A Strong Hand (3 page)

"You could warn a person!" Nick yelled with an energy that surprised even him.

"Sorry," came the distracted reply.

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A Strong Hand

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Somehow Nick knew that Damian wasn't going to remember to warn him the next time either. He squirmed uncomfortably; wearing these restraints somehow made him feel more naked than when he'd just taken off his clothing.

He wondered how long Damian—

The lights blinded him again, but he didn't say anything this time.

"Stick your ass out a little. No, back, toward me. More. No, too far, go back to where you were. Okay, back it up again.

There! Hold it right like that!"

The lights flashed in quick succession, and Nick's hip twinged. He hoped he'd be able to hold the pose as long as Damian wanted without his back cramping up.

"What's the scar from?"

"Oh, sorry," Nick muttered. "Uh, an accident. Had to have an operation."

"It's beautiful," Damian responded.

Nick was outraged; how dare Damian say that? He knew it was ugly, and it sure as hell hadn't been beautiful acquiring it. "Har fucking har," he retorted sarcastically.

"Shut up," Damian said, in his dreamy, crazy-artist voice.

Nick shut up accordingly. He knew Damian wouldn't hear whatever he had to say anyway. His arms were falling asleep as the blood drained from them.

"Okay, straighten up a bit. Now turn your head to the left slightly. Oh,
very
good, you remembered which way left is. I want the light to just catch the edge of your cheekbone and the line of your jaw. Right there. Hold it."

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Again, the flurry of lights. By now Nick knew to close his eyes, seeing as Damian wasn't shooting his face anyway.

When the sequence of flashing lights ended, he pulled on his arms to stretch his back, trying to ease the building tension in his shoulders.

"Will you stop wiggling around? Just stay where I put you until I say you can move," Damian demanded irritably, striding forward and pushing Nicholas back into position. "Do as you're told, boy."

"Yes,
sir
!" Nick hissed angrily.

"And stop talking, or I'll swat you," Damian instructed.

Nick froze into position, except for his cock, which rose in a slow steady swell of blood. The heat pooled at his groin made him fidgety but he didn't want to know whether Damian was serious about his threat. He
sounded
as if he would do it.

Nick jumped as he felt warm hands land on his hips.

Something brushed across his arse and he yelped, even though it hadn't hurt at all.

"Stay
still,
dammit!"

Fuck,
Nick thought,
he sounds serious.
He concentrated on keeping his body positioned exactly as Damian had left him.

Finally his back and hip were signaling dire distress and Nick had to move, letting out a little groan. He yelped and flinched as a hard hand cracked against his arse, sending a burst of heat through his left cheek.

He turned instinctively just as the flash went and heard a click.

"Will you hold still now, or do you want me to swat you again?"

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Damian's voice came from almost directly behind him, where he was standing with the cable release in his hand.

Nick fell silent and turned away from the camera again. He could see the handprint in his mind, red against the whiter skin of his arse. He was suddenly very embarrassed and humiliated to know that Damian had taken a picture of him that way and wondered what insanity had led him to yank off his clothes and kneel here unresistingly while Damian took more photographs. Not that he had much choice now that he'd let Damian tie him up. The words alone sent a shiver of arousal over his bare skin.

"Got it," Damian breathed, when he'd captured the final shot. He came to himself then and chuckled as he took in the slim body of his assistant, stretched and bound, muscles moving under the smooth skin as he strained to remain still; a picture of sensual promise.

"Sorry, Nicholas. I got a little caught up in my vision,"

Damian apologized as he came forward to release the young man. He chuckled as he saw the palm print on the boy's round, enticing cheek. Had he really done that?

He knelt behind Nicholas, leaning just a little closer than necessary to take in a whiff of the faint vanilla scent that clung to the boy as he released the ankle cuffs on the spreader bar.

Nick shivered and the fine hairs on his back stood up as he felt the heat of Damian's body so close to his. For a moment, the man was kneeling behind him and Nick was trapped there, cuffed and spread. If Damian were to try something, take his pleasure, Nick wouldn't be able to do a thing to 24

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defend himself. He was terribly frightened, and yet his cock was betraying him by remaining achingly hard.

Damian noticed that the boy was trembling and gently released one arm, hanging on to the other one, sensing that Nicholas was about to bolt with the restraint still buckled onto his wrist. Once he had set the boy free, Nicholas sprang to his feet with a coltish grace, keeping himself turned away from Damian. He ran for his clothes, scooped them up, and headed straight for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Damian remained where he was, running the leather restraints through his fingers, still warm from Nicholas's heat.

He could smell a hint of arousal on the air. So the boy had been turned on by this? Until now, Damian had been so involved with making the shot in his head a reality that he hadn't even considered the ramifications of having the beautiful young man, naked and bound, kneeling before him.

He heard the outer studio door slam shut violently and smiled. Probably that meant he'd seen the last of Nicholas, but damn, the boy
was
delicious. His cock was pressing uncomfortably against his zipper, so Damian unzipped to relieve himself a little. When he pulled his cock out, the air was cool against his heated flesh, and his hand felt good. He closed his eyes, kneeling there, right behind where he'd had Nicholas restrained and spread, and he stroked himself off, gloating over the beauty that they had created together. He came with a stifled groan, shooting onto the canvas right where Nicholas had knelt.

* * * *

A Strong Hand

by Catt Ford

Never had Nick been so grateful that he followed the fashion of his peers. It was one thing to be an independent thinker and go against the tide, but sometimes it was better if one wore baggy pants, giving one a fighting chance of hiding a raging hard-on.

He could feel his erection sway with every step he took, his boxers softly rubbing against the swollen head of his cock. He hoped he wouldn't come in his pants before he got back to his shabby little cold-water flat.

He took a seat in the train, because the tube was fairly empty at this hour. And then he stood right back up again when he saw how his erection tented his pants. Only a blind man could miss it. Soberly, he studied the advertisements over the windows, willing his prick to go down, but with minimal success.

He usually had several hard-ons and jacked off a minimum of once over the course of a day, but now he was hard enough 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.

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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.

* * * *

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

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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 best shot he'd ever taken, until he closed his eyes as ecstasy washed over him.

* * * *

Now he was lying in a puddle of his own rapidly cooling cum. And yet his cock was still half-hard.

"Dude," Nick said out loud, but softly. "You're going to have to stop thinking about it."

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Instead, he thought about it some more, his stomach fluttering with the thrill that rolled through him whenever he went over the entire afternoon, step by excruciating step. He thought he knew what he was doing when he took his clothes off. He was an art student, and he'd modeled for pay before; besides, he'd watched Damian at work, and the man never laid a hand on his models.

It must be something about him, he thought miserably.

Something that he didn't know about himself but that Damian could see that would make the man tie him up. No, not merely tie him, but put those leather restraints on his wrists, stretching him to trap him at the bar. And then the spreaders.

The cold metal had contrasted with the enticing warmth of Damian's fingers, barely brushing his skin as he locked Nick into them.

He rolled onto his knees. Without realizing it, Nick's left hand was fondling his balls as he stroked his cock with his right. He thought about Damian's hands on him, caressing his arm gently, and finally that strong hand chastising him with a hard swat to the arse.

And then Nick cried out as he came yet again, arching his back so his throbbing backside was raised up, offered to the man he imagined to be standing behind him.

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Ashley was impatient. "What, the little bugger didn't show up?"

"No, and his agency can't seem to locate him. We'll have to book a different model," Damian said. He was a little distracted. Nicholas hadn't come in either, and he himself had had a restless night. Every time he tried to fall asleep, he'd found himself rolling over to turn on the light, gloating over the one print he'd made of Nicholas, staring at him in shock.