Fisting Night at The Wild Side

By Jack Brighton

Welcome to The Wild Side – London’s raunchiest gay nightclub, where extremely wealthy and powerful men enjoy games of sexual debauchery. And one of its specialities is Fisting Night, which takes place in the aptly named Fetish Room. Sadly the show has gone a bit lame and the owner of the club, Big Bad Angus MacLeod, is thinking of pulling the plug. That would be a disaster for Mitch, who stars as the fister, as he needs this lucrative job to finance his studies at university. But thankfully he comes up with a cunning plan!
Fisting Night at The Wild Side is about to take off again with a bang when Mitch convinces his flatmate, Harry, to join his act. During the course of a week, Mitch takes this hunky anal virgin along a seductive path – bringing him out the closet, getting him to audition and bear his meaty ass, and popping the big man’s cherry as part of the training. Then finally it’s show time when Harry gets publicly fisted in spectacular fashion - a night that the members will be taking about for very, very, long time.

Please also note: this book was previously released under the title ‘Fisted!!!’. It has been modified slightly to integrate 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: Apr 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458115270

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

Fisting Night at The Wild Side

A Tale from The Wild Side

(Flaming Hot Gay BDSM)

By Jack Brighton

Copyright Jack Brighton, 2014

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

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

Next Book in the Series - Christmas at The Wild Side Extract

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay BDSM Collection

Men of Power / The Vorinovs Series Extract – Revenge of the Vorinovs

The Nabster SeriesExtract – Nabbed!

OtherBDSM Books Extract – The Full Service

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay Erotica Collection

Erotica Books Extract –Rugger Buggers

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

Chapter 1

It was early December in a wet and chilly London. The build up to Christmas was well underway with the lights in Oxford Street merrily blazing and shoppers going frantic as they searched for presents, resisting the internet for one more day. And for those of an academic persuasion, term time at college was nearing an end with the winter holiday rapidly approaching.

It was the latter that meant more to Michio Harimoto, or Mitch as he preferred to be called outside of his native Japan. His final piece of coursework was due for submission tomorrow, and he’d still quite a bit to do on it. Given the busy schedule that lay ahead, lesser young men would be in a state of panic. But not Mitch. He was the embodiment of serenity as he sat quietly at the kitchen table in the modest flat he shared with two other students. He kept his head bowed as he ate his food, using traditional Japanese chopsticks in an unhurried manner to transfer the tasty morsels that comprised his dinner, from plate to his full-lipped mouth.

At just shy of six feet, Mitch was quite tall for a Japanese man, thanks partly to some rogue American genes that were a heredity gift from an unknown soldier shortly after the war. It was a height which Mitch hoped to one day surpass, although at the age of twenty-one, his chances were fading fast. Having a philosophical mind, it was something he accepted as being in the hands of the gods, whereas his slender build was possible to change, which Mitch had done by working doggedly in the gym to bulk up what nature had given him. So being relatively tall, decidedly hunky, and with a face that married the best of east and west to create an unusual but extremely handsome effect, Mitch Harimoto tended to get noticed. But with the hustle and bustle that was happening elsewhere in the kitchen, one might be forgiven for barely registering the young man, such was his unobtrusive presence.

It was normal for Mitch to be quiet in the flat. He was a student of human nature, as well as Business Studies at London’s Imperial College, and very much liked to observe other people. He also liked to keep quiet when the topic of money was being discussed, because unlike his two fellow student flatmates, Mitch wasn’t struggling to pay the bills. The other lads assumed that this was because he had rich parents in Japan who were financing his studies in England. Mitch preferred not to disillusion them on this matter, as the truth was rather less savoury... although infinitely more interesting.

As he ate his food in typical demure silence, the outstanding coursework was temporarily blanked from his mind. Instead, Mitch continued to listen to the tale of financial woe that had been unfolding for the past ten minutes, whilst raising his eyes without raising his head to look at the narrator with calculated interest.

I’m telling you, Keith. Something has got to change, ranted Harry MacTaggart, as he violently chopped up an onion. Tears from this action were welling in the young Scotsman’s hazel eyes, adding a fake poignancy to his plight. The sods at the bank have refused to lend me any more money. My credit cards are at their limit and there’s no way I can pay the next round of interest charges. Christ only knows where the rent money’s coming from that’s due at the end of the month. I could end up getting turfed out onto the streets if I’m not careful, and that’s hardly the sort of present you want for Christmas. I suppose my folks would foot the bill again, but I hate to ask them for more. And it’s not like they’ve got money to waste on me, like some lucky buggers’ parents ha...

Harry cut himself short and glanced over to Mitch, hoping he hadn’t caused offence with an implication that wasn’t meant to sting. What he saw was a picture of dignified restraint – Mitch continued to eat without betraying a single emotion. Harry found himself surprisingly disappointed – he would have preferred some sort of reaction. Mitch intrigued him on so many levels, and he wished that this unusual and incredibly exotic creature would let down his guard and reveal something of his true self.

Shit a brick, Harry, I didn’t realise it was that bad. Can you not get a part-time job or something? asked Keith, dragging Harry back from his wistful thoughts to the more pertinent topic in hand.

Harry returned his attention to his other flatmate, and smiled at the concern he saw on Keith’s podgy face. It was a face that went well with his podgy body. Fickle nature hadn’t favoured him kindly to begin with, unlike the other flatmate who was fortuitously blessed, and Keith had abandoned long ago any concerns over his looks, preferring the couch and a bag of chips to a workout in the gym. But Keith had a heart of gold and wore that heart on his sleeve, which contrasted him all the more with the secretive Japanese.

I’ve tried looking, but there’s nothing around that would make much of a dent in my debts, replied Harry, Nothing that pays a decent enough wage without having to put in too many hours. My grades are bad enough as it is. I can’t afford to slack off any further.

You need to find yourself a rich woman and become her toy boy, teased Keith.

Harry let out a derisory laugh before answering, Aye – a short-sighted one perhaps – some sad old dear who isn’t over fussy about what she’s seen out with, or what’s humping her in bed in return for his keep. Then he joined Keith in a burst of hilarity at the ridiculousness of the idea, his deep base voice echoing around the room.

Mitch listened to the exchange with interest, and having finished his very nutritious meal, he discreetly watched as Harry busied himself preparing the dinner that both he and Keith would share – pasta with a tomato based sauce which could be rustled up for less than a pound a head. The two British lads usually shared their food, but Mitch made his own culinary arrangements – either dining out in the company of some wealthy admirer, which naturally never cost him a penny, or eating Japanese delicacies at home, the price of which he kept to himself for fear of causing offence.

‘Why was the idea of finding a rich patron so ridiculous?’ wondered Mitch. It seemed a very practical solution to Harry’s problem. And why on earth would the woman need to be short-sighted? As far as Mitch was concerned her vision would be irrelevant, only the patron’s generosity would matter in such an arrangement.

Of course Mitch knew it was a joke – the short-sighted dig that Harry had made at himself. And it was a very poor joke in Mitch’s opinion. It mystified him why Harry berated himself so, but he was constantly putting himself down – saying that he was too big, chunky and ungainly – calling himself an ugly bruiser who could never get himself a woman, or at least one tasty enough that he’d want to be seen with and take to his bed without a bag over her head. It was a ridiculous case of self-depreciation as far as Mitch was concerned. Whilst it was true, that at six foot four, Harry was taller than most other men – but that hardly made him a freakish giant. And yes, he was broad and decidedly chunky, but it was beef, not fat that padded him out, unlike poor Keith who was made primarily of lard.

From under shielded eyes, Mitch studied the man before him with a distant gaze that masked his careful appraisal – an appraisal he had made on many occasions. Harry was far from unattractive as far as Mitch was concerned. Quite the opposite in fact, having the raw materials to make for a very enticing proposition, in Mr Harimoto’s humble opinion. All it needed was for the package to be presented better then carried off with an element of aplomb more fitting of a man his size. Underneath the unruly mop of light brown hair, and behind the untamed mass of facial growth that seemed so popular nowadays, Harry had a ruggedly handsome face, composed of strong fleshy features. He had impressively thick arms and massive hands that looked like they could do some serious damage, though Mitch had never known for Harry to get into a scrap. The shoulders were broad supporting a bullish neck, and the chest was like a barrel padded with natural muscle and covered in a mat of lush brown hair, which Mitch had the pleasure of seeing on a couple of occasions when he’d spotted Harry nipping out of the shower draped only in a towel which had bulged nicely at the front. He had two tree trunks for legs, which on a man his size looked really good. And at the top of these legs, always annoyingly disguised under baggy trousers, was what looked like a first rate ass. Harry’s finest asset as far as Mitch was concerned, and something he’d like to get better acquainted with.

In Mitch’s opinion, Harry’s was a look that might not be fashionable, but it had plenty of appeal to a wide cross section of the population. Despite the teenage preference for waif like youths who populated boy bands and adorned girlish magazines, women were still instinctively drawn to big strong men – the primal need for protection forcing through. With a little effort over his grooming, a big hunk like Harry would have no problem finding a beautiful female mate if he really wanted to.

But did he?

After several months of careful observing since he had moved into this flat, Mitch thought the answer was no. It wasn’t women who found Harry unattractive – it was more likely to be the other way round. A premise that Harry’s next remark seemed to confirm.

Well, I’m desperate enough to try anything, continued Harry. Christ, I’d even go on the game and sell my arse if I thought that it might sort things out.

Don’t be daft, Harry, reprimanded Keith, shocked at such an idea.

Only joking, Harry replied. Then grabbing hold of his big chunky buttocks and giving them a stiff shake, he added, I’d never get away with it! What poof in his right mind would want to have a go at these? Hardly boyish, now are they?

No, agreed Keith, blushing as he looked at the topic under discussion before quickly turning away. Mitch noted the reaction then filed it in his head for future consideration. He was far more interested at present in the chunky orbs which Harry was showing off to devastating effect by stretching his baggy training pants over the bounteous swells and pulling the material into the crack, leaving little to the imagination. Mitch was so impressed by this unheralded vision of masculine allure, it was only when Harry released his grip with a loud laugh at his own joke that Mitch registered the possible significance of Harry’s words.

‘Who would want a go at these?’

Well Mitch could name one eager candidate who was sitting right there in the kitchen, although he thought it best not to volunteer his services and shock his flatmates in the process. Instead he dwelled on what Harry had said…

The way Mitch saw it – this was another example of self-depreciation on the big Scotsman’s part, not realising the worth of what he possessed – assuming that only boyish lads would be desirable to an active gay male. How absurdly naive! But in the joke and its accompanying stereotypical assumption, Mitch wondered if a Freudian slip had been made. Did Harry actually want some man to desire him... and desire him in the active sense, with the hunky big Scotsman acting as the bottom in a fornicating tryst? Mitch had always assumed that if he was correct about Harry’s suppressed sexuality, and the man were to shake off the shackles of his deep-rooted Calvinist repression and engage in gay sex, then he would take on an active role and do the fucking. That was normally the way for someone his size – perhaps putting out occasionally for an equally big man, but usually topping with some smaller guy – a boyish lad! But things were not always simple and straight forward, rigidly following rules of perception – if anyone should know that then it was Mitch Harimoto.

Mitch’s mind was now racing, as was the man’s pulse behind his stoic expression, sending blood with a fury to his stiffening cock. Harry MacTaggart had always interested him, big beefy men being very much Mitch’s type. But now that interest had dramatically increased with this unexpected twist and new outlook on his nature.

But really! What am I going to do? continued Harry, having returned to his culinary preparations. I’m really worried.

Like a good Japanese boy, Mitch said nothing at that moment. Instead he bundled the conversation up and placed it away in a compartment of his mind, to be opened and considered at another time, just like his outstanding course assignment. There were other things he needed to concern himself with now. But to Harry and his problem, Mitch would most certainly return.

Chapter 2

Two hours later, in the fetish room of The Wild Side, London’s most exclusive and debauched gay nightclub - the quiet and demure, Mitch Harimoto, the unobtrusive Japanese boy that most gay eyes in London saw as the embodiment of the submissive oriental of so many western men’s wet dreams, had transformed himself into his alter ego - the far from submissive, Master Michio-sama, who also featured in many men’s wet dreams. Dressed in a sort of kimono which was far from authentic in design, with tailoring to reveal rather than modestly cover, Mitch was taking part in a spoof production that would never hit the West End.

‘Kill Billy’ was the title and Mitch was the principal assassin. But number one boss of the Yakuza, O-Ren Ishii from the parodied film, he was most certainly not. Lucy Lui, who had played that role, would have killed herself laughing if she had to witness the opening scenes, then no doubt would have called for her lawyers if she had stayed around for the concluding act.

Putting another of his many talents into practice, Mitch was engaging in a mock martial arts fight. As he made his moves with more flair than his opponents, the immodest kimono he was wearing conveniently parted to show off most of his muscular chest. It was a chest that was smooth,