Free Angel and the Assassin by Fyn Alexander Page B

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 intently, all his senses focused on his rectum. Daddy‟s hypnotic voice soothed and calmed him. An all-encompassing sense of security settled over him, and he knew that this big, strong, dangerous man had his best interests at heart.
    “Boy, I want you to get out of your head now and focus only on what is happening to your backside. I‟m fucking you with my hand. Put all your awareness into where my arm meets your body. Scream as loud as you want. The room is soundproofed. But no more intellectualizing. It‟s time to feel.”
    Daddy pushed his hand farther in, and Angel felt his anus close around Daddy‟s thick wrist. For half a minute Daddy paused, allowing him to experience the stillness while being completely controlled, possessed, and owned.
    Then it began, at a steady, uncompromising pace. Daddy began to fuck him with his fist. The screaming, burning pressure in Angel‟s rectum completely overwhelmed him. The hood blocked out everything unnecessary in the world at that moment. The only thing that existed was Daddy with his thick, muscled arm, sliding his hand in and out of Angel‟s rectum, always stopping at the wrist, but Angel wanted more and he knew he could take more.
    “Green!” The word broke from his parched throat. “Daddy, please, I want more.
    Go deeper, please, Sir.”
    “Good boy.”
    Angel‟s cock felt stretched to its limit; his balls strained at the thin sac that held them. A sensation of coolness washed over his anus, and Daddy‟s hand slipped in deeper. “That‟s my boy,” Daddy repeated over and over while he pushed his arm farther in, impossibly deeper. Angel had no idea how far in Daddy‟s arm had thrust.
    He felt impaled.
    A sudden and violent climax came forth in a great rush, flooding his body. He raised his head, dragging on his restraints, and screamed. A thin stream of warm cum shot into the air. His head rolled from side to side. His arms and legs tensed until he thought they would snap. He no longer had any control over his body; it reacted without his consent or direction, arching his back, jerking violently as the spasms ran through him. The orgasm rolled on and on in great waves, and just when he thought it was over, another wave swept over him, taking his breath away, so intense he felt faint.
    Slowly, tenderly, Daddy withdrew his arm. Several more mildly orgasmic contractions followed his exit and then ceased. At last Angel fell back against the leather sling, panting, sweating, knowing he would never again smell soft, warm leather without becoming aroused.
    Angel sensed that Daddy had walked away, but he knew also that Daddy was there somewhere in the room taking care of him, supporting him. With infinite patience he waited for his return, knowing that if he lay restrained in the sling for the next week, Daddy would be there somewhere watching over him, keeping him safe. Without speaking or moving, he rested, waiting patiently. The orgasm had brought the most intense relief, releasing much of the fear and confusion that had been building since that surreal moment of watching Sven die, followed by the fragmented and screaming horror of believing he, Angel, would die next.
    The moments in the shower before Daddy had spoken