Pop My Cherry Ass: Volume 3 Popping the Straight Guys

By Jack Brighton

Three more cherry popping tales with an interesting twist. Three very different young men lose their anal virginity in very different circumstances. But they all share one thing in common - each is straight and not overly happy about the situation that they find themselves in...
First up we have Andy, a very unlucky gambler. He needed to borrow ten grand so he could call a hand at poker. A telephone call finds a mysterious backer who requires an interesting piece of collateral in the event the debt cannot be repaid. Sadly for Andy he loses the hand and the following night has to repay the debt by offering up his straight cherry ass. But it's far from straight forward with twelve men in attendance all hoping to win it, and Andy is on the table which acts like a sort of roulette wheel. Spin after spin brings new levels of excitement, until the final spin gives the ultimate prize to a very happy winner.
Next we have Mark who desperately wants a job in sales with a company where the sky is the limit for earnings. His boss is a legend in his field - a man that Mark practically hero-worships. And the job is his, but on one condition... That would be another straight cherry that gets popped.
Finally there is John Boy from Essex. He's a good looking lad with the gift of the gab who has just arrived in the Greek island of Rhodes, off to Faliraki for a week of booze and sex. Sadly a sniffer dog has his number at customs and John is subjected to a body search. It's just a bit of blow, but that won't matter if the package is found. Six months in a Greek jail is the minimum sentence for bringing drugs into the country. But one young officer has an alternative suggestion - one that his superior must be kept in the dark about. What a cunning plan that officer hatches to enjoy his taste of straight boy cherry!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firm Hand Books
• Release date: Sep 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311112903

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

Pop My Cherry Ass

Volume 3 - Popping the Straight Guys

(Flaming Hot Gay Erotica)

By Jack Brighton

Copyright Tom Farrell aka 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

A Straight Cherry for the Bet

A Straight Cherry for the Job

A Straight Cherry for the Blow

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Erotica Collection

Erotica Extract –Naxos

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot BDSM Collection

BDSM Series Extract – Welcome to The Wild Side

BDSM Book Extract –Enslaving Jake

About the Author

A Straight Cherry for the Bet

So how much would you bet? How big a gamble would you take?

It’s all relative I suppose: on what sort of man you happen to be; your background and nature and all that sort of crap; whether you’ve got the balls to take a chance… and then there are the cards you happen to be holding if poker is your vice of choice.

Nothing is a certainty in poker, except for a Royal Flush, which might not guarantee a winning the hand, but at least it can’t be beaten. Otherwise there is the possibility that someone at the table is holding better than you. So other than that freak hand that only happens in the movies, there is always a gamble, and you have to ask… Given the cards and the situation, how much are you prepared to bet?

There are guys who can actually tell you the odds. With brains like computers, they can work it out based on the cards being held and what might be on show elsewhere. They could tell you what the chances are with five other players and any number of them having folded. But it’s not a precise science where mathematicians rule the roost. Poker is a game of risk and bluff where steady nerves, good acting skills, and balls of steel come in handy. As does an understanding of human nature. The odds are important, but so is the look in the other player’s eyes, the confidence you see, a nervous twitch perhaps, or the guy’s reputation if you’re privy to that.

I’d never met this bloke before, so I didn’t know anything about his reputation. But we’d been playing at the same table for over an hour and he’d been losing heavily, much of his money flowing in my direction. A final hand was underway and now things were coming to a crux, with tension heavy in the smoke filled air as the stakes were raised to a scary level. He was still in the game but looking genuinely anxious – sweat forming on his frowning brow. I reckoned he was bluffing in a desperate attempt to turn his night around. That’s why he raised yet again and dared me and the other guy still in the game to follow. Well I was holding strong – queens full of sixes, so even if he wasn’t bluffing, the odds were stacked heavily in my favour.

I followed, matching his bet, which pretty much cleaned me out. But from what I could see, there wasn’t the cash to go another round at this level, so I reckoned I was safe enough. There was over forty grand in the pot – and that’s an awful lot of money to walk away from. But guessing rightly that at least one of us wasn’t bluffing, the third guy still holding folded.

Now there were only two of us – me and Mr Bluffer who was on a losing streak. My face was a mask, praying that he’d follow - fold and cut his losses leaving me with the pot. Forty grand! I had come here with less than two grand in my pocket – everything I had having cashed in my wages and paid the rent in advance. I could walk away with thirty-eight grand profit – not something to be sneezed at when you’re finances are in dire straits. Mine certainly were and I needed that money. I needed my two grand to see me through the month, for food and general expense, although in reality most would probably be used as a stake for another night at the tables. And I needed the extra cash for so many other things – regaining my dignity being the general umbrella they could all sit under.

‘Fold! Fold! The bluff failed, so you have to fold,’ I mentally told him.

Then the idiot only took out a chequebook! I looked at it incredulously. Who the fuck has one of those nowadays? Well this chancer had one and he’d brought it along with him. He scribbled in some details then threw his cheque in the pot.

Ten grand, he said. I’ll raise you ten grand. The management know I’m good for it.

All eyes at the table moved to Billy Norris who was standing discreetly at a distance. The casino manager had come into the private room a few minutes earlier having heard that there was a big pot at stake. He was there to keep an eye on things and call in security if there was any bother, like this chancer getting all upset when he lost that pot.

Billy nodded his head. The house will cover it. Consider it as cash, Andy.

This was good, but also very bad. An extra ten grand! The pot now stood at over fifty grand. Twelve of it was mine admittedly – the two that I’d come with and the ten that I’d won. Now I could walk out of here with fifty grand. That’s the sort of money that could turn my life around. The only problem was – I’d already bet almost everything. With a full house, queens full of sixes, and an asshole who was on a losing streak and clearly desperate – of course I’d bet the lot. But now I had a problem – I didn’t have the collateral to call the bluff.

Billy – I need you to do the same for me. I want to see what he’s holding.

Billy shook his head. I can’t do that, Andy. I know you can’t cover it if you lose the hand, and I’d lose my job if I cost the house ten grand.

I doubted whether Billy would have got the chop – he’s too good at his job, which is why he refused. He’s a student of people, gamblers in particular, and of course he was dead right about me. I wasn’t good for the ten grand like the other guy clearly was.

Gambling had pretty much cleaned me out. I had no credit with the banks having had my accounts frozen. I’d lost my house, and with it my wife. In the movies they throw in the car keys at this moment in time, but my old banger in the car park would only fetch fifty quid if it was sold for scrap, so no point going for that piece of drama. There was no Rolex on my wrist like there was when I got married – that got forfeited with a losing hand years ago. There wasn’t a friend I could call who would lend me money. I already owed them all so much – not that they viewed themselves as friends any more. That’s what gambling does – it can cost you your life.

But I could win it all back – or at least some form of a life where I had dignity again. I could pay off those debts and have plenty left over. Get a decent flat that I could take a woman back to, and a car I wouldn’t mind being seen around town in. I could have my life back – hold my head high. If only I could call the bastard – call his bluff and lift that pot.

Please, Billy.

Of course I couldn’t show him my hand, but he obviously knew that it was worth a risk. I could feel my heart pumping as I looked at him, entreating with my eyes. Then he got out his mobile and made a discreet call. His voice was kept low, but I managed to make a few things out: my name for one thing, ‘Andy Carter’; and a lowdown that made little sense to me at the time, ‘late twenties, light brown hair, five day stubble, same sort of face and build as Paul Wagner,’ being how Billy described me. It took a few anxious minutes before the call was ended then Billy announced, The house will cover it.

Thanks, Billy! Thanks! I gasped, my heart now racing ten to the dozen.

On one condition.

What? I asked.

The answer was whispered into my ear: an unusual piece of collateral that admittedly I could afford. I looked at Billy in amazement, but didn’t say anything. He simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. It was my choice, he was telling me. No one was pressurising me. And what did it matter if I was so sure I’d win?

How much would you bet when there was nothing else left?

Well I bet something that I thought I’d never lose.

And guess what! The bluffer wasn’t bluffing – he was holding kings full of fours.

***

Andy! Come in! Come in! said a deep gruff voice.

With a nudge from Billy I stepped gingerly forward. It was the following evening and I was back in the casino at the threshold of another private room and the most daunting experience of my life. I’d tried to reason, but Billy was adamant in the politest of terms – if I didn’t go through with this then I knew the alternative: I’d be taking my balls home with me in my pocket having had them removed along with several teeth. The man who’d kindly covered my bet would settle for nothing less.

The room I entered was untypically typical for a casino, if that makes any sense. It was dark, very dark, with a single spotlight beaming downwards onto a low circular table that resembled a roulette wheel, only this was divided into twelve sectors that were numbered 0-11: the six odd numbers were black and alternated with the five even numbers that were red and the zero that was white. I couldn’t see anything else other than layers of smoke floating in the beamed light. But I could sense there were more people in the room other than the owner of that deep gruff voice. Twelve sectors on the board – so that probably meant twelve players at the table. Life is a gamble, and tonight I was the prize.

Billy led me to the table where I was blinded for a moment by the harshness of the spotlight falling on it.

I’ll leave you to it, Andy, said Billy quietly in my ear. And remember, whatever you might think, this is by far the lesser of the two evils, so just grin and bear it, mate.

Then he walked away and closed the door behind him. It wasn’t Billy’s style to hang around and eavesdrop, but I knew there would be two other charming gentlemen outside – the couple of bruisers who had brought me here tonight and would take care of