Rating: R for this chapter, will foray into NC-17
Word Count: ~1,250
Summary: Quinn needs something else in her life, something...or someone she can relinquish herself to.
Author's Note: So, this is going to be a multi-chapter fic, if I get a warm enough response. I also may need a beta or two, because poor corchen is overworked enough as it is. As it stands, though, I can't thank her enough for helping me come up with the concept and trying to get me to work on it even though I sometimes have no idea where to go.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my mistakes.
It had been ten years since Quinn left Lima for New York, and this was the first time she’d felt like a Lima loser since. Even with her M.B.A from Columbia and a position as the new C.E.O. of Berkshire Hathaway, Quinn felt weak and slightly less than prepared for what she was about to participate in. She stared at the door, debating on whether she should knock or run away. She cursed. Quinn Fabray, feeling nervous? This was not good.
It was all Kurt’s fault, really. After giving up on a career in musical theater, he had stayed in New York, gotten a BA in fashion design, and then started to work for Vogue as a consultant. Quinn had stayed in touch, and they’d gotten quite close. It might have had something to do with their mutual problem of work dominating their lives, but if asked, both would deny that accusation. In regards to her personal predicament, Kurt had ended up privy to some interesting confessions via the medium of two Cadillac margaritas at their favorite Mexican restaurant. Granted, Quinn probably would have told him eventually while sober, but tequila definitely accelerated her mouth.
“Quinn, what? You look like someone just told you your hedge funds weren’t maturing properly.” Kurt had always been a little too perceptive.
“I feel really uncomfortable about something, yes, but your suggestion that anything I do in the financial world being flawed is off-base.” Quinn got a little wordy when she was drunk, aside from taking things too literally.
“Honey, I was using an analogy. What exactly is this ‘something’ that’s making you uncomfortable?”
Kurt, surprisingly, for the waifish thing he was, still held his alcohol better than Quinn. Or maybe he hadn’t had as many Cadillacs as she had, since Quinn had stopped paying attention. She cursed herself internally for starting out with two shots of tequila, straight. It’s not like she should really get worried when the Dow has an off day, but she did have some pretty giant shoes to fill, being that she was Warren Buffet’s replacement.
“Well, we both know my sex life is not exactly…up to snuff.” Quinn struggled to find a nice way to say ‘non-existent and on the rare occasion when it is, unsatisfying.’ Kurt gave her a pitying look.
“Have another partner who just can’t manage to please the indomitable Quinn Fabray?”
Quinn sighed miserably and nodded.
“This isn’t exactly a new problem. Don’t you tell these men how to please you?” At this, Quinn blushed a new shade of red, probably to be spotted on Crayolas later as ‘Incredible Self-Loathing and Shame-Motivated Blushing.’
“There’s more.” Apparently Quinn was determined to completely embarrass herself this evening. She could feel the confession rushing out of her mouth before she even had the ability to stop it. “I can’t tell them what I want, because it’s so…well, so…unsavory. And in some ways, they’d never be able to satisfy it anyway.” Quinn downed the rest of her third Cadillac in one fell swoop and Kurt clucked disapprovingly.
“Quinn, darling, you’re going to have to actually explain that Captain Vague statement you just made.” Kurt made a distasteful face at Quinn, who had flagged down the bartender, asking for another margarita and shot pair. Quinn grimaced at him.
“Do I have to?” She whined a bit, trying to delay what they both knew was inevitable. Kurt’s pointed stare answered Quinn, but he apparently felt it wasn’t enough.
“Yes, Quinn, you have to. Now spit it out. Trust me, it won’t be anything I haven’t heard of before.” Kurt gave her a pacifying smile.
“Well. I guess. It’s just so. Well, not what I expected from myself.” Quinn was sinking lower and lower into herself as the seconds slowly ticked by.
“Unless you suddenly have a case of Vagina Dentata, I can’t imagine anything being so terrible you can’t tell me about it. On second thought, please don’t tell me about it if it involves your vagina. There’s only so much a man can take.” Kurt looked a little frightened at that thought.
“It’s not about my vagina, Kurt. It’s, well, it’s about why I never usually feel satisfied when I have sex.” Quinn looked resigned to her absolute shame at this point. Kurt leaned forward in excitement, after all, he still loved secrets. "I don't like having to be in control." Kurt raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"What do you mean? You don't like having to tell men how to satisfy you? You want them to 'take charge'? You want them to tie you down and dominate you? I'm a little confused." Quinn had been shaking her head, up until his last query. She blushed a deeper shade of red, if it was possible, and nodded. "That's what this is about? Honey, I thought you were trying to tell me you had some bizarre fantasy involving goats. BDSM isn't exactly a fringe interest anymore." Kurt looked mildly relieved. Quinn downed her shot of tequila and sighed.
"I wasn't exactly raised to feel comfortable with expressing my sexuality." Quinn sipped nervously at her margarita and continued. "But yes, I'm aware it's not that outlandish to enjoy being dominated. I just. Well, it's not exactly what you'd expect from me."
"So because of your Catholic upbringing, you feel so uncomfortable you can't even tell me?" Kurt looked a little miffed. "Besides, who cares about what people expect of you? You've managed to defy everyone's expectations so far. How many 26 year old women do you know that are in charge of Fortune 500 companies?" Kurt smiled. "You're entitled to do what you want with your body."
"That's just it though, I'm the only sub-45 year old woman in charge of a Fortune 500 company. Don't you think if people knew about this, it would harm my reputation?" Quinn looked like someone was killing a kitten in front of her. "Or worse, cause me to be fired?"
Kurt looked like he was suppressing laughter. "Really? You think someone's going to tell on you, and so you're afraid of even trying? Do you know how silly you sound?" Quinn looked at him disapprovingly. "Don't give me that face. If you're afraid of some guy telling a magazine 'I slept with Quinn Fabray and she's into bondage', you should try a professional. They have confidentiality policies."
"I hadn't thought of that. Are you sure though? I mean, what if they decide they'd rather expose me?"
"You're not a politician, Quinn, sex-scandals aren't really a huge deal for C.E.O.'s. Also, if you're that uncomfortable with being exposed, I'll find someone for you who values privacy." Kurt grinned. He knew who to ask. "Does this person have to be a man? Dominatrixes are a lot easier to find."
Quinn looked a little guilty. "I actually...would prefer that."
"Wait, really? My little Quinnie's a lesbian?" Kurt looked positively beside himself with joy.
"No. No! I don't think so anyway. It's just part of the fantasy." Quinn recovered from her embarrassment. "I mean, I just don't want to be dominated by a man. It kind of, well, goes against who I am."
Kurt gave her a knowing look. "Well, I'll talk to someone who's familiar with the scene. I'm pretty sure she'll also know who's quiet and who isn't."
"Well, I should go before my blood consists more of tequila than hemoglobin." Quinn pushed her empty glasses away from her. "Let me know what you find out."
Kurt grinned. "Of course."