Angel and the Assassin

slightly parted.
    Kael closed his eyes, though the light was very subdued. He breathed deeply
    and steadied his feet, bracing them so that he stood rock solid on the floor to the
    side of Conran, where his aim at the twitching buttocks would give the most
    beneficial effect. He raised the paddle and landed a light slap to the buttocks, flat
    across the cleft and very careful not to go near the balls. The slap forced the butt
    plug to push in deeper and then retract. Kael landed another gentle, stinging slap of
    the paddle, marveling at its flexibility and strength.
    “Oh God,” Conran moaned.
    “There is only one God, and at this moment that is me,” Kael said firmly.
    “Yes, Sir, yes, Sir,” Conran panted.
    Kael landed a harder blow and another, incrementally harder still. He
    measured very carefully the pressure he applied, but he was relentless. He had
    neither the inclination nor the interest to drag this out, and he knew Conran had
    waited long enough and that the waiting would be far worse torture than the pain.
    In under two minutes, with measured, perfectly timed strokes, he pushed
    Conran inexorably toward his limit, and when he reached it, Kael knew. The height
    of the pain was perfect, the rhythm of the blows hypnotizing. Now he was at the
    pinnacle of his pain threshold; Kael held him there and walloped him relentlessly.
    One perfectly timed and equal blow came hot and fast upon the last, with a quarter
    of a second between them.
    The buttocks before him were no longer Conran‟s; they simply belonged to his
    sub. A sub who had handed himself to Kael as a gift for Kael‟s pleasure and his own
    edification.
    Everything around Kael disappeared; nothing mattered but the paddle, the
    flesh absorbing the blows, and the sound—the wonderful, satisfying sound—of
    leather hitting flesh. A secondary but also very pleasing sound was the labored
    breath and the deep-throated cries that originated in Conran‟s parched throat.

    104
    Fyn Alexander

    For a split second Kael‟s eyes wandered to the halo of blond hair on the lovely
    boy by the door who stood transfixed by the scene playing out before him. Angel had
    become as immobile as a statue, truly a stone Angel in a graveyard. The low light
    caught his hair and pale skin in such a way that Kael swore for a fleeting moment
    that he had grown wings that spread wide about him. The moment of inattention
    made him falter in his rhythm, causing Conran to cry out at an unregulated blow
    that caught the skin of his ball sac.
    Immediately Kael modulated his aim and began to bring the paddling to a
    halt. His arm slowed; the blows became lighter and further apart. At the last stroke
    his heavy breath and Conran‟s were perfectly synchronized as though only one man
    breathed.
    The rush of adrenaline that flooded him when he performed a flogging began
    to dissipate, leaving his body tingling. His erection had deflated without orgasm,
    and his long, thick cock swung loose.
    Tossing the paddle onto the table, Kael walked to the small fridge and took out
    a bottle of water. Sweat gleamed on his body, attesting to his effort and loss of
    fluids. He drained the bottle, tossed it in the stainless-steel bin, and took another,
    which he brought to Conran.
    The strain of holding the difficult position for so long was taking its toll. The
    undeveloped muscles in Conran‟s arms and shoulders bulged. Veins pulsed in his
    face and neck. His lips were very dry, and he was having difficulty swallowing.
    Pulling the small stool close to his head again, Kael sat down and took
    Conran‟s chin tenderly on his fingertips, lifting it until he could touch the bottle to
    his lips. “Drink, boy.”
    Conran began to gulp, but since Kael had control of the bottle, he allowed the
    flow to come slowly to avoid Conran choking. He held the bottle until Conran
    drained it. “That‟s a good boy, Stephen.”
    “Thank you, Sir.” The gratitude in his tone was touching. Even his most basic
    needs were beyond his control.
    “For the flogging or the water?” Kael asked gently.
    “For everything, Sir, everything.”
    Kael bent his head and dropped a little kiss on Conran‟s forehead. It had the
    desired effect. Conran began to cry. “There now, boy, everything is good. I‟m here for
    you.”
    For several minutes Kael patted Conran‟s back and wiped the tears that
    managed to escape the blindfold. “I‟m going to release you from your restraints
    because I can see you are in great