Angel and the Assassin

toilet
    tank filling. The heat coming on and going off. All these sounds can distract you.

    42
    Fyn Alexander

    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.”

    Angel and the Assassin
    43

    “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