“What do you like?” he asked me. I could not see his face, but I knew he got a smirk.“You...” I started.“You don't just like me right?”“I love you.”“Good”, he said while massaging harder.“And what else do you love?”“Your feet.” I said. Despite repeating this ritual every morning, I still felt ashamed.“And how do you like them?”“Bare.” I had to admit as always.“Only?”“No, also when you wear socks.”“Which socks?” he continued, unsatisfied.“The white tennis socks, and the blue socks for trekking.”“Well, well....” he said in an impatient tone. “But the socks are not enough right? What do you need more?” I did not answer. He knew the answer, and I did not want to speak it aloud.“Right.” he said, surrendering.He stopped massaging my elbows and sat on the table, his feet on my lap.“You may. Go ahead.”I stripped out of my briefs and I started jerking off, while kissing and touching his bare feet. It did not last long and I came hard. Then he sat at the table and I crawled under the table,. Nine of them had required help to bolster their courage in the final moments. Bashshar was an expert at providing that help. A shot of heroin in the right dosage, and any man's will can be bent for a short period of time. That was all the time Bashshar usually needed. However, this was no simple suicide bombing. He needed to use the man's family to provide the extra encouragement that he needed.Bashshar was aware that he had developed a cruel streak, since he had sworn allegiance to his Master, but he didn't care. He didn't know what the Master did to him, but it had made him a better soldier. He no longer flinched away from the violence a soldier must witness. Somehow, he could also sense when others were agitated, or afraid. Their fear felt refreshing to Bashshar, and that was what he was feeling from Jerome."You will report to work at midnight, as you normally do," Bashshar continued, relishing a feeling that was remarkably similar to the pleasure he felt when twisting a knife in.
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