A Walk on The Wild Side

By Jack Brighton

Angus MacLeod, the owner of The Wild Side, London's raunchiest gay nightclub, has taken an interest in a master and his slave, who he spotted at the club on Christmas Eve. Inviting them round, Ralph Daley then tells the story of how he and his slave Barry got together.
Ralph only intended to teach the lad a lesson after being insulted earlier in the day. Take him up to Wimbledon Common and punish him for being so impudent, whilst having some fun in the process over the bonnet of his Ferrari. That was the plan. But it led to so much more!
Barry turned out to be a revelation. As well as possessing a killer body, he had roguish charm and obvious intelligence. And best of all - he actually got off on the dominance Ralph displayed and made it clear he wanted to experience more. He wanted to know about the life of a submissive. And that's what Ralph did over a fun packed weekend when he took Barry for... A Walk on The Wild Side.

Please note: this book was previously released under the title ‘The Wild Side’. It has been modified and added to in order to integrate it chronologically into the ‘Tales from The Wild Side’ series, but strong similarities still exist with the original version.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firm Hand Books
• Release date: Oct 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458063120

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

A Walk on The Wild Side

A Tale from The Wild Side

(Flaming Hot Gay BDSM)

By Jack Brighton

Copyright Jack Brighton, 2009

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

Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Next Book in the Series - An Angel Falls to The Wild Side Extract

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay BDSM Collection

His Nemesis Trilogy Extract – His Nemesis

The Beauville TrilogyExtract – The Pilot’s Surrender

OtherBDSM Books Extract – Mastered

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay Erotica Collection

Erotica Books Extract –Pop My Cherry Ass

About the Author

Author’s Note on the ‘Tales from The Wild Side’

The Wild Side is a fictional gay nightclub situated in London’s Soho district, where extremely wealthy and powerful men enjoy games of sexual debauchery. The series of books which comprise the ‘Tales from The Wild Side’ is centred on the club and the people who are involved with it. All the books have a gay erotic theme with a strong BDSM slant.

Each book is a stand-alone work and they can be read in any order. There is a chronological sequence, however, which would make sense to follow if all the books are to be read. The sequence of books to date are:

Welcome to The Wild Side

A Taste of The Wild Side

Made for Auction

Fisting Night at The Wild Side

Christmas at The Wild Side

The Wild Side of Paddy McGuire

A Walk on The Wild Side

An Angel Falls to The Wild Side

The Taming of Gangster Gaz

Boot Camp Week

Reaching for The Wild Side

Look to The Wild Side

Prologue

The evening was going well, no question about it - adhering to the plan that had been laid out in advance. But if Angus MacLeod was to be perfectly honest, he’d sooner be indulging in something more carnal, instead of having a cosy chat in front of the log fire following the dinner party he’d just hosted.

That in itself had been a huge success. His slave Marco had taken care of everything there, the Italian being an expert in all things gastronomic. A chef had been enlisted for the occasion – a new kid on the London gourmet scene who more than lived up to his innovative reputation, serving some outrageously tasty food which was highly original and beautifully presented, matched by a selection of extremely fine wines which Marco had spent a small fortune on. And there had been no issues concerning the formality of roles for the seven men in attendance. Masters and slaves had sat at the same table, freely engaging in conversation, everyone relaxed whilst knowing their place.

That certainly wouldn’t have been the case with many of the rich and powerful men that MacLeod occasionally dined with - hard core traditionalists from The Guild of Masters, the controlling body that governed the secret world of voluntary slavery where the savvy Scotsman had handsomely prospered.

Ralph Daley wasn’t a member of The Guild, nor had he any aspirations to join. He wasn’t a stickler for etiquette either, sharing MacLeod’s more liberal views. So that made things easier with regards to interaction. But another aspect of his approach had a major downside as far as MacLeod was concerned. Not only was Ralph Daley a non-conformist in his lack of desire to be part of The Guild, he was also unusually possessive with regards to his only slave, not willing to share the boy liberally around.

Barry, the lad was called: a twenty year old youth with no formal slave training whatsoever, but whose charm and intelligence, handsome facial features and stunning body, more than made up for this shortfall in education. The boy had come to MacLeod’s attention on Christmas Eve when he’d spotted him at The Wild Side – the exclusive nightspot that the Scotsman owned. Although it wasn’t just Barry that had caused a stir in MacLeod’s trousers – he would happily fuck his master as well, having a thing for big butch dominant men who were easy on the eye.

As Ralph Daley wasn’t a member of The Guild of Masters, making a play for him was technically allowed, although MacLeod didn’t think it would reap a reward if he were to try his luck on that particular front. Barry, however, should have been fair game – willingly offered up as a post-dinner treat for the host to do whatever he pleased with.

But oh no! Tasty young Barry wasn’t on the menu – something that Ralph Daley had politely explained when the invite was made. Of course MacLeod had expected this and laughed the notion off, playing down his desires concerning the boy. And sure that he wouldn’t turn things around immediately, he’d suggested that they have a diverging evening: dinner for everyone to start with; then the masters could sit by the fire and get to know each other better over whisky and cigars, whilst their boys went out on their own for the night, hitting the mainstream gay clubs, or whatever else might take their fancy.

And what about Paddy? Ralph had asked.

Paddy McGuire was MacLeod’s favourite slave. A very unusual slave who had licence to do pretty much as he pleased. And it very much pleased him to screw tasty young lads, which he did with impressive regularity and to widespread acclaim, having a reputation that was the equal of his master’s when it came to fornication.

Where would you prefer Paddy to be? MacLeod had asked in return.

Where I can see him, was Ralph’s immediate answer.

My sentiments exactly. And that’s where he’ll be. Always around so we both can see him.

So here the three of them were, the first Saturday in January, sitting by the fire, enjoying a fine Havana and an excellent malt. And it was extremely pleasant, if the truth be told. After the seasonal excesses of Christmas and New Year, it made a refreshing change to just relax and chat. Ralph Daley was proving to be an interesting chap, and one that MacLeod could see becoming a good friend – ideally a friend who would eventually share more than just his company.

Not surprisingly, the conversation turned to relationships, MacLeod being the one to bring the subject up. He wisely started on relatively safe ground. His Italian slave Marco was already known to Ralph, as was his Swedish slave Sven. They came as a pair, and MacLeod had bought them from a mutual friend. Although it was after they’d been sold that Ralph had met their previous owner, Roger Franklin, so his knowledge of these slaves was limited to their reputation.

That wasn’t the case with the fourth of MacLeod’s slaves - Dylan Sinclair, who he’d purchased at auction only six weeks ago, primarily as a toy for Paddy to play with and act as his surrogate master. Ralph had played with the lad as well when Dylan had worked at The Wild Side in the role of the club’s naughty public schoolboy. He’d played with him quite often as it happens, having taken a liking to giving the lad a spanking. He’d fucked him as well on numerous occasions, having taken more than a liking to Dylan’s bubble-butt ass. This of course was known to the boy’s new master, but the matter was politely glossed over. It was history after all, and that’s what Dylan was there for when he’d worked at the club.

A much more delicate subject was MacLeod’s relationship with Paddy, something that few men would even dare to ask about, let alone be provided with some answers. But it was here that MacLeod played an unexpected card and actually opened up to tell Ralph the story of how they got together – ‘The Wild Side of Paddy McGuire’ he termed it. Not surprisingly, it was highly edited, but enough was said to win some trust. Ralph appreciated that this was an honour being afforded: being made privy to something that few men got to hear. And added to the twist of having the lads removed from temptation, it was an honour that deserved something similar in return. So with a good meal in his belly, fine wine in his blood, the smoke of rich Havana exciting his lungs, and eighteen year old Talisker flavouring his palate, Ralph Daley decided to open up as well, and tell his own tale that touched on The Wild Side, the club having featured significantly in the story. It was the events that brought him and his untrained slave together. When Ralph invited Barry to take ‘A Walk on The Wild Side’.

This is the tale as seen through his eyes, without the censorship MacLeod and Paddy were given…

Chapter 1

An Indian summer – that’s what we were having.

An American phenomenon, apparently. But not exclusively, or so it would seem. It was late October when all this started, and the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, the temperature scarily into the mid-twenties, which for England is almost unheard of at that time of year. I was itching to be part of it and get some fresh air, escape the metropolis for a few hours at least, and take full advantage of the freakish weather before the horror of a British winter set in.

No such luck, which serves me right for having a hobby.

I had spent the whole day in Wimbledon, but sadly not playing tennis. Instead I was stuck in a corporate training room, which was rather small for the group that I led. And to compound the already claustrophobic conditions, I had purposely increased the room temperature for the afternoon session – I wanted the guys in there to sweat!

The final role play was watched with the same degree of dismay I had experienced with the previous three. This was the crunch. The two sales people had gone through the process: interviewed the ‘buyer’ who was played by their manager; determined his needs in the scenario we had set; put together a proposal and presented their solution. Now they were going in for the close.

Would I give them the business?

It was my job to decide on a winner. The sales team that I thought had performed the best over the three days of training. This pair was no worse than the others, but they would never have got the deal for real. They had lost control of the process right from the start. Failure had been guaranteed.

Control!

That’s what it’s all about: Know the buyer, get under his skin, take the control away from the one who should own it, and manipulate the game.

I had done it for years - a whiz kid salesman selling big ticket IT solutions into the global finance sector. I had made shit loads of money and powerful contacts then gracefully withdrew from the front line. With security for life and more collateral than I knew what to do with – I elected for a less stressful existence. I wanted to stay involved, but also wanted more leisure time to indulge in darker pursuits – give vent to a side of my nature that once it had been awoken, needed a steady stream of gratification. Setting up my own training company was the compromise – and doing much of the training was a pleasure for me – a hobby so to speak. But few of my pupils had any real flair for the game; few understood the meaning of control and how to use it to advantage.

I know about control.

I know it sounds arrogant, but I’m a master of control.

Control is my very existence – I doubt if I could live without it.

So, Mr Johnston, do we have a deal?

I almost cringed at the question.

It had to be asked, but the young man posed it with such submissive uncertainty, it was embarrassing to watch and hear. If he had played the game properly right from the start, the final question would be a statement – a close full of certainty, where the response was almost pleaded in confirmation - a ‘yes’ of surrender to a superior will.

Instead he got an, I’ll let you know, from his disinterested boss. Not really the answer he wanted... but better than he deserved.

No. I would not be awarding the business to these guys. Not after that pathetic ending. Nor would I award it to the team with the young woman who flashed me some cleavage earlier in the day, thinking that that would win me over. Silly cow! Did she seriously believe that I would be influenced by a pair of surgically enhanced tits? Her boss certainly was, the pathetic fool - he was forever ogling at them. That’s probably why he employed her in the first place. No other good reason sprang to mind. She was useless as a salesperson.

I on the other hand was more likely to favour the pretty boys’ team: the pairing of Malcolm, who was obviously gay as he had given me some lusty leers over the three days; and Kwami, who was black and I would very much like to fuck... after flaying his broad back and his ebony ass raw. I’m sure Kwami suspected my ignoble desires and the thought clearly terrified him. His performance over the three days was the most pitiful of all - he was too scared of me to engage properly in the process.

So no – Kwami and Malcom didn’t deserve it. And I was far too professional to be influenced by lust or sympathy for a fellow queer. On reflection I decided to award the business to a boring pair of lads that the sales manager clearly disliked as he’d given them such a hard time during the role plays. They had technically performed no better than the others, but with no clear winner standing out from the pack, annoying the sales manager was the best possible option. He looked positively livid when I made the announcement – it was the highlight of a very dull session.

Fickle?

Unfair?

A little bit warped?

Too true – but then that’s me. Some people say I’m a right nasty bastard. And they’re probably right. Although not many would be daft enough to say it to my face. I have this very ugly side to me that must never be provoked – a beast within that should always be caged.

Half an hour later I gave the devastating news to the gormless sales manager that none of his staff were up to the mark and that he would do better to spend his remaining training budget on a recruitment campaign. He didn’t take my assessment of his ‘handpicked’ staff at all well, and chose to blame my teaching methods for any underperformance. I tried to reason with him, made some helpful suggestions, but this only incensed him more. He bid me leave his office and never return – his company would have no further use for me. He cast me out in a blaze of insults, stupidly refusing to accept my ‘egotistical opinions’, preferring ignorance to reality, rose tinted glasses to clear sighted vision, trusting to chance rather than seizing control. Not knowing the man he was idiotically berating.

Big mistake!

His days in the job were numbered. Did he not realise that he was being assessed as well? A quick call was made to his CEO, a certain Roger Franklin who just happens to be a good acquaintance of mine in both my worlds, and whose perversions I know all too well having witnessed him perform quite a few. Lunch the following Friday was cordially arranged – I was in no rush to play my hand and take my just revenge. But in a week from today, two players of consequence would take time to further their mutual causes and revel in some sordid tales – exploits from our darker world that embraces the wilder side. Some difficult truths would be outlined over an excellent meal, and my business with his company, the man in control’s, would be extended to include some sales management training for the new man the CEO would undoubtedly bring in to replace his woeful incumbent.

You think that unfair?

No – of course it’s not. It’s just the action of a master of control!

Chapter 2

With the working week finished, my plan was to head over to the Docklands where I live: in a penthouse, with an amazing view over the River Thames. It’s not overly flashy - just an open plan living space and three large en-suite bedrooms, and another room of my own design where only ‘special’ guests spent some time. I wanted to freshen up after that stifling session, and chill for a few hours before setting out on the prowl in search of some prey for the night. The idiocy of the sales manager and his immature display had left me needing to vent some anger.

As I walked back to the car park still seething from the review, I passed the coffee bar that I had favoured during my three day stint in Wimbledon. I enjoy good coffee – a double espresso is essential for me to start the day with. The stuff they serve in offices is usually dreadful, so I tend to make my own arrangements. This shop had served me well.

Looking through the window I could see that it was empty other than the one guy who was behind the counter. Off the main drag of Wimbledon High Street, mornings and lunchtime were what kept this place afloat. I hovered outside, my mind suddenly racing, the encounter with the sales manager fanning an earlier slight that made me thirsty for some amusement flavoured with revenge. I don’t normally drink coffee late in the day, but I decided to go in anyway and partake of a cup. But it wasn’t coffee that I had a sudden urge for... I was thirsting for a lad called Barry!

I knew it was him behind the counter. The tousled light brown hair streaked with unflattering green was a total give away. The hairstyle wasn’t really to my liking – I prefer the more natural look – but Barry had other attributes in his favour that earned him consideration. He had an arresting face under that juvenile hair, blemish free skin with ruddy cheeks, mischievous blue eyes and full ruby lips which could form the most incredible smile. Barry was really handsome, and his looks were still improving in my opinion, having a face where the boy hadn’t yet totally yielded to the man breaking through in him. But there was nothing boyish about his body – it was an absolute dream – Barry clearly being a serious devotee of the gym. He was six foot one and naturally well built, lean and youthfully muscular. He flaunted his upper body in a tight fitting white tee-shirt, pierced nipples on contoured show crowning his full and shapely pectorals. Then there was his ass, which was easily his best feature – high praise indeed considering the rest of him. It really was something to behold: two fleshy peaches encased in black slacks – the uniform he was forced to wear.

Barry really was a vision – young male eye candy of the highest quality, with a body that was made for fucking. Probably a bit light on the intellect side, at least that was my first opinion based purely on the job he had. But I cared little for intellect as I watched him through the window, tidying things away before closing up shop. What I needed right then was a sexy young body and a mind that I could subjugate with ease. I wanted a few hours of raunchy fun to vent my bottled up fury – and Barry, with his youthful muscular physique, would be perfect for what I had in mind!

Use and abuse then cast aside – that would be the order of Wimbledon play. A heavy hand and a selfish cock – that would be the service coming his way. And that’s exactly what Barry deserved after his doubles performance earlier in the day…

"Oh no!