Angel and the Assassin

man, pressing Weirstein‟s body tight
    against his own. Weirstein gasped and melted into him, slipping his arms around
    Kael‟s waist and dropping his head against Kael‟s shoulder.
    Kael immediately recognized the signs of a sub and patted his backside. He
    could spot a sub a mile away. Some Doms did not catch on until the sub dropped to
    his knees to lick his boots. But a slight lowering of the eyes or a defensive
    movement of the shoulder that many Doms would miss screamed out loud to Kael.
    On so many occasions his life had depended on reading body language. He could
    translate it as easily as he could translate German, French, or Russian.

    8
    Fyn Alexander

    “What if I flog your arse until it‟s nice and red, and then fuck it hard enough to
    make you scream? But don‟t scream, because that will piss me off. You are to
    remain silent. Do you understand?” His perfect German slipped fractionally when
    he said arse instead of arsh.
    Just for a moment Weirstein looked at him, his brow creasing at the
    inconsistency. But he was already so excited that there was no going back. “Yes,
    please, Sir, and if you would be so good, Master, would you torture my cock and
    balls, please, Sir?”
    “If I have time.” Kael had anticipated a fuck; the fact that the man wanted a
    flogging as well was a bonus. Looking around the luxurious room, he chose a velvet-
    cushioned, wood-framed, Regency-style chair. Grabbing the back, he swung it into
    the middle of the room. As he did so, Weirstein took several steps across the room
    and turned the light low. “Hey!” Kael kept his voice steady but harsh. “I didn‟t tell
    you to move.”
    “I apologize, Master,” the man whispered. Kael turned the light back up
    slightly but kept it comfortably low. He could see in pitch-dark if he needed to, but
    Weirstein must know that he was in control at all times.
    “Kneel on the chair. Arms on the back. Stick your arse up, and if you make a
    sound, I will make you very sorry.”
    Weirstein nodded and obeyed instantly. Overwhelmed with excitement, he
    knelt on the edge of the chair and leaned his arms on the back, clasping his hands
    together. With his head bowed, he thrust his buttocks out and up.
    “ Rubenkraut .”
    “Huh?” Kael looked at the man‟s buttocks, enjoying the sight and the
    knowledge that he would soon be whipping them.
    “My safe word, Sir,” Weirstein told him.
    Kael chuckled. “Of course. For a minute I thought you were hungry.” Normally
    he would never proceed with a flogging without first securing a safe word from his
    sub. But there was no word in the world that would keep Weirstein safe that night.
    “I take a lot of punishment before I use it, Master.”
    “Good boy.”
    Kael licked his forefinger and reached between the man‟s legs to press his
    fingertip against the dark pink perineum. Slowly, tantalizingly, he ran his finger up
    the crack and stopped at the puckered anus. The man gasped, his breathing
    becoming heavier. Kael retraced his path back down to the ball sac, watching as the
    buttocks clenched and quivered. Without warning he grabbed the scrotum,
    squeezing it until Weirstein whimpered. Releasing his tight grip, he let the balls lie
    loose in his hand, weighing them, rolling them in his palm.
    “Nice balls, boy. Maybe I‟ll let you suck on mine in a while.” He said it only to
    inflame; there would be no time for that.

    Angel and the Assassin
    9

    “Thank you, Master, thank you.” Weirstein‟s words caught in his throat; he
    swallowed and repeated, “Thank you, Master. Thank you, Sir.” His gratitude was
    touching.
    When Weirstein least expected it, Kael gripped the loose skin again and pulled
    hard, dragging the ball sac downward. The sub let out a scream. Kael leaned
    forward, pressing his chest into Weirstein‟s back. “Don‟t let me hear you make any
    more noise, boy. You‟ll have half the staff up here.”
    “I beg your pardon, Sir.”
    Kael stood up, releasing Weirstein‟s balls. Again he pressed his finger against
    the perineum, tracing a path upward as Weirstein‟s breathing increased by degrees.
    At the very top of the cleft, he stopped.
    “Shall I whip your backside now?” It was not a question, but he liked to talk as
    he worked and he always enjoyed it when a boy responded with gratitude.
    “Yes, please, Sir. If you would be so good, Master.” Weirstein watched Kael
    over his shoulder.
    He went to the wardrobe and opened it. A selection of the