Shoot!

By Jack Brighton

Football star Kirk knows how to shoot. A spectacular winning goal in Saturday’s big match proved that without a doubt. The photograph he received the following morning showed it as well – although it did so in a very different way - and not one that this supposedly straight soccer star would like to see broadcast on the tabloids.
It was compromising to say the least. Kirk's whole career could be in ruins, homophobia being rife in the game that he loves. But what a surprise he gets when he finds out who took the embarrassing snap - it's the last person Kirk would suspect.
Blackmail is the reason for the photograph being taken, although the motive is surprisingly noble. Not that noble though - Kirk's been a naughty boy in more ways than one, looking for a transfer to a big paying club, and he has to be brought in line.
There will be punishments of the most original type, and forfeits demanded. Kirk will experience the highs and the lows as he learns his new place in the football squad. But his day of woe will turn out bright when he learns what the blackmail is really all about.
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: Feb 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465999658

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

Shoot!

(Flaming Hot Gay BDSM)

By Jack Brighton

Copyright Tom Farrell aka Jack Brighton, 30 January, 2012

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

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Author’s Note

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay BDSM Collection

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

Men of Power / The Vorinovs SeriesExtract – Revenge of the Vorinovs

The Nabster SeriesExtract – Nabbed!

OtherBDSM Books Extract – Unconditional Surrender

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay Erotica Collection

Erotica Books Extract –Shoot the Clouds

About the Author

Chapter 1

Kirk felt sick. He felt physically sick. All the smugness that had built up over the past twenty-four hours was wiped away in a flash. The cocky expression that had been permanently on his face was struck off as if by an invisible slap.

With his head reeling and his guts twisting, the brown paper envelope that had arrived by special delivery was cast onto the kitchen table, its contents safely forced back inside. It sat there malevolently, hiding the headline on the newspaper beneath it which floridly boasted Kirk’s new claim to fame.

The youngster stared at it. Every nightmarish demon known to man taunted him from the plain canvass. The image it contained was so clear in his mind. The envelope was made invisible, transparent to his eyes.

How could this have happened?

He knew that it had. The picture was for real. And there could be no denying that it was Kirk McTaggart who was captured on the A4 sized colour portrait. His cheeky roguish face was as clear as day – a face that was now known to most of Scotland, and a few interested parties south of the border. Or so his agent had confidently boasted last night when they had chatted after the match...

The Premier League next season for us, boy. No question about it now, lad. I’ll have them queuing up for you after this. Sod the SPL. The Old Firm is dead. Chelsea or Man. United. Arsenal as a last resort. But whatever one we go for, it’ll be Millionaire’s Row and more fanny than you can handle. I take it you’re okay with me getting things rolling.

It was the logical next step, although a huge one to take, having only recently broken through on the Scottish main stage. Becoming established in England, and the most competitive soccer league in the world, was a daunting prospect, even for a cocky lad who thought he was God’s gift to the sport. But Kirk still agreed for his agent to go ahead. After yesterday’s game anything had seemed possible...

It was arguably football’s greatest rivalry – Glasgow’s Old Firm, Celtic vs. Rangers, the ‘Bhoys’ in green with home advantage. There had been twenty minutes to go in a tedious goalless affair when Kirk was brought off the bench. It was the stuff of dreams for young Mr. McTaggart. At the tender age of only nineteen, he’d already broken into the first team squad, and had been in the starting line up on several occasions, challenging the established strikers for a regular place. But this was the big one - to play against Rangers, the arch enemy of old, with the league title at stake, the pressure weighing heavy on everyone’s shoulders. And Kirk had responded magnificently. Within a couple of minutes of the substitution he won the ball near the half way line, surged up the field, dribbled left then right and left again, tearing the defence apart, to finally shoot into the top corner of the net, a cracker of a goal, the home crowd going wild and chanting his name. Several of the Sunday newspapers had compared it to Archie Gemmill’s famous goal against Holland in the ’78 World Cup. Others said Celtic had found a new Jimmy Johnstone, the greatest player ever to don the green hoops. Of course there would be interest south of the border with accolades like that.

And now this - his moment in the sun cast into thundercloud shadow. The taste of fame made bitterly sour. Ignominy beckoned. His career could be in tatters, ripped apart like the Rangers defence.

Kirk reached out and touched the envelope, shivering with repulsion as he did so. It still didn’t seem possible. If he’d been hit by a bus, he’d have felt less crushed – the whole situation was totally surreal.

With an eye-flick to the door to make sure his flatmates were still abed, Kirk steeled himself and picked up the offending material again. He uncovered his picture on the newspaper beneath – a typical pose of sporting exuberance, a cocky young lad blessed with Celtic good looks, giving it large in front of the Celtic Main Stand, milking the crowd and his moment of glory – for a moment in time, the happiest man in the world. Then with trembling hands another picture was revealed, one that wasn’t displayed on the sports pages of every newspaper across the land. Kirk removed it again and stared at it in horror – his descent into misery knowing no bounds.

How? he asked for the umpteenth time. How the fuck did some bastard manage to get hold of that?

It was a mystery indeed. A private moment so graphically captured – the quality of shot terrifyingly good, rivalling his own right footed strike that had secured his team a win in yesterday’s derby. The caption above it said ‘McTaggart Shoots!’ But instead of a football as one might expect, it showed our young sporting hero with a bottle of whisky.

No problem in that, everyone might harp. He was of legal age to partake of a dram, and it was good quality stuff – Famous Grouse no less – no Scotsman could find fault with his choice of blend. But unfortunately the bottle wasn’t in Kirk’s hand pouring out a well deserved measure, or even in his mouth slugging back a swally, which would have been mildly embarrassing but no big deal – the Park Head faithful would have applauded such an image. Applause however weren’t coming Kirk’s way, for this wasn’t a picture of noble patriotism, showing Scotland’s latest sport’s star enjoying the national drink. He was enjoying himself all right, but not by drinking.

‘McTaggart’ shoots!’ Well they’d got that right - the caption at the top had got it spot on. Kirk, the dirty rascal, was certainly shooting. He was firing into the air - spunk in this case, and an impressive load at that, out of an equally impressive looking cock in his hand.

Still no big deal I can hear you say. All healthy young lads enjoy a good wank, and ‘McTaggart Shoots!’ sounds like a shot to be proud of, if not something you’d want your mum to look at. Ah, but listen to this and appreciate Kirk’s angst. Remember the whisky - the Famous Grouse that was mentioned – it was there in the picture, bold as brass, and the neck of the bottle was stuffed up Kirk’s arse! And trust me folks, when it comes to football, in Glasgow especially, that gives his cum shot a whole different flavour.

Kirk threw the image back down on the table, the glossy photograph now dangerously on display. Head in hands, he tried to make it go away. He clutched at his hair, clawed at this skull, banged with his fists and wished, wished, wished. But when he raised his eyes the picture was still there – a piece of depraved filth where Kirk had the starring role alongside the wrong type of bird.

Shit! Kirk cussed as he recalled the incident, still mystified over how it had been so spectacularly captured. Shit! Shit! Shit! This isn’t fair! It was just curiosity! he protested. I’m not gay! I can’t be - I’ve screwed loads of women. I just... I just... Oh fuck oh bloody fuck!

Chapter 2

Curiosity!

Okay, let’s be generous here. Kirk was indeed being a tad inquisitive when he decided to try a few things out - curious in particular to know what it would be like to shoot off a load with something wedged up his ass, as he’d heard on the grapevine that it was a blast and a half – the best climax a man could have.

It all sounded a bit gay, which was a something of a concern to this straight acting lad who had indeed fucked several women. But Kirk’s curiosity had been mightily roused, and as we already know, he went ahead with the act. What had brought him to this point we’ll come to later – let’s just say for now that in his straight sex life, Kirk had inadvertently tasted some forbidden fruit and he hankered for a little more.

The decision to use a whisky bottle for the fun he had in mind wasn’t immediately arrived at. Once he had taken the decision to play anally around, Kirk had pondered for several days what to try beyond his fingers, which he’d enjoyed a few times whilst jerking himself off. A cock of course was totally out of the question – that would be more than a little bit gay; and way too risky as the owner might blab, not something Kirk could ever entertain. A dildo would be safer if purchased discreetly, but still had the wrong connotation. Some fruit perhaps – a banana or a cucumber? But again that was viewed as way too perverted for our straight acting soccer playing lad!

Then as luck would have it, whilst innocently trawling through the internet for inspiration, Kirk stumbled on something that looked just the trick. It was a picture of a porn star, Damien Crosse, having a wank as he squatted over a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, fucking himself on the neck. It was a scene from a film – a celebrated piece of gay smut as it happens. Dangerous material for a footballer stud, but Kirk wasn’t put off by that. The guy looked so butch, all rugged and manly, not like the camp faggots he’d occasionally seen around town, which Kirk associated with being queer. And it was all in a good cause – a matter of research. So Kirk electronically parted with thirty bucks so he could check out the action in more detail.

Flustered but excited, having downloaded the film, Kirk set the skin flick running. Damien’s wank turned out to be the opening scene, but out of curiosity Kirk watched the whole thing. There was actually a plot, albeit a thin one: cowboy themed and Kirk liked a good western, so his motives were arguably decent. It lasted a couple of hours, and Kirk stayed glued to the screen, watching scene after scene of men fucking men, telling himself it was only curiosity, wanting to know how the story would end. The fact that he jerked off a couple of times during the show bothered him a bit, but he convinced himself it was just a lark – a phase he was going through that would pass in a flash... just as soon as he’d tried shoving a bottle up his ass!

It would be a once and once only experiment Kirk had sworn – perhaps that’s why he decided to make an event of it, and even bought some clothing to get fully into the part. Sure that he’d benefit from a bit of Dutch courage – he elected for Grouse instead of Jack Daniel’s as he preferred the taste of whisky to bourbon. The bottle shape as well looked more interesting for his purposes, although he didn’t dwell too much