His Nemesis Returns

By Jack Brighton

How low can a man go? Jarvis Clark would have doubted any further than the depths of depravity and degradation he sunk to when ‘His Nemesis’ tormentor took him to the basement changing room in the office block where he worked. He vowed ‘never again!’ but how could that be, when Jarvis craves the rough and dirty sex that was cruelly dished out to him.
It was only a matter of time before ‘His Nemesis Returns’ and in this standalone story, which also acts as a sequel to ‘His Nemesis’, Jarvis will sink even further... MUCH MUCH FURTHER!
Warning: This book contains explicit gay m/m content and is suitable for readers 18 and above.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firm Hand Books
• Release date: Nov 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781476391809

Jack Brighton

Jack Brighton is a British author who specialises in M/M erotica - most of which, but by no means all, falls into the category of BDSM - a way of life that he has rich experience of. There are romantic overtones in some of his work, but you tend to get what it says on the label. All the books fall under the banner 'Flaming Hot Gay BDSM' or 'Flaming Hot Gay Erotica', so don't expect anything else. But do expect them to be flaming hot, with plenty of storyline and character development. A dry sense of humour also features, and a very vivid imagination. He is best known for his 'Tales from The Wild Side' series, where that imagination runs riot.Jack was brought up in a mining community in the west of Scotland, took his degree at Stirling, did a year's post- graduate in Edinburgh, then moved south to London, where he taught for a few years before moving into the finance sector, based in The City. Many of his stories draw on this background - as a gay man trying to find himself in what was more often than not a hostile environment.Having given up the rat race, Jack became a full time writer in 2010. He now lives in Brighton with his long term partner.Jack has also written mainstream fiction under the pen name J. K. Brighton.

Book preview

His Nemesis Returns

(Flaming Hot Gay BDSM)

By Jack Brighton

Copyright Jack Brighton, 5 October 2011

Published by Firm Hand Books at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Please note: this is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is for sale to adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store the material where it cannot be accessed by minors.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. As a piece of erotic fantasy where licence can be taken, certain scenes involve unprotected sex. This has been done to enhance the story.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Next Book in the Series – His Nemesis Demands

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay BDSM Collection

Tales from The Wild Side Extract – Welcome to The Wild Side

Men of Power/ The Vorinovs Series Extract – Taken by the Vorinovs

Other BDSM Books Extract – In the Dark

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay Erotica Collection

Erotica Extract – A First Time for Everything

About the Author

Chapter 1

Good boy. I’ll be in touch.

Those had been his final words. Jarvis Clark had just been violently used, fucked down the throat and fucked up the ass then forced to lick the man’s soiled cock clean. He was left on the floor of the basement changing room in the office block where he worked - a tattered messed up cock slut, dribbling cum from his asshole.

Jarvis stared up at his nemesis, the man who had tormented him verbally over the past month, and now had delivered against all his foul mouthed threats. He watched him dress, this man who said he was now his master. There were no further words or even a glance – the man walked out the door, leaving Jarvis behind, wishing that he would stay and fuck him again. Fuck him rough and dirty on the piss sodden floor, and pull out at the end to shoot his mess all over his face.

Jarvis shuddered at the thought. He cringed for what he’d done and what he feared he’d do again. It seemed inconceivable that the P.A. to the chairman, this arrogant peacock who roosted on the top floor, could have sunk so low. Yet there he was, totally screwed in so many ways. Mr. Jarvis Clark’s fall from his ivory tower was total and complete.

Jarvis lay for an age before he found the strength and the will to struggle to his feet. Eventually he raised himself and went to the washbasin where he looked in the mirror after splashing water on his face, washing away the tears he had shed.

He was not a pretty sight!

This normally perfectly turned out young man was a complete and utter mess. His blue eyes were circled in red from crying; his perfectly shaped nose and full ruby lips were swollen from the bashing they had taken from the man’s groin when he’d fucked Jarvis’s throat. The well groomed blond hair that got expensively cut every second week was a tangled mess of unkempt tresses.

And it wasn’t just his face. His body was hurting from the pounding he had taken, fucked on the hard floor. His back ached, as did his ass – it felt like the man had drilled him a new hole in his butt.

Despite the hurt, Jarvis managed to pull on his pants and trousers. He straightened out his shirt and tie as best he could then struggled into his jacket. There was another look in the mirror, Jarvis drawn there by habit, normally so vain about his appearance. The poor man wished he hadn’t bothered. His state was appalling. He looked like a cheap slut after a bad night out.

He felt like one as well!

Bracing himself to face the world, Jarvis struggled out of the changing room. He was amazed that his legs were actually able to carry him to the elevator. A shiver ran through him as he stood there, not daring to press the call button. All his woes had started in this elevator – all the abuse from the man when they had travelled alone. Why had he got in every time – knowing what would happen? Why had he come down here of his own free volition, aware of his fate, for the man had told him countless times what he intended to do when he had Jarvis in the basement?

Mustering his courage, he made the summons. Was it relief or disappointment that he felt when the door opened and no one was there? Jarvis was too distraught to analyse or care. He took it back to the deserted top floor of the office block, a place where he’d always felt he belonged. He was a man with corporate power – the ear to the boss. How had he allowed himself to be used and degraded by some non-entity from the rank and file?

So many questions, and only one answer – it was the calling of his nature that wouldn’t be denied.

Jarvis went to the toilet and spent some more time working on his face. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to make himself look vaguely presentable then headed for home.

The underground was a nightmare from hell. Ever the snob, looking down his nose on other people and their shabby dress or cheap fake labels, Jarvis hated having eyes upon him for all the wrong reasons. He still looked a mess – his clothes crumpled and stained. And he was shaking violently – aftershock from his experience, fear and shame raging in his body. He knew people were looking at him, perhaps wondering if he was drunk, or off his face on drugs. The humiliation was unbearable, but what choice did he have but to endure more disgrace?

A cab?

No, that would have been worse. At least on the underground no one spoke to you – London cabbies however had the gift of the gab and were forever blabbering on; that was assuming he found one that would actually take him, which was unlikely in his current state.

Thankfully he came home to an empty flat save for a couple of cats. Huw, Jarvis’s doting boyfriend, always went to the cinema on a Tuesday night – he was a bit of a film buff and preferred to see everything on the big screen. Jarvis occasionally joined him. He half wished that he had done so tonight. The prim and proper, P.A. to the boss, butter wouldn’t melt, God’s gift to mankind half that was! But the other half of him – the cock loving slut who liked it rough and dirty, was glad that he’d got just that!

In order to further clean himself, Jarvis took a long hot shower. Shocking as it sounds, with the water cascading over his naked sore body, the memories of the earlier events stabbed at his brain. Jarvis closed his eyes and there he was again in the basement on his knees sucking the man’s cock. He could taste that dick, feel it swelling out his cheeks, the knob so big in his mouth. He could feel that cock bullying down his throat causing him to gag and splutter, incurring the man’s wrath. Jarvis’s soap covered hands started to roam over his body, clawing at flesh like the man had done – his nemesis tormentor – the man he had called master. Fingers invaded his crack. He stuffed them up his asshole. Jarvis yelped at the renewed pain but he couldn’t desist. He recalled their sex, the violent fucking he had taken – the enormity of the man’s cock plundering his bowels. As he frigged himself, falling to his knees, ramming his fingers into his body, Jarvis remembered the abuse and how liberated he felt. He frigged himself wildly, crying like a child, his other hand squeezing tightly on his balls. Hurting, frigging, weeping in shame, Jarvis squeezed his balls tighter as his cock rose to erection – lobbing around, no need for a hand, it spurted out spunk onto the tile floor, to be washed away like the tears Jarvis shed; though no amount of cleansing could wash away his shame and sense of degradation.

Once showered and dressed, disgusted with himself, Jarvis disposed of his ruined clothes, wrapping them up in a black bin liner then putting it out with the trash.

He couldn’t eat. Neat cognac was his nourishment, but it gave him little solace, and no amount of alcohol could obliterate the memory.

By the time Huw came home Jarvis was tucked up in bed, feigning sleep which Huw did not dare disturb. It was only the following morning that he saw Jarvis’s face and quizzed him about what had happened. Jarvis spun him some nonsense about getting mugged. It was a story he would repeat several times during the course of the next few days, receiving copious amounts of sympathy which only made him feel worse.

Chapter 2

Jarvis’s body ached for days after his ordeal, especially his ass which had never taken such a humungous cock or