Author's Note: Please forgive me for not updating in such a long time. A full-time job and family emergency over the holidays kept me from being able to commit energy and more time to writing. Thank you for your patience. Enjoy.
Warning: This chapter includes consensual play between two adult women and other mature themes. As if you didn't already know.
Concede
Part Four: Mistress Santana
o o o o o o o
"Please," Kurt begged, kneeling beside Quinn as she stared at the ring. "Please stop doing this to yourself."
"I can't stop," she sobbed. "If I do, it'll be like everything he did was for nothing. It's my fault! Nothing would have happened if I—"
"Quinn!"
Her body shook and trembled, a dam under the pressure of a growing emotional wave. The sharply cut facets of the diamond blurred behind her tears, though the shine and sparkle only seemed to intensify. Quinn closed her eyes, but it did nothing to ease her pain or alleviate her guilt and sadness.
"I'm sorry, Kurt."
"Don't be," he replied, rubbing small circles on the backs of her hands. "Maybe you should reconsider those sessions. What about a therapist?"
"Remember how the last one went?" she huffed.
Kurt chuckled and Quinn dared to look into his bright eyes. "Well, I guess we know to check credentials, especially in Lima, Ohio. Of course, I'd hope San Francisco would be more on top of things like letting unqualified people open a psychological practice."
Quinn smirked. "Terri just helped in sealing the deal on leaving."
"It's still a small world," he commented. "Who would've thought we'd run into her ex-husband?"
"And that he would be my boss?"
The two roommates shook with laughter as they continued to reminisce, bringing up memories—both happy and sad but always with fondness—until Kurt announced that the sun would be rising in only a few hours.
"Quinn, darling," Kurt's voice tugged at her heartstrings. "Let's get you to bed, okay."
She nodded. "Don't you mean so you can get your beauty sleep?"
He smiled and yawned dramatically. "I don't care if it's the weekend. Creativity comes out best when I've had my good night's sleep."
Kurt picked up the ring from her bedside table and snapped the velvet box shut. Quinn shuddered. The dam was reinforced again and she took a shaky breath, opening her eyes to watch her roommate return the ring to the safe hidden away beneath her desk. The sound of the safe closing, so much like a prison cell door slamming into place, was a relief and Quinn released the breath she'd been holding.
Later, after Kurt had tucked her in with a lullaby and a kiss to her cheek, Quinn thought back to her day with Cara and Kahlan. The couple had been so patient and gentle with their words; even Cara who would have had a field day with her sarcasm, had held her sharp tongue. Quinn smiled thinking of the whipped Mistress. Cara and Kahlan certainly made a dynamic couple, opposites in nearly every aspect except their devotion to each other.
Quinn felt that little ache in her chest again, the slow burning yearn for familiarity and comfort. She had it all—a great career, great body, great apartment and even greater friends—but she knew there was one piece that still needed to be put in place. Quinn rolled onto her side, clutching a pillow to her chest, recalling moments when she had once clutched a warm body to her instead. She sighed.
She knew, felt it even, that the connection she'd shared was exceedingly rare, that the love she and Rachel once had was once-in-a-lifetime. Indeed, it was great; and, Quinn thought as a tear escaped, she might never have it again.
o o o o o o o
"You're sure, Rachel?" Cara asked from behind her desk, sliding the letter back into its envelope. "Quinn will be having a session with Santana soon."
"I'm one-hundred percent positive," the brunette answered. "My being here will only further hurt her."
"If we could convince her to talk to you, so you can tell her why you're here, then wouldn't it be worth it to give her that opportunity?"
Rachel shook her head. "This place, on top of our history together, is too much for her right now."
The blonde Mistress studied the brunette for a moment. "It is a shame that you are withdrawing your desire to work here, Rachel. You would've made a fine addition to our staff."
"Thank you, but I need to talk to her on her terms and in her time. Quinn is still like a frightened doe. She'll bolt the moment she senses any sort of threat."
Cara couldn't disagree with Rachel's assessment of the young assistant. She and Kahlan were lucky in getting Quinn to make an appointment for a play session. Even after lunch, Cara could tell that they'd only wiped the dust off the surface of Quinn's mind. She and her wife had spent the remainder of the day discussing and throwing out theories about what Quinn was hiding.
"I didn't think you'd be so open to talking about what happened between the two of you."
"I want her to be happy," Rachel replied.
"She's so broken, Rachel. There's more to her story and I wish she was be able to confront whatever it is that's sent her so far into herself."
"I wish I knew what it was."
The blonde sighed and allowed her rigid body to sink into the leather chair, a behavior she'd never show around clients or other Mistresses. "Do you think she'll open up after a couple of sessions?"
Rachel shrugged. "Honestly, I believe it'll get much worse before it gets better. It will be a long road toward her recovery. She hasn't loved herself in a very long time, Cara."
o o o o o o o
"Good afternoon. Commercial Sales and Rentals. Accounting."
Quinn swiveled in her chair as she plucked a green folder from the dozens that filled her various desk organizers. Opening it to the necessary documents, she clacked away at her computer before nodding approvingly. "Yes, we're bidding for that job. You, too. Good-bye."
Checking the clock just above her desk, Quinn sighed. Although their lunch break seemed long past, there were still two hours left until she could punch-out for the day and, she reminded herself, the rest of the week. It was Friday and not only was it payday, but the last night Kurt would be in town. She and Puck had promised him dinner and a fun night. Well, as fun of a night as one could get in Lima.
Two hours and five minutes later, Quinn wondered if any of the guys in the showroom noticed the skip in her step as she walked from the office to her car. Spending time with Kurt and Puck had become the highlights of her days since moving back home from college. Quinn waved at a co-worker whose name she could never remember as she pulled out of the parking lot.
"Hi, Mr. Hummel!"
"Hey, Quinn," the mechanic greeted as the blonde walked into the shop office. "How're you doing?"
She shook his hand after he'd wiped it on an already grease-stained rag. "Just happy that the week is over. You don't mind that I'm taking away your two best boys?"
"Nah," he said. "There's a game I wanna watch at home. Puck might grumble, but I know he's got a soft spot for pretty girls."
Quinn giggled. "Such a charmer, Mr. Hummel."
"I try."
"Are you sure you won't join us? At least for dinner?"
Burt shook his head and smiled. "You guys just go out and have fun. Who knows when will be the next time you'll see each other? I'm always gonna be here for Kurt if he ever comes back."
"Okay," she conceded.
"All right," he readjusted his cap. "I'll get 'em out here for you." The mechanic left, leaving Quinn to wait and look around.
"Hey, 'sup, Blondie? Ow! Geez…" Turning around, Quinn smirked as she watched Puck rub his shoulder and Kurt walked past him to hug her.
"Hello, Quinn. Don't mind the Neanderthal. He banged his head a few times in the garage."
"Dude, I only started a month ago. Cleaning pools shirtless makes me more magnetic and impressive to the ladies than this," the mohawked man said, gesturing to their attire.
Both young men were still wearing their stained navy blue coveralls. Amazingly, Kurt appeared at ease in the outfit despite his disheveled and tired appearance. Puck, on the other hand, despite his self-proclaimed badass reputation looked like he wanted to rip the garment off. Quinn nearly laughed at the irony of Kurt not caring about his clothes and Puck complaining about it.
"Are you ready to paint the town?" asked Quinn.
Kurt rolled his eyes. "First, we," he gestured between him and Puck, "need to get changed. Do you mind taking us back to my place before we have dinner?"
o o o o o o o
Quinn looked around the elaborate room. Its décor and ambiance were comparable to the room in which she'd watched Santana and Rachel have their session. The downpour outside made her grateful for the heat and warmth that suffused the room, especially because she was dressed only in her finest lingerie—garter belt and teddy, too—and a silk robe that Brittany had left for her.
"Don't tell her I said this, but Santana is, by far, the best Mistress to have come through here. Don't let her immediate attitude fool you. She is capable of great compassion and I've never met someone so adept at introducing novices to playing."
For the past couple of weeks, Quinn had read through the folder of papers that Cara had given to her during their first meeting. On a few occasions, Kurt had found her blushing from the tips of her ears down her neck with her eyes bugging out of their sockets. Surprisingly, her roommate had been extremely supportive and he had even helped her go shopping for her sexy ensemble for that day.
"Whatever is sexy to you, wear it or bring it with you," the Mistress had instructed.
A knock at the door startled her. Quinn managed to croak, "Come in."
Brittany, dressed exactly like she had that first day, stepped in and quickly shut the door. Gesturing for Quinn to sit, Brittany took the other available space on the loveseat. "There are a couple of ground rules that we need to go over before your play session." Quinn nodded and Brittany continued. "First, you and Mistress Santana will set a safe word. Do your best not to abuse or misuse it. Once your session is over, you and Mistress Santana will discuss your session and you'll have the opportunity to schedule another…if that's what you want. Second, be honest with yourself and with your Mistress. She can't read your mind and may not be able to tell you're not enjoying something if you don't say anything."
The blue-eyed blonde stood up. "Are you ready?"
"That's it?" Quinn prodded. "What am I supposed to make of all this?"
"I just do what the Mistress tells me." Brittany cocked her head as she held Quinn's eyes. "I find thinking to be confusing. Just feel."
With that, the taller girl left Quinn to stew on her words. She didn't have much time to ponder. Santana, dressed in a dark power suit and heels, strutted into the room. Her long black hair was tightly pulled up in a high ponytail, the ends tickling her upper back. Quinn couldn't find the gall to look up into the Latina's eyes. Everything about the dark Mistress oozed confidence and strength, from her finely tailored suit to the power she commanded even through silence.
The blonde jumped up and leveled her gaze with the flawless complexion of Santana's neck. Quinn nearly jumped out of her skin when the Mistress tilted Quinn's chin up to meet her dark brown eyes. Santana spoke in low whispers. Like a lover, Quinn observed. "I'd like very much to give you a massage. Will you give me that pleasure?"
The sincerity in Santana's voice only made Quinn's heart race harder. She was being so gentle with her, Quinn wanted to kiss her. The blonde blinked rapidly to dispel the thought of kissing the beautiful dark-haired woman, of running her tongue along those tantalizing lips. Unable to find her voice, Quinn nodded once.
The Mistress ran her hand down the column of Quinn's neck, along her shoulder and dropped to take her hand. She led her toward the bed, never breaking their gaze. "What shall our safe word be?" Santana stopped just before the backs of her knees hit the bed. She rubbed gentle circles on the back of Quinn's hand with her thumb.
"I don't know," the blonde answered honestly.
"It's okay," Santana reassured her. "We'll find one for you eventually. For now, how about the word 'red'?"
"Red," Quinn tried the word. "Like a stoplight."
"Exactly."
"Okay," she agreed. "Red is our safe word."
Santana stepped around Quinn, facing her back. The blonde felt two warm and strong hands come to rest on her hips and a voice speak softly in her ear. "From now on, when you address me, call me Mistress or Mistress Santana. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Quinn answered.
"Yes…?"
"Mistress."
"Very good, Quinn. Now," the Mistress drew her palms up and down her back, "let's see if I can get you to relax."
Quinn focused on the texture of the comforter as the Latina's hands ran up and down her sides and traversed the covered expanse of her back and shoulders. It had been such a long time since anyone had touched her so intimately. Santana's roaming touches felt nice, reminding her of the significant difference between imagining a touch and actually feeling it. Quinn lolled her head forward and to the side as the Mistress' nails and fingertips raked around the area where her neck met her shoulders. Tingles and small shivers erupted from her scalp to her hips.
"How does this feel, Quinn?" Santana's full lips tickled the back of her neck. "Tell me how it feels."
The blonde gasped when Santana entangled her fingers in Quinn's hair, massaging the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. "It's nice…Mistress." She felt the Latina remove the clip that kept her hair partially up. Her gently curled hair brushed along her shoulder blades before Santana swept it to the side in order to knead the tense muscles.
Santana worked out the knots as best she could, alternating between the hard digs of her knuckles and broad, deep strokes of her thumbs and fingers. Quinn didn't realize she'd been panting and gasping so loudly until a particularly forceful rub drew a whimper-like moan from her lips. Hazel eyes snapped open and Quinn felt her face flush with heat. She also realized her robe had fallen off a shoulder, exposing half of her back and front.
The dark-haired Mistress felt Quinn's tension return. Hiding her annoyance, Santana turned her blonde client to face her. "You shouldn't hide yourself from me, Quinn."
Quinn bit her bottom lip and glanced down at the loose knot holding her robe together, then back up at the Mistress.
"I'd like to see more."
Santana stepped back from the blonde and placed her hands on her hips. Quinn dared to look up into the intense and lust-filled gaze of the Mistress. Without looking away, the blonde slowly brought her hands up to her waist, fingers hovering over the silk folds. Quinn breathed deeply, the spiced and smoky scent of the Mistress reminding her of heat and something exotic. Lightly shaking fingers undid the knot and her robe fluttered open. As she brought her arms down to her sides, the silk garment slid from her body, caressing inch after inch of smooth skin as it pooled at her feet.
Quinn held her breath as Santana's dark eyes took her in, lingering here and there and her pink tongue darted out to swipe at her full red lips. From years of self-control, Santana mentally nodded her approval. Quinn was a sight to behold. The lacy jade green lingerie trimmed with black beautifully accented the dip and climb of the blonde's small but perky breasts, barely covered the flat stretch of her stomach and whispered over the teasing sight of hips tapering to the matching panty and garter belt. Soft-looking and well-sculpted legs extended and dainty feet were hidden under the pooled silk robe. Santana swallowed as subtly as she could.
Coupled with her innocent and scared expression, Santana almost purred at the fact that Quinn would make a beautiful and heart-breaking pet. "You are…exquisite," the Mistress whispered.
"Thank you, Mistress."
Quinn grew apprehensive when Santana produced a blindfold from her jacket and held it up knowingly to her. The Mistress handed the blindfold to her. Although the gesture was meant to give her a choice, Quinn remembered what Brittany said. She'd said to just feel, to do as the Mistress said. Although Santana hadn't verbally given her an order, it felt wrong to deny this pleasure to Santana and even to herself, so Quinn slipped the blindfold over her eyes.
"Turn around," Santana gently ordered.
As Quinn did as Santana instructed, the blonde sensed the Mistress moving about the room. Suddenly, she felt hands pushing her forward and bringing her arms up to rest on the top of the bed. Quinn remembered this position. She'd put Rachel in it before.
"Be calm," Santana instructed Quinn. The blonde was breathing through her mouth, her head inclined in a defensive manner.
Quinn released a shaky breath as Santana began to knead to her arms and shoulders, getting her reacquainted with the Mistress' touch. Several minutes later, Quinn noticed the ache in her arms from holding herself up and began to lean forward. Quinn was surprised with herself. She was in quite a position of vulnerability. Was this the trust that Cara and Kahlan and even Brittany had mentioned? Did she trust Santana? She mentally snorted. She must trust the Latina to some degree to allow her to touch her in this manner.
"Mistress?" she uttered.
"Yes, Quinn?"
The blonde swallowed, unsure about whether or not she should even ask. "Does this bring you pleasure?"
One of Santana's hands glided over her back and over her backside to rest on her inner thigh. Quinn gasped at the sensation, heightened from her lack of vision. "Yes," came the breathy answer. "Yes, it does."
Quinn licked her lips. "What else would…Mistress?"
Santana hummed and smiled. "You…wet…and wanting."
The blonde felt her blush all the way down her neck. Quinn never knew such a simple sentence could get her turned on so quickly. She'd never engaged in any sort of dirty talk, not even something as mild as what Santana was saying. She clenched her fingers into fists, reason being steadily dominated by instinct and a primal urge. Before she could contemplate her change in thought, the Mistress commanded, "Lie on the bed and wait for me."
Quinn made her way across the bed on all fours, wondering what else Santana intended to do to her. Quinn heard something open and shut as she settled back into the large pillows. Without warning, silk touched and glided up her legs, making the blonde instinctively recoil from the sudden sensation. "Ssh," Santana soothed as she placed the item in Quinn's hand. The blonde recognized it as nothing more than a silk handkerchief.
Before Quinn could protest, the Mistress had quickly tied the blonde's wrists together above her head with the handkerchief. Quinn swallowed her apprehension, focusing on the cool, smooth caress of the handkerchief on her skin, the lush dip and give of the mattress and comforter beneath her and the heat radiating from the woman hovering above her.
Just feel.
She did. Cold drops of liquid landed and ran down the length of her arms. Quinn clamped her teeth down, inhaling sharply through her nose. More cool droplets hit the warm exposed skin of her hands. Drops gently rained down on her lips, prompting Quinn to taste. Water. Muted clacks and tumbles beside her made Quinn want to giggle. The dark Mistress was using ice. It seemed almost silly to the blonde that something so simple and overlooked was bringing her into a whole new world of sensations.
Her train of thought was derailed when cold water sprinkled over her stomach, causing her to shudder and softly gasp. Santana's warm fingers swirled the drops into unknown patterns over her quivering muscles and traced the edges of her belly button. The Mistress palmed her sides and Quinn arched off the bed in response. Santana ran her nails from her neck, between her breasts, over the thin fabric of her lingerie and down her stomach; Quinn clenched her thighs in frustration. The blonde whimpered when the dark-haired woman ran an ice cube along the responsive flesh of her thighs and quickly warmed the chilled skin with her hot touches.
Time was of no consequence. Everything else ceased. Quinn knew nothing except her own breath, sensation and the anticipation of another's touch. The rest of the world fell away—her work, her irreparable relationships with her family, her past, the loss and gain throughout the years—as Santana continued to introduce her to simple moments of sensuality.
"Quinn," the Mistress whispered. "Are you wet?"
The quick rake of nails just above her clavicle momentarily halted her answer. "Yes, Mistress."
"Are you…" Fingers tangled in her hair, pulling painfully but—surprisingly—deliciously. "…wanting?"
A hand roughly squeezed her thigh just above her knee. In reaction, Quinn drew her leg up, trying to think through the sensory haze.
"Quinn, answer me." Santana's voice blew along the outer curve of her ear. Its husky and scratchy qualities only made Quinn gasp for needed air to give the Mistress her much expected answer.
"Yes," the blonde desperately breathed. "Yes, Mistress."
Quinn moaned appreciatively when Santana untied her wrists and ran the heated pads of her fingers down her wrists. Blood renewed its course through her veins, returning heat and increased feeling to her limbs. The Mistress' caress along her warming skin sent delightful tingles and shivers throughout her body. Immediately, Quinn felt her body seeking more. More of what?
Who cares, the blonde thought. Just more.
Quinn felt Santana lift the blindfold from over her eyes, the silk fabric sliding easily over her heated skin. A moment later, hazel eyes opened to take in the sight of the dark Mistress bringing glasses half filled with water to the bedside. The Mistress had removed her jacket and unbuttoned her metallic grey shirt, exposing toned bronze skin, a light sheen of perspiration highlighting the subtle curvature of her chest and stomach. Quinn licked her lips. Santana had worked hard to bring those feelings of Quinn's to surface.
"Slowly," the Mistress prompted, holding out the glass to Quinn.
Lust-filled brown never left grateful hazel as both women sipped the cool liquid, basking in and drinking their fill of each other's presence. Quinn set her emptied glass on the bedside table. "Thank you, Mistress."
Santana smirked as she edged closer to Quinn. "Oh, we're not finished yet, Q."
o o o o o o o
Rachel paced. Cara watched Rachel.
The brunette stopped to note the time. Cara did the same. Twenty-eight minutes left.
Rachel continued to pace. Cara fought a sigh and continued to watch Rachel.
Again, the brunette stopped to look at the clock. Twenty-eight minutes left. She growled. Cara smirked.
"Worried?"
Rachel didn't break her stride. "Absurdly so." She paused at the knock at the door.
"Come in," said Cara.
"Good afternoon, Mistress Cara," Brittany greeted and turned to the brunette. "Mistress Rachel."
"It's just Rachel, Brittany."
The tall blonde smiled and nodded in understanding. Rachel resumed pacing as Brittany set up the tray of tea on Cara's desk. Finished, Brittany turned to the brunette and canted her head to the side. "Are you worried, Rachel?"
"Is it that obvious?" Cara cocked an eyebrow. Brittany's indifferent expression was also telling. Rachel huffed indignantly, "Yes, I'm worried. Imagining Quinn being…handled by Santana is difficult, especially after the few sessions I've had with her as both Mistress and Pet. I, for one, believe any of the other Mistresses would've made Quinn's transition into playing a much easier and pleasant experience."
"We've been over this, Rachel," Cara replied, reclining into her leather chair.
"But can't you understand why I'm fretting so? Quinn is extremely fragile and I just want to be sure that Santana knows to be as gentle as possible."
Cara fought to keep from thumping her fist on her desk. It wouldn't do to have the head Mistress lose her composure just because one woman had been pacing and muttering her complaints in Cara's office for nearly an hour. "Rachel, I've spoken with Santana at length about all of your concerns. She is an exceptional Mistress. You know I don't hand out compliments lightly or without good reason."
"Yes, I know, but—"
"There are no buts about this." Cara stood, voice laced dangerously with simmering clout and power. "Or are you questioning my judgment, Rachel? Perhaps I should reconsider even having Quinn as a client? Shall I send her to Trianna?"
Instantly, Rachel lowered and fixed her gaze on the red leather of Cara's collar. The brunette shook her head.
"Would recommending Miss Fabray to Dahlia please you?"
Again, the brunette shook her head in response. Uneasiness settled heavily upon Rachel's shoulders as Cara approached her. The blonde began to circle her and Rachel knew her impatience had brought her here, to the edge of Cara's good graces. The drop from them looked particularly precarious.
The Mistress slowly barely pressed against Rachel's side, a test and show of her dominance to invade the shorter woman's space. Rachel closed her eyes when Cara hissed just beside her ear, "If it shall alleviate your fears, then I will walk down that hall to stop Quinn's session without hesitation and have her contact Denna for future playing."
Brittany gasped from her place next to Cara's desk.
"Tell me, Rachel," Cara continued, "who shall it be—any of those other Mistresses or me?"
"You, Mistress Cara."
The Mistress removed herself from the brunette's space and Rachel let herself relax a little. Only a little. Those waves of power were still rippling off Cara's leather-clad frame. "Relax," Cara spoke gently. "Sit, Rachel."
Rachel dared to look up into Cara's dark green gaze. A small twitch of the blonde's lips was her signal that she hadn't pissed off the Mistress past the point of no return, so Rachel sank into one of the armchairs in front of the desk. "I'm sorry, Cara."
"It's fine, Rachel. Apology accepted."
"Will you at least tell me why you chose Santana?"
The blonde leaned against her desk. "When Quinn first entered my office, I pegged her as a Submissive. She was so quick to fulfill a request and her body language was so demure. She was so easy to tease and I was almost careless enough to hand her over to any of our staff, but the way she reacted when she saw you got me wondering. Kahlan suggested inviting her for lunch and that perhaps some important truth was missing. She suspects something more than an abusive past or religious brainwashing took place and my wife is almost always right. Not too long ago, you gave me another piece of the puzzle. Something is still missing, Rachel. I don't know what exactly."
Cara sipped her tea and took a moment to savor the warm flavor.
"From the little I've learned about Quinn, she has great potential to be both Submissive and Mistress. I chose Santana for these reasons. Santana can be extremely brash and unforgiving and that has a lot to do with her own experiences; but, due to those circumstances, she has an amazing gentleness and care about her. She and Quinn can learn from each other."
"I agree with Mistress Cara," Brittany piped up, looking up to meet only Rachel's gaze.
"You're sure?" Rachel asked the blue-eyed woman.
"I promise you," Brittany said, "that Quinn is in good hands."
Rachel glanced at the clock. The two blondes did the same. Eighteen minutes left.
o o o o o o o
Quinn hissed. She squeezed her eyes closed and wondered if her nails had broken the skin of her palms as pain blossomed from the numbing spot at the back of her thigh.
"Elbows on the desk, Quinn."
The blonde dropped her elbows back down on the dark-stained wooden desk, readjusting her weight on her legs. "Yes, Mistress."
The Mistress assessed her Submissive's sweat slicked shoulders and back, the tense set of her neck and quick breathing. Quinn flinched at the soft touch having expected another stinging blow. Santana licked her lips as she watched Quinn shifted from one foot to the other, her reddened backside contrasting prettily with the jade green of her lingerie.
Quinn barely felt the Latina hook her fingers under the band of her panties and slip them partially down her legs, exposing more of her backside. Fingers caressed warmed skin and she whimpered. Santana's indifferent gaze flickered between Quinn's reddened bottom to her lightly shaking shoulders and the Mistress allowed herself a tiny glimmer of happiness to flicker in her brown eyes. It was time to push her.
An instant later, Quinn ground her teeth to keep from letting out a small cry. She grunted when a second spanking immediately followed. Santana removed her free hand from where it was caressing Quinn's hip. The less expectancy the blonde had, the better.
With even greater force, Santana brought both hands down. "Nnn-uugh…" Quinn didn't even realized the strangled groan had left her lips.
"That's it," the Mistress encouraged, tenderly stroking Quinn's tense shoulders, "Cry for me, baby."
"Yes," Quinn gasped. The blonde was in a daze. What else mattered save pleasing her Mistress?
Smack! "Yes?"
"Ah! Mistress!" Another resonating spanking. "Yes, Mistress!"
"Such a pretty bottom." Santana gently kneaded the smooth, hot flesh and gave it a quick series of spanks, which caused Quinn to hiss and whine. "It responds to my touch so well." Quinn barely comprehended the words, merely reacting to the constantly changing touches.
An exceptionally hard slap forced Quinn to stand up. It earned her another doubled-handed blow and a barked order. "Elbows down!"
The blonde obeyed. Another spanking. "You're forgetting something!"
"Yes, Mistress," she heaved.
Quinn heard Santana sigh dramatically. "Such a disobedient girl. I wonder if passing you along to another Mistress will spare me any trouble."
"Please…"
Santana struck her again. "Please what?"
Quinn debated about answering for a second, but a second was all it took to wear out Santana's patience.
"Please what?" asked the Mistress.
"Please, Mistress," Quinn whimpered, tears building in her eyes. Moments of a bright brown gaze and cheerful smile flashed in her mind, confusing her with the sternness of the woman behind her. The thought of another Mistress—no matter how talented—touching her in this way scared her beyond belief, but Quinn couldn't fathom why. "I don't want…anyone else."
Santana hummed, but her cold, calculating look never left her face. "Endearing, but, unfortunately for you, it's about what would…please…me." The last three words were punctuated with three strong spankings.
"Oh! Mis—ah!" Quinn jerked away from the Latina, again rising from her bent-over position.
"I said to keep your elbows down!"
"Please!" the blonde cried out, but kept her forearms pressed against the desk.
"Please, Quinn. Concede! Let me take care of you!"
"You keep saying 'please', but I don't know what you're begging for." Santana steadied herself, trying to find that one thing—word or action—that would allow Quinn to finally let go. "Maybe," the Mistress said coyly, "you want me to stop?"
"No!" Quinn exclaimed. "Aaah!" Santana nearly cringed at the sound she had drawn from Quinn. The blonde dropped her forehead on the desk. Her knuckles had paled with the needed strength to keep her forearms down. "I mean…no…no, Mistress."
"You love this, don't you?" Santana whispered, trailing her fingers down Quinn's neck and shoulder.
"Oh, Quinn…I love you," that voice whispered against the sensitive skin of her neck. "You and only you." Quinn opened her eyes, frantically trying to push the memories from the forefront of her mind.
"I asked you a question, Quinn." The Mistress raked her nails up Quinn's neck again, tangled her hair in blonde waves and pulled firmly and steadily.
Santana noted Quinn's rapid breathing. She was getting close. The Latina knew she was a few minutes past the end of their session, but she couldn't stop now. Not when Quinn was so close. The light click of a door opening and closing momentarily distracted her. Cara's green gaze was difficult to read, but the blonde Mistress' curt nod was not.
"Your hair's getting longer," Quinn softly observed. "It's almost as long as mine."
"No." Quinn sobbed, gaining the attention of both Mistresses. "No!"
When Santana reached out to stroke Quinn's shoulder, Cara's sharp inhale and narrowed gaze prompted her to give Quinn a quick smack.
Quinn felt her Mistress' hand drag along her back, which only served to remind her of stolen moments at parties behind locked bathroom doors and candescent meetings in the darkness of theaters. "No…please…" she choked out. Tears stung at the back of her hazel eyes.
"Wait for me. I'll be back before you know it." She looked up into his boyish features and couldn't help but imagine another.
"Please! Stop! Don't!" Quinn buried her face in her arms. Her shoulders heaved with the exertion of gasping for breath.
Santana ignored Cara's pointed look and moved to Quinn's side. "Quinn?"
"I love you, Quinn."
"Quinn?"
"You and only you."
"Quinn? Quinn?"
"Quinn…"
"Rr…"
"How dare you wear this and his ring!"
"No…" she whispered. "Stop."
Cara uncrossed her arms and stepped closer to the two brunettes. Glancing over at the sudden movement, the dark-haired Mistress growled, baring her teeth. She refused to have even the head Mistress interfere in her session. She would be the one to get Quinn to let go. No one else would top her.
"Please…don't…"
Santana drew her hand back and held her breath.
"Quinn!"
"Rach…Rachel!"
o o o o o o o
"Karaoke? That's what you had in mind for fun?" Puck snorted as they entered the bar.
"Were you expecting a giant rave with dozens of scantily clothed, half drunk girls grinding on you?" Kurt crossed his arms and leaned against the bar before ordering a fruity mixed drink.
"Something like that," mumbled Puck.
"Well, that wouldn't have been very fun for me or Kurt," the blonde explained. "Since we all were in our schools' glee clubs, I thought this would cater to everyone."
"And if we get exceedingly drunk, my dad doesn't have to drive too far to pick us up."
Puck shrugged as the bartender placed a beer in front of him.
"What can I get you, sweetheart?" the bartender, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and hawk-like eyes, asked Quinn.
Quinn shifted her feet a little, unfamiliar with alcohol. "Whatever he's having," she pointed at Kurt. When the woman went about pulling bottles from behind her, the blonde turned to Kurt. "What are you having?"
"Lemon Drop with a squirt of strawberry flavoring. Don't drink it too fast."
"Why not?" she asked when the pretty drink was placed before her.
"The vodka is subtle."
"Oh," she croaked, still uncertain about what that meant. A sip later and Quinn's eyes lit up. Kurt was crazy if he thought she should drink it slowly. She offered it to Puck who was already ordering a second beer.
"Sorry, babe," he shook his head. "Beer before liquor makes you sicker."
A few hours, five Lemon Drops, four beers and two rounds of tequila shots later, the three amigos were on stage, belting out their drunken yet enthusiastic rendition of Say A Little Prayer. A few crowd members even joined in for the chorus.
"Whoo," Puck crowed as they returned to their seats at the bar, a wide grin plastered on his face.
"Whoo indeed," agreed Kurt.
Quinn just sighed happily. "So, Puck, despite not being able to pick up any girls, this isn't such a bad way to spend the night, huh?"
The mohawked man lazily turned to face her, a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but his gaze shifted from her face to somewhere over her shoulder. Quinn and Kurt swiveled on their stools to find the poor targeted soul. Kurt just rolled his eyes and returned to his drink. Quinn, however, felt her heart stop and restart. Although she stood a few inches shorter than Quinn, the young woman who had attracted Puck's attention seemed to stand out from the rest of the crowd.
The woman's dark hair looked like something out of a fashion magazine, the back cropped short while the rest was cut to almost parallel the sharp angle of her jaw and straight bangs helped to frame her dark brown eyes. Even her clothes seemed out of place in a small town bar. Immediately, Quinn looked down at her baby doll dress and cardigan, wondering if she could pull off such a chic ensemble. The blonde figured the woman's car had broken down, but the notion was squashed when the brunette smiled and shared a brief hug with someone. A shot of envy spiked through Quinn.
"Heeey!" Puck yelled, pointing at the brunette. "Hot Jew in the house!"
Quinn glanced at Kurt who seemed bored with the situation. Puck shot out of his seat and strutted over to the woman who squealed and launched herself at him. Puck just picked her up and twirled her around twice. They shared a few words before Quinn saw Puck gesture toward her and Kurt.
Taking a long sip of her Lemon Drop for courage, Quinn stood to meet their fourth wheel. She smacked Kurt to get him to do the same.
"Hey guys, guess who I found," Puck smiled as he brought his arm around the woman's shoulders.
"Look what the summer brought in," Kurt slurred. "I thought you said you'd never come back here."
The woman huffed. "I came back because my papa isn't doing so well and Daddy had to almost beg me to visit after four years of New York vacations twice a year. Plus, I'm in between jobs at the moment, so it all fit into my schedule."
"Figures you'd make it all about you," Kurt snapped.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, dude." Puck shook his head, bringing the woman closer to him. "Just wanted Quinn to meet her."
"Whatever," he replied, throwing back the rest of his drink.
"Anyway," Puck continued. "Quinn, this is Rachel. Rachel, Quinn."
"Hi," the blonde greeted, shaking Rachel's extended hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Rachel countered.
"How do the three of you know each other?"
Rachel began before Puck could even get his mouth halfway open. "We all grew up together and joined glee club at McKinley together. Of course, Kurt's behavior tonight indicates that while we've all known each other a long time, we're not quite friends…yet. I, for one, like to think of us as lifelong acquaintances who border on becoming friends."
"I see."
"Noah and I, however, dated for a very brief time. He also helped me through a lot of hardships that perhaps would drive anyone in Lima to insanity or, at the very least, to another city. That's really what happened to me, you see. The day after graduation, I moved to New York City to attend Julliard and—"
"Let me ask you something, Rachel," Kurt interrupted. "Do you ever shut up?"
Quinn bit back a giggle at Rachel's flabbergasted expression. The blonde reasoned that the brunette was probably one of the small handfuls of people who had made it out of Lima. Confidence and stubbornness rolled off the shorter woman in waves, catalyzing Quinn's theories of who exactly this Rachel was.
"I'll be nice if you will, Kurt," Quinn whispered in his ear as Rachel began a long-winded speech. "I have a feeling she and I won't be getting along."
o o o o o o o
Santana waited in an armchair in Cara's office. She'd redone her hair and exchanged her sweat-dampened dress shirt for her usual black leathers. Immediately following Quinn's outburst, Cara had departed. Santana presumed she'd left to persuade Berry on another course of action seeing as the shorter woman had practically threatened Santana with bodily harm should she hurt Quinn. The Latina fought the urge to roll her eyes.
"Whatever," she muttered, re-crossing her legs.
A timid knock sounded. "Come in," the Latina called, standing to greet her client.
Quinn looked up from her place just inside the door. Her lingerie had been replaced with red skinny jeans and a fairly conservative white blouse. Black ballet flats and a matching pea coat clutched in both arms completed her outfit. Santana couldn't help but wonder when leather would slowly begin to replace various pieces of the blonde's wardrobe. The Latina shuddered at the thought of Quinn in a Mistress' leathers.
Santana offered the other woman a rare smile.
Quinn replied with a shy smile of her own. "Mistress Santana."
"Please, sit," she gestured to one of the armchairs.
"No, thank you. I don't think I can say what I need to say if I do." Quinn moved farther into the room to stand before the dark-haired Mistress. Hazel eyes confidently—Almost, Santana thought—met brown.
Santana raised an eyebrow. "All right. What's on your mind?" The Mistress sat and crossed her legs.
"A lot of things. I've been trying to make sense of everything that happened, especially what I was feeling. I haven't felt that much in a really long time…and that scares me. I don't know exactly what it is that made what happened just now seem so terrifying and thrilling and…well…enjoyable. I mean you were hitting me!"
"Spanking," Santana corrected.
"Spanking me, then…whatever. Geez, did you hear what I said? Spanking me? I'm a grown woman."
The Mistress sat up a little straighter. "You're a grown woman with needs and desires like everyone else."
"I don't even know what I want!" Quinn raised her voice and locked her hardening hazel eyes on Santana's.
"That's what we're trying to help you figure out." The Latina ground out her words, barely concealing her growing agitation.
"By what? Giving me massages? Getting me to bend over while you slap my ass like I'm some high-end escort?" Quinn was now standing directly in front of Santana, leaning down to look directly into brown eyes.
"Cara explained what it is that we provide here—an outlet for people who need the freedom to express those desires, the ones that society and religion say we're not allowed to have or act upon."
"How am I opening an outlet from these sessions with you? What are you and Cara hoping to accomplish with me being here? If this has anything to do with that first day, with…with…her…then I'm—"
"This is much bigger than your history with Rachel Berry." Sick and tired of the blonde's denial, Santana slowly raised herself up and out of her armchair. Quinn didn't budge, but her flinch at Rachel's name gave Santana a little satisfaction.
"Please, don't say her name."
Just as Quinn lowered her gaze to the floor, she felt Santana gently lift her chin. The kindness that swirled with indifference in her brown gaze reminded Quinn of those first moments with Santana and that look would never cease to amaze Quinn. "Look," the Mistress said softly, "no good or worthwhile Mistress is employed by Cara for being a bitch."
"I know," Quinn replied. She did know. The brief time Santana was able to strip away the rest of the world and give to her the things that somehow mattered was evidence of the Mistress' sensitivity and empathy. "I'm sorry, Mistress."
Santana's eyes softened, just like they had at the beginning of their session. "I'm sorry, too."
"For what?"
"For whatever it was that made you fear your own happiness."
Quinn whimpered at her words. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Before her newfound confidence faded—like the scratches and redness that marked her still-tingling body—Quinn voiced one want she had discovered. "Mistress?"
"Yes, Quinn?" Santana brushed an errant lock of blonde hair from her face.
"I want to kiss you." Santana's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but she covered her shock well with a smirk. "May I give you that pleasure?"
Quinn held the Mistress' gaze as Santana brought a hand up to her face and tugged the leather glove off with her teeth. The two women continued to soak in each other's gazes and Santana repeated the action with her remaining glove. The Latina offered Quinn her hand. The blonde took the extended hand and tenderly traced the veins and bones under smooth, tanned skin before placing gentle kisses on each finger and a lingering kiss on her palm. Quinn took Santana's other hand and kissed her knuckles and palm.
"Thank you, Mistress."
Santana didn't bother to put her gloves back on. "Will we see you here again?"
Quinn smiled. "I wouldn't want to deprive you of the trouble…or pleasure…of teaching me."
The Latina cleared her throat.
"Mistress Santana."
End of Part Four
Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Constructive feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated.