Angel and the Assassin

front.”
    Angel obeyed, offering his wrists, watching while Sir locked heavy leather
    padded handcuffs onto his wrists. He performed the task quickly and efficiently,
    without speaking or looking at Angel, wholly engrossed in his work. Angel looked up
    into the handsome face, so overcome with love for his master that he felt tears fill
    his eyes again but fought them back.
    I’m going to be brave.
    With the cuffs comfortably restraining his wrists, Sir turned him to face the
    flogging post and lifted his hands, hooking the connecting chain over the sturdy
    wooden hook that jutted out of the post above his head. Sir did not fasten the cuffs
    to the hook; there was no need. The hook was high, forcing Angel up onto his toes.
    To remove himself from the hook, he would have to jump, and that would be nearly
    impossible with no leverage. His feet were supple from dancing, and he stood up on
    the balls of his feet with no difficulty.
    Sir took a metal cock ring and held it up. “This is a special kind of cock ring.
    This part”—he ran his finger around the circle—“will slide up over your cock, but
    not your balls. And this part”—he ran his finger along a three-inch curving prong
    with a small ball on the end—“will press between your balls, against your
    perineum, and the ball will go inside your arsehole.”
    The words alone aroused Angel, but when Sir grabbed his cock, shudders of
    pleasure rippled through his stretched, taut body. He moaned and bit down on the
    gag, afraid he would ejaculate again and disappoint Sir.
    The look in his eyes must have been enough to tell Sir of his fears because he
    gripped Angel‟s cock hard and pulled it through the cold metal ring quickly, making
    it impossible for him to come. “There, boy, that‟s it.” His tone was so kind and
    comforting that Angel gave up all vestiges of control, even his determination to be
    the best slave in the world, and simply allowed himself to be directed, manipulated,
    and owned.
    The snugness and the stretching were highly arousing. He liked the sensation
    of his cock being held securely in the cock ring, almost as if Sir‟s hand cradled it.
    The long metal prong pressed against his perineum, separating his balls yet
    cradling them also, and the cool metal ball was pushed into his anus, creating a
    comforting fullness. When the instrument was securely in place, Angel released the
    breath he had been holding without realizing it. The cock ring was now part of his
    body, just like the handcuffs and the gag. It grew and flowered like a vine, growing
    into and out of his flesh, wrapping about him, as if it had always been there, as if he
    had been waiting all his life for the moment when it would blossom.
    Sir lowered the lights until Angel‟s eyes felt very comfortable, and then walked
    around the flogging post to face him. “How are you doing, boy?” He looked directly
    into Angel‟s eyes. Sir‟s eyes were so blue, so beautiful, his jaw strong, his nose
    straight. Angel‟s heart flooded with love.

    140
    Fyn Alexander

    Why can’t you love me? Why can’t you be my daddy?
    He nodded.
    “Are you ready to be flogged?” Again he nodded.
    Angel allowed his chin to drop onto his chest. With his arms stretched high
    overhead, it was impossible to see over his shoulder.
    Angel stopped thinking and stopped trying to predict what would happen next.
    He gave himself up to Sir and to the whip. What was about to play out could not be
    stopped. He wanted the whip. He wanted the pain. He wanted to experience the
    wonders he had read about and imagined for so long. He was in the moment with
    his master—the still, dark, comforting moment of communion.
    When the first light stroke fell across his shoulders, he felt almost nothing.
    Quickly he realized that a flogging would be like a spanking. A slow buildup of pain
    and pleasure.
    It began.
    “Breathe deeply and slowly, boy. Let your shoulders drop.”
    Angel obeyed. Sir could see everything. He knew Angel had taken in a breath
    at the first stroke and failed to release it. Sir knew Angel needed support and
    encouragement.
    The next stroke fell, and the next, and they stung. His body tensed
    momentarily, then let go. Again he tensed until the regular rhythm of the whip left
    him no need to tense. He knew precisely when the next stroke would come with its
    deliberate and perfect timing. Instead of being afraid, he could depend upon it, look
    forward to it, and absorb the weight and the