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headed for the whisky decanter and quickly poured himself another
    large drink. “I find it ironic that you keep insisting you have interpersonal skills
    when only a moment ago you had me by the throat up against a wall because I
    delivered news you didn"t like.”
    “Fuck off.” Kael grabbed the door handle.
    “And for someone who is so good at languages, you use those two particular
    words with tedious regularity.” Kael released the door handle and started back in
    Conran"s direction at lightning speed. Conran downed the whisky, replaced the
    tumbler, and raised both hands defensively. “Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, his eyes
    widening again, a sure mark of fear.
    “I"m going.”
    He was at the door again when Conran said quietly, “Saunders…Sir.” He
    swallowed hard. “May I visit you again? Please.”
    Kael looked at him. “How long is it since you were in my dungeon, on your
    knees, begging me to paddle you and fuck your arse?”
    Color flooded Conran"s cheeks.
    “How long, Stephen?” He always used Conran"s first name when he wanted to
    make it clear who was in charge. To make the man a slave again.
    “Just that one time, Sir. Last September.” Conran spoke very quietly.
    Kael snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor. Glancing around as if a
    crowd of onlookers were straining to watch their every move, Conran got slowly to
    his hands and knees. “Let"s have you, Stephen. Don"t make me wait.” Kael was
    suddenly calm and patient. A willing slave always brought out the best in him.
    When he was in control of his environment, he felt tranquil.

    18
    Fyn Alexander

    Tentatively Conran crawled toward him.
    “Are you afraid someone will walk in and see you?” Kael teased.
    “Yes, Sir.” At Kael"s feet, Conran dipped his head and kissed the toes of his
    black leather shoes.
    “What do you want me to do to you this time, boy?” Kael asked.
    “Whatever pleases you, Sir.”
    “No, that"s not good enough. I want the details. Tell me what you want.” His
    mouth stretched into a smile. God! He loved tormenting Conran, and after the blow
    he had just delivered, the little shit deserved it.
    “Sir, would you be so good as to paddle my arse? Would you put me in
    restraints and fuck me? Please, Sir?”
    “I"ll think about.” Kael walked out, leaving Conran on his knees.
    Outside in the chill early evening, the sky was already darkening. Angry and
    frustrated, all Kael could think about was getting home to see Angel. Despite his
    boy"s youth, Angel was often wise beyond his years. Less than six months they had
    been together, and he was unsure quite when he had known that going home to
    Angel, sharing his day with him, listening to the boy talk about college, had become
    the most important part of his day. Like the youth he was, Angel needed constant
    reassurance and displays of affection, but he still managed so often to say exactly
    what Kael needed to hear.
    Then there were other times when Angel was so immature it drove Kael nuts.
    On his way to Vauxhall Cross Underground, a group of young women, smartly
    dressed office workers in their early twenties, headed toward him. From twenty feet
    away, they began whispering to each other while looking at him. His imposing
    height and lean, muscular frame set him apart, and with his granite jaw and
    intense blue eyes, he was a magnet for young females. Looking straight ahead, he
    avoided eye contact, thinking only of getting home to the peace and quiet of his flat
    and the anticipation of sex with Angel.
    The women passed and were a couple of feet behind him when they broke into
    wild giggles. “Nice arse as well as the rest of you,” one of them called out. “Want to
    keep us company?”
    Enraged at being treated like a piece of meat, Kael turned on them. “Go to
    hell. I"m queer!”
    Startled and obviously intimidated by his size and booming voice, the women
    fell silent, stared at him in alarm for a few seconds, and hurried off. Kael watched
    them