The Telemachus Story Archive

Angelo and the Brotherhood of Adam and Abel
Chapter 5 - An Escape...? & The Journal Part 2
By Ferdy (Illustrated by Franco)

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Slowly the massage ceased. With another metallic thud the frame was righted and Angelo was once again upright. Exhausted he sagged forward, having no strength left to support himself upright. He could feel the restraints around his wrists being released but with no strength left to support himself after so long... ‘How long?’ his battered mind wondered, he collapsed into the embrace of the bearded monk, his violet eyed tormentor. He felt himself held and gentle soothing stroking motions were made to the back of his head, neck and shoulders as his ankles were released. Unable to contain himself he buried his face in the rough cloth covering the shoulders of the man holding him; he sobbed and cried, his whole being trembling with relief and delayed shock. It seemed like an age before his tears ceased and the wracking sobs subsided like a pale shadow of the waves of sensation his body had endured, and he felt able to take his own weight. As strength returned to his trembling limbs and he started to disentangle himself from the wiry arms of the hooded figure, a vaguely familiar aroma encroached on his senses; before he could react to his recollection of where he had smelled it before, the thick cloying cloth of medicinal herbs was pressed over his mouth and nose and he slipped once more into unconsciousness.

He awoke with a start, to find himself lying on his beach blanket in the warm late evening sunshine, as naked as he had been when he first entered the crumbling building that loomed above him. Angelo jumped up, scanning the shuttered windows above him. He ran, naked as he was to the locked and studded door and rapped using the heavy door handle that was warm and heavy in his hand. The sound echoed and boomed within, but there was no response. He rapped heavily several times more, shaking his head to clear it of the lingering aroma of the herbal cocktail. ‘Why?’ he shouted. ‘Why? Why me...?’ Silence. After several more attempts, he picked up a rock and threw it at the shuttered windows, achieving nothing more than a temporary easing of his own aggrieved sense of violation... or ...was it? He stooped, panting, his hands resting on his knees, staring at the ground. What had happened? How DID he feel?

Physically he was effectively unharmed. There was a lingering ache in his balls which he gingerly cupped in his hand. The alien smoothness brought about by his unexpected shave was the only other physical evidence of his ordeal, but had he really been harmed. The physical memories caused a surge in his cock and he stiffened, the emotional memories adding to his arousal. With a sense of defiance he stepped back from the walls so as to be visible to any hidden onlooker behind the shutters, and with slow relish jacked himself off, with his right hand while gently teasing his right nipple with his left and grinding his butt, clenching and unclenching his internal muscles. He came quite quickly spurting his juice onto the grass beneath his spread legs. It was a brief release, ‘a little death’ as he’d heard it described but his defiance felt pathetic when held against the tumult of sensation his body and mind remembered.

In frustration he strode forward and stamped the sole of his foot against the worn planking of the oaken door. The silence remained unbroken after the echoes faded. He returned to his clothing and belongings, and without dressing, bundled them all up and escaped the garden.

When he reached the gap in the fence, he paused for an instant, then after a moment’s hesitation stuffed his bundled clothing and towel into the bushes beside his bike and loped over the dune, his naked body gilded by the setting sunlight streaming above the waves. Heedless of potential onlookers, he ran to the rolling sea and plunged himself in.

The Journal Part 2

The appointed day arrived and the conditions were perfect. All the preparations had been made, the herbal decoctions had been placed in jars ready for application, the ‘game plan’ devised with the help of the senior of our order, myself and one other of the brethren, chosen for his experience, strength and sensitivity. Now we awaited the arrival of our Angel. To our delight he arrived earlier than anticipated, it being a hot bright day he must have risen with the sun. However, his routine varied little and as we watched he went about his little rituals, tending to his tenebrous wards. The heat was such that, as we had hoped, after completing his usual observances he made preparations for his visit to the beach.

We now knew this was where our/ (my) Angel disappeared to. I had been entrusted with the task of observing our angelic visitor and on one of his visits had stationed myself in the woodland to mark his arrival and to follow him when he made his customary jaunt over the wall. I was delighted to report to my superior that his peregrinations were innocent trips to the wildness of the sea (something I have longed for myself). I watched from the dunes as he clambered into the rotting hulk on the beach; I determined to explore what it contained at a later date. I hid in the crowded shrubbery where he passed by, barely feet from my hidden position as he slipped, naked as always, through the passageway in the bushes then across the meadow where he would sometimes gambol like a young colt, apparently revelling in his nakedness amongst the tall stems; before returning to the walled garden and his labours.

Many times I observed this, and his routine never varied, all of which I reported to my superior. Thus our plans were laid and our methodology completed.

Whilst my fellow brethren collected his belongings and made the final preparations, including summoning the presence of our superior, I was charged with following his route. I must confess, scrambling over the wall in the intense heat of the day as I had watched my gardener do on so many occasions gave me a quivering thrill. As my split tabard was thrown over my shoulder for ease of climbing, I gloried in the feel of the Mother’s clean air upon my own exposed flesh. Unusually, our visitor had left his swimming apparel hanging from a branch of the tree; on impulse I collected the flimsy garment and followed after. When I crept to the top of the dune I saw him at his play in the sea. I now knew he would follow this by languishing in the warmer waters of the old boat, which with permission from the head of our order I had also explored. The naivety of this simple pleasure, warm water following cold was seen as further evidence of his innocence and of his affinity for physical sensation; a central tenet and pre-requisite of entry to our community.

I returned to the walled enclosure once again enjoying the feel of the bark and stone against my skin as I scaled the tree and clambered down the ancient wall. I rejoined my brothers and displayed the scrap of clothing I had found. This added to the likely success of our plan, as our guest would have nothing with which to hide himself should he choose instead to return to the outside world. We waited.

I observed from the top step of the abandoned sub-chapel, as my Angel reappeared, clearly at a loss as to the whereabouts of his swimwear and completely unaware of how his life was about to change. I stepped silently back down the stairs and took my place behind the door... as we had suspected, we did not have to wait long.

Once we had secured him, more for his own safety as any further wild struggling would probably have done him harm, the two extra members of the community were dismissed. The head of our community the other appointed brother and I stood in silent meditation observing the slumbering giant; for so he seemed now seen close to, a softly glimmering pale form, glowing in the semi-darkness. It had been gratifying to witness the intensity of the struggle our perhaps not so gentle visitor had put up. This was no lamb, mindlessly submitting to its fate, but a wild thing that was fit for taming. The honour of breaking this ‘Mark’ian Lion’ had fallen to me. Though as was customary, our guest would be offered the opportunity to comply of his own free will, without tempering... few ever accept... before the tempering!

We stood in silence observing the small flickers and shifts that indicated a return to consciousness. The dose of night-flowering Jasmine oil mixed with stronger decoctions of rosemary, eucalyptus and hemlock, a recipe I had developed for easing acute pain after accidents amongst the community, was strong enough if kept topped up, to leave our visitor unconscious without doing harm for up to an hour.

It was fascinating to observe the shifts in awareness as our guest came-to. First a growing awareness of self, then an exploration of surroundings and then the predicted struggle against the secure bindings and, to my illicit delight, there was a clear moment of recognition that it was not just his limbs that were bound. His obvious physical reaction indicating that this was not entirely unpleasureable, was further evidence that we were not mislead in our choice of guest. I could almost feel the waves of approval emanating from my superior by my side.

As expected, our detainee called out into the apparent gloom his eyes not sufficiently adjusted to be aware of us; his magnificence, in my eyes, only enhanced by his captivity. I was impressed, as I believe were my colleagues, by his powers of restraint. When a sudden burst of light from the fireplace revealed our presence; instead of screaming or crying, his evident effort to contain himself further increased our admiration... and whetted our appetites for the journey ahead.

Accustomed to the pleas of new initiates, we remained silent, following the protocols set down by our forefathers, the founders of our order. Following the system followed by previous generations, our leader stepped forward with the traditional offer of silence. For a brief instant it appeared our trapped lion might submit, but to our tempered satisfaction, he refused, leaving us... me... with the responsibility of containing/ training/ conditioning our new trainee, to accept then embrace the teachings of our order.

I need not here list the methods that have been handed down through our community for the subjugation/capturing of spirit; needless to say, as one who has felt the full force of this conditioning and come to admire the subtly complex simplicities of its disciplines, I have started at base principles. However, according to the rules of our order, I must here confess to several failures on my part to contain my own reactions during this first session with this, our new potential novice:

I accuse myself of emitting an audible emotional response to the first positive evidence of sexual arousal from within the subject. This being my first episode as principal in the conditioning process, I was taken aback by the first appearance of the clear seminal fluid, particularly so early in this first level of conditioning. I realise I must atone for this and will submit myself to my brother’s judgement for reprimand at the earliest opportunity. However, I offer in mitigation the subject’s response to receiving his own juices, clearly unprecedented in his experience. By the end of the first phase of this test the subject had accepted this as part of the process and subsequently offered little resistance to further libations. I must here also confess the levels of my own arousal. When I first placed a finger against our visitor’s lips, touching his flesh for the first time, I was unable to contain a physical reaction to the feel of his breath upon my skin. This I believe, may have been noted by the subject who subsequently also noted my state of arousal as the conditioning continued. Unused to this responsibility, I can only say in my defence the heightened awareness of my own power in this situation; the responsibility invested in me and my previously mentioned attraction to the subject, make the maintaining of my own composure a powerful act of will I have rarely if ever encountered. Once again, I submit to the rule of the brotherhood and will accept whatever penance is deemed fit for any lapses in decorum.

Just past the fifth turn of the hourglass, the subject, our captured Angel, succumbed to the treatment and we ceased our ministrations, allowing the blessing to wash through him. However, although having seemingly previously accepted our preference for silence our visitor cried out for mercy, when I administered the ‘Major Intensio’ , that most special of blessings, to seal his communion. In time he will learn.

Having finished the anointing with his ejaculate, massaging it as I was taught into his flesh; we released the captive who touchingly wept as I held him. This I have learned is not an uncommon reaction for those new to the conditioning.

Upon his release we waited and watched. I had sent to the leader of our house so that he might observe the awakening of our ‘freed’ lion. The awakening did not disappoint. Our Angel roared his outrage and in an act of touching defiance, immolated himself for our benefit, spending his precious juices into the earth; before beating once more at the now locked entrance to the sub-chapel and in a torment of confused rage collected his chattels and fled.

I hope it is not hubris to record here that at this point, I was embraced by my superior’s in turn, and in an honour rarely accorded, our leader broke silence and spoke the following: “You have done well, Brother. This wilful act of defiance shows the true depths of his feelings. Let him go. He is ours now... He will return”.

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