thanksgiving, Kurt has to beg her to unlock the metal padlock so that he can get through the metal detectors to board the flight. She makes him worship her black, open-toed wedges, and then her bare feet, something that hadn't been part of their original agreement at all. He hasn't ever preformed like this for a woman before, but submitting to Santana is surprisingly easy. Everything about her is dominant, and nowadays she walks with an air of confidence that surpasses her high school self.
They have both grown into themselves, it seems.
They don't know much about each others' private lives. Kurt does know that she is desirable in the BDSM community, enough that she could probably make a living out of it, but she seems to have a daytime job apart from it all. She usually only takes women home, but apparently they are both making an exception for each other.
In the end she denies him, despite his best efforts, and he is forced to rent a car for a long drive home.
Would any man want you like this?" she asks, her lips close to his ear. She smells like perfume, peppermint and lipstick, and Kurt is sort of getting used to that, too. "Your dick all locked up and tiny?" She flicks her finger against the tube, startling him. "I don't think so."
In reality, he has been with two men since he was locked up. Both well experienced in the community, and only slightly surprised to see his predicament. They'd had no qualms about fucking him, and had even teased him about the engraved text on the padlock, "Don't touch; Property of Santana Lopez."
He hates it as much as he loves it. He had asked Santana, of all people, in the first place because he knew he could trust her not to simply throw out the key, but also because he knew she would be harsh.
By giving someone else the key, the possibility of mercy is implied. He still hopes, every time she takes him home to tease him, but honestly, he is wondering if she is ever going to permit him release. She seems to truly enjoy his desperation and disappointment, has already abused her power beyond their initial agreement.
Kurt knows that the moment he comes to her and can honestly tell her that he wants to get out of this lifestyle, she'll give him the key, no questions asked.
In the meantime, he'll have to wait.