Angel and the Assassin (9 page)

When you wear a hood, you lose some of your senses, which gives you the opportunity to concentrate on others, like your sense of touch. What you feel will be magnified.”

“I understand, Daddy.” He wanted so desperately to be brave.

“Then there is the element of surprise, which always enhances pleasure. You won‟t know what is coming next because you won‟t see it. Do you see how satisfying that can be?”

Angel gazed into his face, overwhelmed with longing. “Yes, Daddy.”

“You can still speak to me. There is nothing to prevent you from speaking, and I will listen, I promise you. I will do nothing that you can‟t handle. Trust me to take care of you. Are you ready?”

All the fear drained out of Angel, and he felt at peace and ready to give himself completely without further protest. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy. Give me a word.”

“Green.”

The hood rolled down over his head like satin, encompassing his skull and laying soft over his cheeks and forehead. His breath caught, and he panted a little, but as promised his nose and mouth remained free. The hood covered his eyes, blocking out not only sight, but every scrap of light perception. Angel sank into the most compelling darkness he had ever experienced. His eyes remained open, yet he saw nothing. He could still hear, but the sound was muffled. The smell of soft leather filled his nostrils. With one finger Daddy traced the edge of the hood where it swept up over the bridge of his nose and down to cover both cheeks. Then he pressed the tip of his index finger to Angel‟s lips, and Angel kissed it.

“How does that feel, boy?”

“It‟s fine, Daddy. I‟m okay, Sir.”

“Good boy.”

Angel felt all the remaining tension leave his body at the words. He wanted to hear those words. He wanted to hear them over and over, and he thought he would do anything to ensure that.

As he lay completely still, unable to see, he sensed Daddy between his thighs.

Little bits of barely recognizable sound became recognizable when he concentrated.

The opening of a jar or bottle. A squishing sound that seemed to involve something gelatinous.

His cock rose instantly when Daddy‟s slippery fingers began massaging his perineum and sliding toward his anus. Without warning two fingers slid into his rectum and turned in a slow circle, then back again, tugging and stretching at the muscle, working it loose. Daddy continued to gently but firmly massage the inside of the anal sphincter until it loosened and became pliable. Angel felt himself stretched wider.

“Daddy, please talk to me. Tell me what you‟re doing.”

4“All right, boy. I‟ve got four fingers up your arse now, and I‟m going to keep pushing, gently, until my whole hand is in there, up to the wrist, which is probably enough for your first time.”

Daddy kept up a slow but relentless pressure, pushing and retreating alternately, going in deeper, a fraction of an inch at a time. Angel felt stretched to bursting. The muscles in his belly tightened into thin cords, he opened his mouth wide, and a long moan filled the air around him.

“That‟s my boy. Let it out.” Daddy‟s words soothed his burning anus and quelled his apprehension. Angel pulled on the restraints, but not to free himself; he no longer wanted to be released. This time he did it for support. Daddy‟s hand slid in deeper. “That‟s Daddy‟s boy. Show me what you‟re made of.”

Determined to live up to Sir‟s belief in his capability, Angel stretched his thighs wider, accommodating the hand. There was a pause and the sound of fluid slapping. Angel could see in his mind‟s eye Daddy rubbing more lubricant on his hand.

Daddy‟s hand slid in deeper and deeper until Angel could not control himself and released a long scream and then panted hard.

“Just a little more, Angel. I‟m almost up to the wrist. I forget sometimes how big my hands are. It must feel like you‟ve got a grapefruit in your rectum.”

“More like a soccer ball,” Angel gasped, and when Daddy laughed, he wanted to laugh too.

“I like fisting almost as much as I like flogging a boy. I like it because of the intimacy of penetrating a boy into the very core of his being, controlling him, taking charge of his body and mind by one small orifice.”

Angel listened intently, all his senses focused on his rectum. Daddy‟s hypnotic voice soothed and calmed him. An all-encompassing sense of security settled over him, and he knew that this big, strong, dangerous man had his best interests at heart.

“Boy, I want you to get out of your head now and focus only on what is happening to your backside. I‟m fucking you with my hand. Put all your awareness into where my arm meets your body. Scream as loud as you want. The room is soundproofed. But no more intellectualizing. It‟s time to feel.”

Daddy pushed his hand farther in, and Angel felt his anus close around Daddy‟s thick wrist. For half a minute Daddy paused, allowing him to experience the stillness while being completely controlled, possessed, and owned.

Then it began, at a steady, uncompromising pace. Daddy began to fuck him with his fist. The screaming, burning pressure in Angel‟s rectum completely overwhelmed him. The hood blocked out everything unnecessary in the world at that moment. The only thing that existed was Daddy with his thick, muscled arm, sliding his hand in and out of Angel‟s rectum, always stopping at the wrist, but Angel wanted more and he knew he could take more.

“Green!” The word broke from his parched throat. “Daddy, please, I want more.

Go deeper, please, Sir.”

“Good boy.”

Angel‟s cock felt stretched to its limit; his balls strained at the thin sac that held them. A sensation of coolness washed over his anus, and Daddy‟s hand slipped in deeper. “That‟s my boy,” Daddy repeated over and over while he pushed his arm farther in, impossibly deeper. Angel had no idea how far in Daddy‟s arm had thrust.

He felt impaled.

A sudden and violent climax came forth in a great rush, flooding his body. He raised his head, dragging on his restraints, and screamed. A thin stream of warm cum shot into the air. His head rolled from side to side. His arms and legs tensed until he thought they would snap. He no longer had any control over his body; it reacted without his consent or direction, arching his back, jerking violently as the spasms ran through him. The orgasm rolled on and on in great waves, and just when he thought it was over, another wave swept over him, taking his breath away, so intense he felt faint.

Slowly, tenderly, Daddy withdrew his arm. Several more mildly orgasmic contractions followed his exit and then ceased. At last Angel fell back against the leather sling, panting, sweating, knowing he would never again smell soft, warm leather without becoming aroused.

Angel sensed that Daddy had walked away, but he knew also that Daddy was there somewhere in the room taking care of him, supporting him. With infinite patience he waited for his return, knowing that if he lay restrained in the sling for the next week, Daddy would be there somewhere watching over him, keeping him safe. Without speaking or moving, he rested, waiting patiently. The orgasm had brought the most intense relief, releasing much of the fear and confusion that had been building since that surreal moment of watching Sven die, followed by the fragmented and screaming horror of believing he, Angel, would die next.

The moments in the shower before Daddy had spoken to him, assuring him he would not hurt him, had been endless, cutting through all the tenuous stability Angel had built up since going back to live with his mother after all those years away.

Angel felt accepted and absorbed into the granite presence of his new daddy.

“How‟s my boy doing?” The voice came from across the room, followed by the sounds of running water.

A smile cracked Angel‟s face. “
My boy
.”

“I‟ll never be the same again, Daddy,” he said, knowing it was true. “I couldn‟t stop myself from coming; it just happened.”

Though he did not hear his approach, he felt Daddy‟s hands on his ankles, unfastening the buckles and lifting his feet out of the loops. “I forgive you, Angel.”

He heard a smile in Daddy‟s voice.

4“Thank you, Daddy.” Angel‟s wrists were untethered, but still he did not move, waiting for permission. Daddy walked back to the foot of the sling between his thighs.

“Give me your hands, boy.”

Angel stretched out both hands, and Daddy grasped them firmly, pulling him to his feet. It took half a minute to gain his equilibrium; his legs quivered as his weight rested on them.

With both hands Daddy peeled the hood up over his cheeks and forehead and lifted it off. The soft leather had become a second skin, and when it was gone, he felt naked. Slowly Angel opened his eyes and looked up. Daddy tossed the hood onto the sling and ran his fingers through Angel‟s hair, rubbing hard. The sensation of the strong fingers massaging his scalp brought it back to life.

Euphoric and at the same time exhausted, Angel gazed up at him with all the love that soared in his heart. Daddy grasped him under his armpits. “Come here,”

he instructed and lifted him.

At the same moment Angel sprang up, wrapping his arms around Daddy‟s neck and his legs around his waist. He dropped his head onto Daddy‟s shoulder, resting there like an infant. “I dreamed of a daddy like you,” he said softly. Daddy‟s big hands cupped his buttocks as he carried him to the door, took down the key and unlocked it, then strode out of the dungeon and along the hall to the kitchen.

“Get down, boy.” Reluctantly Angel dropped his legs and stood while Daddy took bottles of water from the cupboard and handed him one. “Drink all of it.

Between the enema and all the sweating you did, you‟ll get dehydrated.”

Angel obeyed, realizing as he drank how thirsty he was. “Daddy, are you going to feed me? I‟m starving now. My belly thinks my throat‟s been cut.”

Daddy chuckled. “Yes, you‟ve been very patient, boy, but remember what I said. Call me Sir now.”

“Yes, Sir.” Disappointment washed through him, but he obeyed. “Can we go out, Sir?”

“No.”

“Can we have pizza, Sir?”

“No. There‟s a great Indian place close by. They do a nice beef curry, or you could have chicken if you prefer.”

“I‟ve never had curry.” Angel looked doubtful.

“You‟re in England now; we eat more curry than they do in India. Go and get something on. I don‟t want you sitting on my furniture with a bare arse. I‟ll phone in the order.”

“Sir, are you ever going to spank me?” Angel asked.

“I‟m definitely going to spank you. It‟s just a matter of when. One thing at a time, boy. You‟ve learned a lot tonight. Now scoot.”

It was the middle of the afternoon when Kael woke up feeling wonderfully rested. Images from the night before floated through his mind, bringing back all the pleasure and perfection of it.

Angel had shown a resourcefulness that had impressed him. The boy had courage and strength, good attributes in a slave, but also in an assassin. Kael had deliberately left him hungry to see if he would whine, and while he had reminded Kael more than once that he needed feeding, he had been patient. But the courage he had shown when Kael insisted he wear the hood, even though everything in him had cried out against it, made Kael wonder just what it would be like if he allowed himself to fall in love with Angel.

He had lost count of the number of slaves of all ages he had mastered over the years, but he had never loved them. Some he had respected when they were brave under the whip or proved their stamina by enduring pain over a long period. Others he had liked because they were funny or sweet, even if they had lacked determination and spirit. But he had never loved any of them. Not one had ever been allowed to spend the night or have his phone number, even though some had begged. If a slave got clingy or needy, he was dismissed and ignored the next time Kael bumped into him.

Rolling onto his back, he stretched out his arm to pull the boy into his chest. A moment of unease followed; all his senses went on alert. Angel wasn‟t there.

Listening carefully, he heard the rushing of water in the bathroom and sank back with relief.

Kael got up and slid the book out from under the mattress. Grabbing the pillows that always seemed to end up on the floor by morning, he threw them back on the bed. While the boy was showering, he would take a minute to write. He was not going to end up dying in obscurity like Misha, her body never returned to her family. Listed forever as a missing person. He had never known what drove her into the work they had chosen. But she was good. As good as him. But if he died on the job, like she had, there would be something left for his mum so she would understand what had happened and why he had chosen his line of work. Kael had never thought he could be friends with a woman, but he and Misha had been mates from the first day of their training together.

I fell in love for the first and last time when I was 14 years old. Every summer
holidays I went home from school. I got the train to Lime Street, Liverpool, and then
4
took buses to the council estate where we lived, carrying my bags all the way. When I
got in my mum was out doing her shift. She was working in an old peoples’ home by
then, as well as the launderette. She called herself a shite shoveller because she was
always cleaning up after someone.

I walked in the door and there he was, her latest boyfriend, Shawn. He got up
from the couch where he was sitting watching
The Crystal Maze,
and grinned at me.