Sins of the Father (13 page)

In bed, as his boy lay with his back pressed against Kael’s belly, he saw the faded old blankie sticking out from under Angel’s pillow. He decided not to comment on it since he knew the boy was trying to give it up. He must be feeling insecure to have taken his blanket out of the wardrobe again. Kael threw his arm over his boy’s smooth, slender body and kissed the back of his head. “I only want the best for you, sweetheart.”

“I know, Daddy,” Angel said sleepily. “I won’t make a fuss about going to uni again.”

“Good boy. We’ll start the applications this week.”

Kael remained awake for a long time listening to Angel’s soft, even breath, planning his boy’s life.
You’re going to be successful. You’re going to be the best at everything you do, just like me
. Go big or go home, was a saying he’d heard recently on some game show Angel was wasting time watching one night. A group of idiots had been running an Alice in Wonderland-like obstacle course where they kept getting knocked into foamy water by giant fists while leaping across impossibly wide gaps on moving machinery. Angel had been in hysterics, clapping his hands like a kid every time someone fell into the water. Kael had never thought crap like that was funny.

But one of the idiots had kept saying,
“Go big or go home,”
and in the end, the bloke won because he wasn’t afraid to take risks.

Chapter Seven

“What are you going to do to me, Sir?” Angel watched Daddy lock the dungeon door and place the key out of reach on top of the door frame.

“Take your clothes off, boy.”

Obeying at once and leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, Angel shivered as adrenaline whooshed through his muscles. Sometimes Daddy told him what was coming and sometimes he didn’t, which always added to the excitement.

“Do you want to leave the dungeon, Angel?” Daddy smiled. He already knew the answer.

“No, Sir.” With hurried steps, Angel crossed the polished hardwood floor and dropped to his knees. For a long moment, he rested his cheek against Daddy’s feet, the coolness and strength of Daddy seeping into him. He could do anything when he was with his daddy, achieve anything, be anything.

“Sit up.”

Angel sat on his heels with his hands behind his back, clasped at the tailbone, his back very straight, and his chin tucked down respectfully but not pathetically. “Perfect,” Daddy said.

For a moment, Angel tried to keep the smile off his face. A big self-satisfied grin was not the response a mature slave made when his master praised him, but he couldn’t help it. Nothing made his heart soar like Daddy’s praise, and after the stunt he’d pulled a few days ago in that bar, he really wanted Daddy to see him as worthy again.

Unable any longer to keep his eyes lowered like a good slave, he looked up to see Daddy removing his clothes, which he left on the floor by the door. Then, wearing nothing but his socks, he put his hands on his hips and looked at Angel. A giggle started deep in Angel’s belly and bubbled up, erupting into a full-blown laugh.

“Are you making fun of your daddy, slave boy?” he said in a deep, totally fake, stern voice.

Still giggling, Angel kissed Daddy’s feet again.

“Remove my socks.”

“Yes, Sir.” Angel reached out, only to be told sternly, “No hands.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Balancing perfectly on his right foot, Daddy raised his left.

Placing his hands at his tailbone again, Angel leaned forward and took the top hem of the black sock in his teeth. Daddy did nothing to assist him but remained perfectly still.

Twisting his head to maneuver the sock off the foot, Angel experienced a rush of triumph when he achieved his goal. He dropped the sock at Daddy’s feet and looked up at him, waiting for him to raise his other foot. When the procedure was repeated perfectly, Angel picked up both socks in his mouth and scampered like a puppy to the pile of clothes on the floor by the door. He dropped the socks, then sat up, waiting for further instructions.

“In the shower, boy.”

They usually stripped and showered in the bathroom first since the shower in the dungeon was only a small, narrow cubicle, but Daddy had surprised him after his homework was done by asking, “How much pain can you take without going into subspace?” Angel had only smiled and shrugged while his cock grew thick.

Daddy got into the small shower stall with him. It was so narrow that their bodies pressed together while they washed, touching at the thighs and the hips, their bellies and backs moving against each other, just like when they were in bed. All Angel’s questionable behavior over the last few days, his stupidity at the bar, spending the night vomiting and pissing himself, throwing tantrums because Daddy wanted something he didn’t, the embarrassing STD examination at the health clinic while Daddy stood watching, arms crossed over his chest and an impatient look on his face—none of it mattered now.

They were in the dungeon, in their sacred space where no one could intrude and the world did not matter. Angel lived for those moments when he was completely Daddy’s possession and his only duty, his only desire in the world was to obey and please his master.

They stepped out onto the mat. Angel grabbed a clean towel and got on his knees to rub Daddy’s legs dry, working his way up. When Daddy was taken care of, Angel rubbed the towel quickly over his body and then waited. He wanted Daddy to hug him, but he wasn’t going to be needy or self-centered. He was going to be perfectly obedient. Daddy reached out, placing his hand tenderly on Angel’s cheek, looking down at him. Six months ago, he would have thrown his arms around Daddy’s waist and hugged him tight, but he knew better now. That kind of behavior was for the bedroom or anywhere else in the house where they were Daddy and Angel. Right now, in the dungeon, they were master and slave.

“You’ve started calling me Sir when we’re in the dungeon. Just Sir, not Daddy. Why’s that?”

“Sir, I want to be your Daddy’s boy for the rest of my life, but I want to learn to be a good slave as well. In here it’s like a different world. This is the one place I can strive to be perfect. Outside I screw up all the time and you forgive me and then I screw up again. It’s real life, but this is like another plane of existence. Am I making sense, Sir?” he asked very seriously. “Or am I rambling like an idiot?”

“Perfect sense, boy.” Daddy smiled. “Go and stand by the flogging post.”

“Yes, Sir.” With long, dignified strides, Angel walked toward the beautiful whipping post. Daddy had not flogged him at the post in some months, and he had grown taller since the last time. The hook was well above his head, and he had had to rise up on his toes when his handcuffed hands were hooked over the large metal hook at the top. Now he would likely be able to keep his feet flat on the floor.

Waiting in perfect posture, Angel watched Daddy choosing a paddle from those hung on the wall. He took one down, and with his long, elegant stride, Daddy came back to him, carrying a thick, heavy paddle, thirteen inches long and vicious looking. Biting his lower lip in anticipation, Angel closed his eyes dreamily.

“Take it, slave.”

Opening his eyes wide, Angel looked up at Daddy. “Sir?”

“Take the paddle.”

With both hands, Angel took the instrument, surprised at how heavy it was. No wonder it hurt. But it was an incredible, mind-blowing, wonderful pain. He raised it to his lips and kissed it, inhaling the mellow scent of the leather before offering it back to Daddy.

With one finger, Daddy indicated that he should move aside. Angel obeyed, watching in confusion as Daddy stepped in front of the flogging post and reached up to grasp the hook with both hands. Spreading his feet to about eighteen inches apart and taking a firm stance, he said, “Flog my arse.”

“Sir?” All of Angel’s desire to be the perfect, obedient slave was thrown into confusion. “I don’t understand, Sir.”

“Step back, take a firm stance, and flog my arse.”

His confusion growing, Angel stammered, “I-I can’t. I can’t. I don’t know how. Sir, I can’t do that to you.”

“Do it now.” Daddy turned his face to the front, no longer looking at him.

For long moments, Angel stared at Daddy’s muscular buttocks. There was no fat on Daddy’s body—just perfect, smooth skin over muscle. “Daddy, I can’t.” Feeling insecure he went back to saying
Daddy
.

Watching Daddy, he waited for a response. Nothing. Daddy remained absolutely still, neither speaking nor looking at him. A range of emotions swept through him, from the desire to throw down the paddle and have a tantrum to wanting to reason with Daddy.

Moaning with distress, Angel took his stance, feet spread to brace his slender body. He doubted one arm had enough power in it to make an impact, so he grasped the handle with both hands exactly the way he had been taught at Redmond to hold a cricket bat. Swinging it back, he landed a perfect swat across the middle of Daddy’s buttocks. Daddy’s indrawn breath and the tensing of his muscles told him he had hit hard. Maybe it was too hard. He should have started out light like Daddy did with a paddling or spanking.

“Should I go lighter, Sir?”

No answer. He was going to get nothing from Daddy. He started again, lighter this time, his arms already aching from the weight of the paddle. One, two, three, and then he found a rhythm that swept through his whole body. His arms stopped aching as momentum worked with him to swing the paddle. For a moment, he forgot it was his beloved Daddy he was paddling. It was a backside, a gorgeous, hard backside growing redder and redder as the welts began to rise. Panting in rhythm with the paddle, he remembered to ask, hoping he would get an answer this time to give him some direction.

“Sir, give me a word.”

“Green.” Direction made him feel secure to continue—but he had been hoping for red.

Daddy always said time stood still in the dungeon, and there was no way to tell since there was no clock in there. But he must have been paddling for well over five minutes, the momentum of his swing making it remarkably easy to keep going and to increase the intensity. It got physically easier the longer he did it, but the emotions remained the same. He was flogging his daddy.

Alert to every movement, he saw Daddy lower his head until it drooped between his upstretched arms. Daddy’s shoulders began to sag ever so slightly.
Say red, say red
. He willed Daddy to stop him.

To Angel’s immense relief, the word was finally uttered on a long-drawn-out breath. “Red.”

Angel dropped the paddle and sank onto all fours, panting hard with both relief and exhaustion. Suddenly remembering his duty, he jumped to his feet. “Come and lie down, Sir, on your belly on the table.” Angel took his hand, but Daddy did not need assistance. He strode to the leather-topped torture table and stretched out on his belly. From the supply shelves, Angel took a jar of arnica cream.

With sure hands, he massaged cream into the scarlet, welted buttocks of the man he loved, and when he looked at Daddy’s face, he saw a smile of such perfect serenity that he was confused. “Why, Sir? You never got a hard-on through the whole thing, so I know it doesn’t turn you on like it does with me.”

“Just testing my endurance, and yours, boy. You did well.”

With another dollop of cream on his fingers, Angel massaged it gently but firmly into Daddy’s buttocks, enjoying healing the flesh he had just tortured. “Sir, it was horrible. I hated it. I’m a sub. I don’t want to be a dom, and I don’t want to beat my daddy.”

“No, but you do have to obey me in absolutely everything.” Daddy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the table. “God, my arse hurts.” His expression was halfway between a grin and a wince.

Placing both hands on Daddy’s knees, Angel looked up at him. “How was my technique, Sir?”

“Not bad for a first time, but you need to start out slower next time and pace yourself better. You were panting after the first few strokes, but your timing improved as you went along.”

“Sir, I never want to do that again.”

Taking Angel’s face in both hands, Daddy looked into his eyes. “It’s hard to stay present when you’re in pain, not without screaming. You spend a lot of time in subspace when I flog or paddle you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir. It’s the most amazing trip in the world. I love it. But when you spank me, I mostly stay present. Spanking still really hurts, but it’s different. The arousal is different too. I love spanking more than anything.”

“If you were in a situation where you were in pain but also in danger, you’d have to learn to stay present so you could be aware of opportunities to make a move. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Right, good. That’s what we’re going to practice now.”

“Okay,” Angel said uncertainly, then quickly, “yes, Sir.”

“Are you scared?”

“A little, Sir.”

“You don’t have to do it,” Daddy said, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

“Daddy, I’m ready for anything as long as you’re there to take care of me.”

“That’s my boy.” Angel cried out when Daddy grasped his nipples with his fingers and thumbs, twisting the silver bar studs. “Remember when I pierced your nipples?”

“Yes, Sir.” He smiled. “How could I forget?”

“The pain was sudden and unexpected, but you did really well. You stayed present and didn’t shit yourself like you thought you were going to.”

“Yes, Sir, but the initial pain was over very quickly, and I didn’t know it was coming. I was hooded, remember?” Daddy nodded. “The pain that lasted afterward was the real killer, but you gave me paracetamol for it.”

An I beam with large, strong hooks sticking out was fixed to the ceiling. Angel had never been suspended before and he had wondered how it would feel, but whenever he asked about it, Daddy always said,
“I do things in my own time, not my slave’s time.”
Biting his lower lip, he looked at Daddy’s face, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

Daddy positioned Angel directly under two hooks about ten inches apart. “Stay put.” At the shelves, he began to choose his tools—which was a part of their play Angel always found exciting. Daddy would gather what he wanted to use and place the items with great care on the torture table nearby. Angel could scarcely contain his arousal watching the procedure. His cock grew longer and thicker, filling with blood and becoming hypersensitive. If he so much as stroked it lightly at that moment, he would come, and he couldn’t let that happen. To get control of himself, he took deep breaths and looked away.