Thanks to everybody that has shown this story love! Seriously, it's ridiculously flattering! Keep the comments coming.

To me, yes I had to google S&M clubs lol. I was disappointed. I didn't even get to see a nipple :(

To ducksticks, ;) lol

To Shine90, screw me? hahahaha! If you pay for dinner first then certainly :P

To Justified12, I have no idea what genre to slip this one into. I'm just glad you think it's fun. Questions, questions, questions indeed. Maybe Brittany was up there with a client ; )

A special shout-out to unicorn223, because your enthusiasm for this fic is adorable!

Anywho, here's chapter four guys. It continues straight on for where we left off last chapter.

All of the hatred that I thought I felt for Miss Brittany folded under my awe, those hostile feelings seemingly tucked away in the pocket of a parallel dimension. I'd wanted to upset the balance of power in my favor, but as I stared at her and could think of nothing but kneeling at her stomach, nipping, smelling, and kissing at it, whilst she pressed her palm to the crown of my head and forced me to venture lower, I didn't care about which way the scales of power were tipped.

I wanted her, and I was going to have her.

My feet took the initiative, propelling me towards her with fervor that verged on a maddened sprint. One foot almost tripped over the other in my rush, but there was too much heat swirling inside of my panties for me to even consider feeling any embarrassment.

"Stay where you are," she ordered, with a dark reservedness that I'd come to expect from her.

But I didn't heed her demand. I continued to approach, only slowing when one of her black-leather-gloved hands slid around to her back and lingered there, ominously out of sight.

Her clear cat-like blue eyes minimized to a challenging squint, daring me to lift my foot and take another step.

I quickly resolved to still my eager feet, simply because I didn't feel like getting maced or pepper-sprayed - or accosted with whatever it was that was concealed just behind her hour-glass hip.

At my prompt obedience she smirked, which caused only one side of her lips to twitch up, her slowly shaping cheekbone making her look like an exquisite model. But no sooner than the smirk was there Miss Brittany had reset her face to one of business. "You're learning," she said, bringing her hidden hand out from behind her back to reveal a taught fore-arm length black whip which had your typical leather loop at the end.

Before I could process what was happening, Miss Brittany began to take long flawless strides towards me, strides that quickly ate up most of the distance lingering between us. Not even affording me time to flinch, she expertly snapped the whip's end out to the underside of my snapback's beak, sending it spiraling off of my head to the red and gold rug.

Like the waves of the ocean, my mussed mane fell around my ears and shoulders.

The release seemed to fan away the mist of taught abs, flustered pink nipples, and glistening vulva lips that had taken my mind hostage when I'd first set eyes on her in that outfit. And just like that she was the enemy again, the fuck-slut that had strung me up to a pipe in a public restroom, the reason why the world was laughing at me.

When she reached out and knocked the sunglasses off of my face, those feelings only strengthened.

I threw my hand out at her whip, squeezing my fingers tight around the end of it as I scowled menacingly up at her. "Bitch, you think your little stunt was funny? You have no idea what you're in for, blondie. I'm going to make your life hell!" I gruffed.

Her eyes dropped fluidly down to my fist, and then rose back up to my face. "Let go," she told me.

"Let go?" I challenged loudly, giving the whip a hard tug in the hopes of unarming it from her grasp, but the force of the motion merely brought her right along with it, her chest colliding with mine. The impact forced me sideways slightly, and that small loss of balance was all that it took for Mistress Brittany to rip her whip completely from my hold and forcefully push me back into the wall with a painful dull thud.

Under their own steam, my eyelids fluttered shut and then lifted again. The gorgeous scent that was wafting up into my nostrils from her cleavage had told them to.

The familiarity of our position sparkled impishly in Miss Brittany's eyes as I wriggled, unsuccessfully, for her to release me. She slowly slid the gloved hand that was pressed firm to my chest up my neck and past my chin, her thumb and index finger suddenly clamping my lips together tightly. "You can kid yourself all you want to, Santana, but..." She paused to draw her face in right up next to my ear, whispering a warm and seductive, "we both know that you're a pussy-hungry slave that will do anything for her fix. The sad truth of the matter is that you'll do anything that I tell you too, because you need to touch me and lick me and bite me. Nothing else makes sense to you."

I fought, hard, to control the shudder that rippled low in my stomach at hearing her talk such filth to me. But she was just so fucking... ugh! Fuck!

Pulling back a little, she silently brought the end of her whip up to my nose, tapping a few times before slowly gliding it down the thick grey fabric of my sweatshirt. It stopped at my crotch, pressing deliciously into my clit. "You love this. You love the marks that those handcuffs left around your wrists. But most of all, you love knowing that you belong to me. Say it!" she said sternly, beating the whip's end to my clothed core to add exclamation to the demand. She then carefully released my lips and stood before me expectantly.

I gulped.

"Say it!" she repeated, flicking the whip at my core with a little more force.

I squeezed my eyes shut as my thighs clenched, and expelled a jittery breath, gulping hard against the desert atmosphere spanning the cavity of my throat. "I... I-I-"

"Why are you stammering? It's not difficult; I told you what to say. Now say it, and say it clearly."

"...no."

Miss Brittany smirked as her eyebrows rose. "No?"

I shook my head with growing rebellion. "No."

"You're a naughty one," she chuckled, her eyes laden with something that let me know that I'd pay for my refusal to comply.

I waited, ready to defend myself in any way that was necessary. But when nothing happened, I grew more confident, the reason for me being here bobbing back up to the surface with a vengeance. "When you least expect it; that's when I'm gonna strike. You better sleep with one mother fucking eye open - better yet, don't sleep at a-"

Strong hands suddenly dug into my hips and before I could question anything, I was being hiked up and spun around, my nose, lips, and eyebrow bones mushing quite painfully into the wall in front of me. As my diaphragm expanded and sunk in quick puffs, one of Miss Brittany's arms slipped around my waist, its hand pressing into my stomach. I briefly wondered what her other hand - the one that wielded the whip - was doing, but the answer swiftly presented itself when the thumb to said hand hooked into the waistband of my sweats and performed one powerful tug.

I sucked in a gasp.

Cold air rushed up my legs and prickled at my butt cheeks as my sweats piled around my ankles, having taken my black lace panties along with them.

Pressing her entire front tight and warm against my back, Miss Brittany walked slow teasing fingers over the soft hood encasing my pulsing clitoris, and then quickly snatched my entire center up into the palm of her hand.

"Fuck," I whispered, eyes floating shut as my entire frame shuddered to what felt like the magnitude of a tumble dryer on a hot wash.

"See this?" she asked, tugging upwards on my inflamed slickening lips, to the point that I had to stand on tiptoes. "I own this. It belongs to me. When I tell you to do something, you do it," she husked, her warm breath rushing into my ear. "Say it," she enunciated, like this was my one final chance to obey.

"It belongs to you," I breathed out, instantly hating myself for complying - for letting the fire down there spread to my brain, for proving her right in her theory that I was desperate. Desperate to touch and lick and bite her. Desperate for her to do the same to me.

"After you've fixed yourself up, you're gonna go downstairs, give Antonio your locker key, and leave. Do I make myself clear?"

I barely nodded, hating myself for that too. How I was going to look myself in the mirror after this exchange I had no freaking idea.

"Good," Miss Brittany said. "Keep this up and one of these days maybe you'll earn a reward, instead of constantly making me punish you."

Even when she removed the warmth of her body from my back and uncupped my sex, I remained pressed up against the wall, eyes closed. I wanted to turn around and fuck the living wheels off of her.

"Move it!" she suddenly hastened, making me flinch out of the filth that was playing out on the insides of my eyelids.

Almost sluggish, like I'd just awoken from a dreamy sleep - or had a thorough orgasm - I reached down and pulled my sweats up, running a hand through my tussled locks as I picked up my Gucci's from the floor and slid them over my lust-drooped eyes. I could feel Miss Brittany watching my every move - every swallow, every intake and exhalation of breath - like she was studying how I worked and waiting to offer out correction.

I was far too aroused to feel intimidated by it though. In fact, it was only serving to feed my throbbing heat, having her watch me, those complex blue eyes focusing solely on me.

"Leave the hat on the floor," Miss Brittany instructed.

Her words, seemingly out of nowhere, knitted a crinkle in my brow. "What?"

She nodded towards the floor, towards my snapback, repeating, "leave the hat on the floor."

I quickly realized what she was planning for me and felt my eyes grow to that of planets. "I am not going down there without the hat on. People will know who I am!" I stressed.

Miss Brittany strode past me like my gripe was the most insignificant foolery she'd ever heard, and then she bent down, snatching my hat up off of the expensive rug. She looked me straight in the face, effortlessly twirled my snapback around on two fingers, and replied with an almost bored, "you should've thought about that before you showed up here uninvited." Her head bobbed sideways, towards the staircase. "Now get down there."

I stood there just staring at her, feigning acquiescence, before quickly lunging for the hat. But by the time my hand got there, my fingers were grasping at nothing but air. "Fuck!" I grunted, elbowing the wall beside me. "Give me my hat," I growled, glaring daggers at Miss Brittany under my eyelids.

"I'll alert security if you try to take it again. A spectacle will be made, and I'll make sure that the story reaches mainstream news. You're gonna learn to do what I say first time; I'm not playing with you."

I squeezed my fists by my sides and began to pace back and forth like a caged animal, all whilst glowering at the look of smug indifference holding Miss Brittany's expression.

She'd won this bout and she knew it.

After quite a while of stomping back and forth, I accepted that my infuriated growls, grunts, and glares were doing me more harm than good, and stood still, sighing out a weary, "look, just give me my hat."

But for a blink of her unchanging blue hues, Miss Brittany didn't react at all.

It was then that I knew that I was going to have to try a different tactic, so I stood there for a few seconds ransacking the libraries of my mind.

In the moment that the solution came barreling into my mind, I reached a hand around the back of my neck and began to rub the flesh there, hoping to soothe my pride's valiant protests into submission. "Jesus Christ," I muttered to myself.

"Jesus can't help you," Miss Brittany said. "In fact, I doubt that he was ever even real."

Extending an expectant palm out towards the gloved hand that was holding my snapback captive, I swallowed all pride, and pleaded, "can I please have my hat back, please?"

There. I'd done it. I'd... begged.

"I'll take your glasses too if you ask me again," she swiftly replied. "Now leave."

"Why the fuck are you doing this to me?" I exploded, running a frustrated hand back through my hair.

"I don't like your smart mouth, or your inability to follow orders straight away. On top of that, you thought you were slick; having one of your private investigators seek me out?" She shook her head from side to side and tutted in disapproval, whilst regarding me under eyelashes as long as a southern summer. "You're getting off lightly."

How the fuck was this woman so perceptive? I could've tracked her down a multitude of other ways - word of mouth, anything - yet she seemed to know that I'd used a P.I, and if she knew that then she probably knew that I'd had her tracked by way of her cell phone.

I was fucked - holstered up by bondage that nobody, but me and Miss Brittany, could see. She wasn't going to negotiate with me, and I couldn't risk my name ending up in print so soon after the Eden debacle. This was a God damn sex club. They would have a fucking field day making up headlines after I'd peed myself.

'Lopez frequents S&M club to satisfy diaper fetish!'

The choices were clear; scurry out of this place wearing my Gucci's, with my chin tucked tight to my chest, or snatch my hat from Miss Brittany's grasp and have security swarm on me, and then later the media.

"Getting off lightly," I grumbled to myself, thoroughly disgruntled as I stomped towards the staircase...

I was out under the vast misty moon-lit sky, scurrying in the direction of my car as I fumbled with its alarm, before I knew it.

Once inside, I placed my palm over my galloping chest and exhaled a long hard breath. "Holy Jesus on a cracker!" I murmured over the silence.

I didn't think that anybody had recognized me. Somebody would've said something, or at least tried to pull me into one of those rooms to fuck me, right? Miss Brittany had cursed me with the misfortune of having to wait, addled with worry, to see if any stories surfaced over the next few days.

But in the meantime, I was going to make it my absolute sole purpose to find out as much information about her as I could. This wasn't just about banging her anymore. No; I wanted to strip her down to the real her – the woman behind the whip. There was no way that she was that intense with everybody. She was human, I think, which meant that she had to eat and take a shit, and go shopping for tampons just like the fucking rest of us. She had to have her bad days and her good, people she either liked or disliked, a favorite song, a favorite color... right?

My sweatpants hummed just then, Deadmau5's 'I Remember' playing low and muffled until I reached into my pocket and took out my cell phone, letting the chilled beat swirl around, crisp and clear, in the dark of the car.

The screen flashed with Puck's name, and I was instantly taken back to the excruciating dinner that I'd endured at my parent's mansion just hours ago.

Eager to quiz him about the situation, I touched the pick-up icon and slipped the device through my hair to my ear. "Puck?"

"Santana," he stated, as though that was it and he intended to say no more.

Silence tapped heavily against my ear.

"Why are you calling me?" I pressed, with a snappiness that spoke my impatience.

"I-I need to talk to you..."

"I wanted to talk to you too actually."

"You first," he quickly insisted, seeming slightly relieved.

Well, there was no point in pussy-footing around. "Did you steal money from my father's bank account?"

The other end of the line remained absolutely silent but for the hush wisps of breath softly coasting from Puck's lips.

In that very moment, the truth stood tall and bold, as if questioning how I ever could have doubted it in the first place.

"What the fuck?" I barked. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I-It's not what you thi - I mean it is what you - but you don't know all the," he sighed heavily, "facts."

"Don't know all the facts? You stole from my family, from me! How did you? - Why did..."

Every question that I'd been getting ready to pelt at Puck faded from mind as the screen of my windshield showed me a tall blonde woman crossing the street. I squinted at the figure, making out the high bun that her hair was keeping, along with the black snapback that was poised between the fingers of her one hand.

Mistress Brittany.

No longer was her slender frame attired in a hat, corset, suspenders, and tights. She was now dressed in the same grey hoody and sweatpants that she'd been wearing the night I had met her, a long black duffel bag slung high up on her shoulder. Those fuck-me heels were gone too, replaced with sneakers so white that they made the stars seem as though they weren't shining anymore.

Was she coming this way?

I quickly ducked down low, keeping my head up just far enough to see out over the dashboard. She walked past the cluster of swaying bushes on the corner and glided straight past me.

My heart slowed with the smirk that grew into my cheek.

"You walk home," I mused aloud, watching as she brisked the pavement leading towards a closed-up convenience store.

"Santana?" Puck asked, his voice light and thin like he was holding in a breath.

I frowned at the interruption, snarling, "I'ma get into your ass about this tomorrow," before hanging up and tossing the phone to the passenger seat.

Wincing in anticipation of the noisy engine, I pressed my thumb print to the scanner built into the dashboard, cranked the gear stick to the left, and pressed my foot to the accelerator pedal, slowly rounding out of the parking lot.

For stretches, I maintained a safe distance and a nice inconspicuous pace behind Miss Brittany, surprising even myself with my ability to be stealthy. In videogames, such as Grand Theft Auto, I always failed those tailing missions, either slipping too far behind the vehicle that I was following, or getting too close. But here I was following Mistress Brittany to wherever it was that she was headed, flying completely under the radar.

Ben would've been proud.

The other vehicles on the road made the act of blending in that much easier; my car wasn't the only expensive car around in these parts.

Miss Brittany rubbed the end of her pinkening nose with an open palm as she peered left and right, before crossing the street into Pinecrest Drive.

She was cold. The way that she hugged her midsection and hunched ever so slightly said so.

Nothing so mundane had ever been so fascinating to me.

I watched on, with studious focus, as she then reached up and tugged the scrunchie from her hair. It fell to just above her shoulders in tussled blonde tresses, allowing the breeze to gently comb through the kinks that the bun had created.

But something about it was different. It had reached down into her perfect cleavage just half an hour ago.

"Extensions. Of course," I duhed myself, steadily rolling further up into Pinecrest Drive.

It was like she had shed her mistress persona with every step that had taken her further away from the club, simply becoming Brittany - or whoever the person before me really was.

The notion intrigued me beyond what I knew to be healthy.

It was only when Miss Brittany took out a chain of keys and stopped at a house which boasted a sizable black gate, that I too halted the wheels of my car, watching the scene as though salty-sweet popcorn rested at my side.

The house wasn't small, but it wasn't of superfluous grandeur either. The bricks comprising the homely structure hinted towards a burnt orange hue in the dark of the night, and the two front windows which had been built-in either side of the white door were vast, although one of them was shrouded by a small shrub that seemed to be growing just in front of it.

Miss Brittany hiked her duffel bag higher up on her shoulder and passed through the gate, making sure to latch it before walking the short path to the front door.

I waited, patiently, until she disappeared inside before gradually pushing my foot down and accelerating.

My wheels rolled to a steady standstill just in front of the first window. The curtains hadn't yet been drawn, which meant that I could peer inside unencumbered. Light illuminated the room, making it easy to note a beige couch with rose-colored patterns lacing throughout. Craning my neck to get a better look, I caught sight of the little blonde-haired girl – maybe five or six - sat on the far end of it. A single knee was drawn up to her chest, her other leg dangling so that her bare foot was peeking out the bottom of her pink pajama bottoms and brushing the floor.

"No fucking way," slipped quietly from my lips.

Suddenly, the little girl sprung up with life that only a child could possess. Seeming excited, she pounded her feet across the floor with speed that caused the hem of her white vest to dance, and then collided with long legs that were adorned in baggy grey sweatpants, throwing her pale little arms around them and squeezing to the point that I could make out the small flexing of her muscles, even from here.

With wide eyes, I watched Miss Brittany toss her duffel bag off to the floor and scoop the little girl up into her arms with a warm heartfelt smile. She pressed her lips to the girl's cheeks repeatedly and puffed her cheeks to blow raspberries, causing the minor to flail her legs and arms around in a fit of giggles.

It looked to be a bond between mother and daughter.

What did you think? Do you like these new developments? Are you intrigued by them? Let me know : )