A Strong Hand

to pound nails. When he got off at his station, every step was an effort. For the first time he wondered whether briefs might not actually be better. Surely they'd be more ...
    restrictive when one was in a state? Nick groaned; just thinking the word "restrictive" made his cock jump again.
    There was nothing for it but to hurry. He made it to the outer door of his building and raced up the stairs. At least that effort made his erection go down a bit. By the time he unlocked his door, he was in hopes that he had it under control because he was not going to give in to this—whatever it was.
    26

    A Strong Hand
    by Catt Ford
    He went into the tiny bathroom and lowered his pants, pulling his boxers down with them. He stood on the edge of the tub, twisting and craning until he could get a glimpse of his own arse in the mirror, with a handprint blooming rosily on his cheek.
    "Blooming idiot, Nicky," Nick muttered and then laughed at himself. "What the hell was I thinking? If I was thinking."
    But there it was, a blush-red mark with a paler edge all around it. As he looked at it, the palm print began to throb, sending a rhythmic pulse straight to his groin. His cock rose up again, hot and hard, pointing to the ceiling. He couldn't remember ever being this hard before, and it was killing him.
    He tried to think of his last girlfriend's breasts, or failing that, the girlfriend before as he stroked himself, rubbing his thumb over the head slippery with his precum. He panted as he stroked faster, adding a little twist with each pass, but he couldn't quite.... Suddenly the sound of Damian's hand cracking against his arse filled his mind and he imagined how the other man must have looked when he delivered the smack, and then he was coming with a hoarse cry, harder and longer than ever before.
    He was on his knees when he recovered his senses, one hand clutching the sink, the other wetly wrapped around his limp dick, gasping at the memory of what had happened between him and his employer.
    "Holy fuck," he whispered.

    * * * *
    27

    A Strong Hand
    by Catt Ford
    After Damian had cleaned up and put himself tidily back together, he took his camera into the darkroom to unload the film. He shot digital on occasion, but he still preferred the older, manual single-lens reflex; it gave him so much more control over lighting, depth of field, and focus.
    He couldn't wait to develop these shots and see what he had.
    Patiently he mixed a batch of chemicals and got the developer up to speed. He fed the film into the spooler and waited at the other end to see what came out. When the leading edge of the negative appeared, he bent closer, getting a nose-full of the acrid smell. He lifted the end to peer at it against the red light and began to smile.
    Once the entire length of film had rolled out, he took it to the light box, although it was still damp. Even without a loupe, he could tell this was the perfect pose to show off the spreaders, with the added benefit of the chained cuffs. Ashley would be thrilled.
    The lines of submission in the bound body coupled with the undeniable elegance of the curves and planes of his form made Nicholas the perfect model for this job.
    Except, Nicholas wasn't a model. In fact, Nicholas was most likely not going to be coming back at all. Damian smiled ruefully as he surveyed the rest of the shots. He paused, arrested when he came to the shot where he had spanked Nicholas.
    He licked his lips as he looked at it. It was delicious. The camera had caught the moment when Nicholas looked back over his shoulder, his lips parted with surprise, his eyes wide, 28

    A Strong Hand
    by Catt Ford
    showing fear, shock, and an arousal that Damian felt sure he would have preferred to hide.
    The way his body was angled revealed one dark nipple, large and luscious, begging to be pinched. Nicholas had managed to twist his body enough that his cock was barely backlit, outlined against the backdrop, a cock that was hard and standing upright, hungry for attention.
    Damian's hand brushed over the bulge in his jeans when he saw his own handprint on Nicholas's ass, like a brand of ownership, the reddened skin contrasting with the pale, subtly curved flesh.
    "I must have a print of that one," Damian muttered. No matter what, that shot was going to be a permanent and prominent part of his own private collection, the one he never showed the world.
    He reached for his cock and stroked himself to another massive orgasm, his gaze glued on the