Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

in now that Daddy had decided he
    couldn‟t. “I‟ll be gone a couple of days. You be a good boy and carry on with your
    duties. Go to college. Keep the place clean. Daddy will be back in a few days, and I‟ll
    expect you to be doing what you are supposed to be doing.”
    “Yes, Sir. I won‟t let you down, Daddy. Not ever.” Angel wrapped his arms
    around his raised knees. The air was cool now he was sitting still. His nipples
    puckered, and little goose bumps rose up on his body.
    “Good. I can do my job better when I know you‟re safe and doing yours. Now”—
    he took Angel‟s chin on his fingertips—“what do you want? My special boy.”
    Tears brimmed in Angel‟s eyes. He wasn‟t even sure why, but his chin
    quivered and he wanted to cry. Be brave.
    “Are you all right, Angel?”
    “Yes, Sir. I just feel sometimes like I love you so much I can‟t stand it.”
    Daddy pulled him close to his chest and cradled him like a baby in the crook of
    his arm. Angel gripped Daddy‟s tit between his lips and sucked. A gentle chuckle
    made him open his eyes and look up. “Slave Angel, we are going to the dungeon, and
    if you don‟t know what will edify you, then Daddy will decide. Up you get, boy.”
    “Yes, Sir.” Angel obeyed, following Daddy like the good slave he was. The
    delicious rush that ran through Angel like an electrical charge when he watched
    Daddy lock the door and put the key out of reach tingled through his flesh.
    “Stand beside the table.”
    On light feet, Angel hurried to the torture table and stood to attention. His
    eyes never left Daddy, who walked to the shelves to choose his tools. Daddy‟s back,
    his muscular legs and buttocks tightly clad in leather, the spurs in Daddy‟s boots,
    was a sight he could have gazed at for hours. But Daddy turned and strode
    purposefully toward him and, tossing his cap on the table, came to stand in front of
    Angel.
    “That‟s plastic wrap.” He was confused. “Cling film, right, Daddy? That‟s what
    you call it.”
    “Yes. Feet together.” Daddy got down on one knee and began to wrap Angel‟s
    legs tightly together in the plastic wrap, working his way up from the ankles,
    passing the roll from hand to hand. When he reached Angel‟s hips, he stopped.
    “Arms by your sides.” Angel pressed his hands against his thighs, and Daddy
    continued up his body, wrapping tightly until he reached his shoulders.
    When it looked as if he would continue up over Angel‟s face, Angel felt a
    moment of panic. “Not my face, Daddy! Please, Sir.”
    For a long moment Daddy looked at him, the way he always did when he was
    gauging how much Angel could take. “All right, boy.” He tore off the plastic wrap
    and set the box aside. Angel wavered slightly, unsure of his balance with his feet so
    close together and unable to move. But he trusted Daddy, who was always there to
    protect him and look after him. If he fell, Daddy would catch him.

    Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

    85

    Then he was rising into the air as if levitating. Daddy was lifting him and
    carrying him and laying him on the table on his back. The light was subdued, and
    Angel kept his eyes open. Cocooned in the plastic wrap, he could not move. He
    wiggled his shoulders to see if he had any margin at all. He tried to slide his fingers
    over his thighs but couldn‟t. The resistance of the plastic wrap was perfect. He was
    immobilized, and the knowledge brought him a deep sense of peace. There was no
    way to fight, so he must give himself up to his fate, knowing that his fate lay with
    Daddy and that Daddy would do nothing to harm him either physically or
    emotionally. Daddy would challenge him, dare him, encourage him, but he would
    not harm him.
    Leaving him for a second, Daddy returned with a scalpel and flicked out the
    blade. Utterly at peace, Angel did not question even in his mind what the blade was
    intended for. Daddy pinched the plastic wrap up from Angel‟s left nipple and cut a
    small hole in it, then repeated the procedure on his right. Taking a step sideways,
    Daddy pulled the plastic wrap away from Angel‟s cock and made a slit, lifting his
    cock and balls out through the hole. His erection had softened during the
    mummifying procedure and gone completely limp as he lay there. The other
    sensations of confinement—warmth as his body heated up inside the plastic, the
    sense of peace that enveloped him—all crowded out the eroticism of the experience.
    But now, with his