Reaching for The Wild Side

By Jack Brighton

George Thornton is a very lucky man - or so you might think. His rather ordinary life in sleepy Torquay was turned upside down when he scooped the jackpot in the Euro Millions lottery. With two hundred of those euro millions to spend, he relocated to London, bought a very grand property in Kensington, a couple of flash cars to drive around town in, and all the other usual trappings of fortune. But despite his new wealth there was something missing. George wanted to find a whole new way of life, and thanks to a hustler who knew about such things, he was told where to go and who could help him.
The place of course is The Wild Side - the most exclusive and raunchiest gay club in town. And the man is no other than Angus MacLeod, the owner of this illustrious establishment.
It's the start of an adventure for amiable George who wants to do more than play at the club - he wants to become a fully fledged master, owning the best slaves that money can buy. He obviously has the collateral to afford them, but sadly for George he doesn't have the credentials in the eyes of the gay slave trade's governing body - The Guild of Masters. But Angus takes a liking to George and decides to help his cause. Of course 'The Master of The Wild Side', who is also a master of manipulation, has his own agenda in wanting to help.
A stay at Bears Den, a slave training camp that MacLeod owns, is the first step proposed. It's there that George can learn what it takes to be a master, while the reader can catch up with the successful candidates from 'Boot Camp Week' and see how things have progressed after their first month of formal training. It's not just George who is 'Reaching for The Wild Side' - those twelve trainees are reaching as well, hoping for the life of their dreams, which could well involve a Euro millionaire, who's easy on the eye and a bit of a stud once he gets going. But of course Angus MacLeod is also reaching for something, and that means there has to be a big twist, which come in the form of an established character who gets to share the starring role in this tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firm Hand Books
• Release date: May 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311732804

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

Reaching for The Wild Side

A Tale from The Wild Side

(Flaming Hot Gay BDSM)

By Jack Brighton

Copyright Jack Brighton, 2015

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

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Next Book in the Series - Look to The Wild Side Extract

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay BDSM Collection

His Nemesis Trilogy Extract – His Nemesis

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

Other BDSM Books Extract – Burning Fire

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay Erotica Collection

Erotica Books Extract –Deeper

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

Cowboys!

Cowboys with their asses nicely bared and temptingly presented for a good ol’ shafting.

It was hardly original. But given the quality of the flesh and the clever arrangement, and the fact that his cock was stiffening fast, it was undoubtedly very enticing. So in that respect, the owner of The Wild Side, Big Bad Angus MacLeod, had no cause for complaint with this latest offering from his Fallen Angel. But was there mischief going on that might raise complaints from some of his illustrious members?

Of course there was.

There was mischief aplenty.

MacLeod knew the man who’d commissioned this Fantasy Zone set – a distinguished peer of the realm no less, whose lineage stretched back to the mad King George. George III that was, who owed much of his madness to the loss of some land: 13 colonies on the other side of the pond that went on to do quite well for themselves. And with the 4th of July only two days away, one might think there was a bit of historical resentment going on, with the bitter descendant seeking a bizarre kind of revenge. Cowboys are hot, and they are also iconic – symbols of the new world that are still important today, copied by many, and lusted after by even more. So what better way to symbolically turn the tables on the victorious Patriots, a bunch of gun-slinging cowboys who defied the British Crown, than by bringing the Wild West to The Wild Side in London, and screw the Americans on their Independence Day?

Bad!

And potentially offensive in these politically correct times.

As was the half-smile that broke out on MacLeod’s face to soften the severity of the Scotsman’s gruff features. There was no malice, however, in the smile or the set. It was bad, but in a good way – a tongue in cheek joke, rather than a nasty piece of symbolic vendetta. There were a few members of The Wild Side who might try that sort of shit, but not Micky Cunningham, or Lord Michael as some people preferred to call him. He was one of the good guys in MacLeod’s discerning books. A fun loving man who couldn’t abide snobbery, despite the blue blood that flowed through his veins and having a mad king for an ancestor.

With this piece of knowledge that the club owner had, MacLeod felt relaxed as he took a moment to appraise the set. He’d seen it already on Saturday, but that had only been a cursory glance – the cowboys proving to be very popular on the club’s busiest night, so he’d decided not to join in on the riding. He preferred it like now, during the week when the club was quieter, so he could take his time to admire and enjoy, and even indulge in a little bit of chat – the personal touch being appreciated by his lads.

It was a simple set this week: Six tasty looking cowboys in various states of dress. All wearing boots and cowboy hats, some in chaps and others in jeans, with rips and gaps in all the right places. It was based around a corral, with rodeo action being played on a big screen, which some of the cowboys were watching.

MacLeod approached one of his employees, recognising the view, and very much liking it. He was sitting on the corral fence, facing away, presenting a rear that was pleasing to the eye. He’d removed his red shirt which lay draped to the side, to bare a fine-looking V-shaped back where muscles rippled under deeply tanned skin. A brown leather belt matched his brown leather boots, and the brown calfskin gloves in the back pocket of his jeans. The jeans were sky-blue and had a rip down the middle, exposing his genitals which were trapped behind the fence, and the crack of his butt which was spread just enough to offer a sighting of his glistening asshole.

The fence was chest high, which meant the asshole was as well. But a bale of straw had been placed conveniently behind, which would sort out any alignment issues with the startlingly large and very hard cock that MacLeod removed from his trousers. Standing on the bale, shaft in hand, the boss teased for a moment by rubbing the end of his plum-sized knob against the cowboy’s inverted glans, mingling juices in a penile kiss. Another smile cut his face as he saw the cowboy’s cock stiffen, inching downwards into a very fine length, straining awkwardly against the wooden fence, but refusing to halt its advance. That was good – this was a lad who clearly enjoyed his job and was looking forward to the fucking he was about to get.

Looking forward to giving it to him, Macleod dragged his knob upwards, leaving a trail of silvery pre-cum along the cowboy’s bulging tube. He paused at the balls to give them a teasing slap, adding an edge with some testicular pain which he knew for a fact that this cowboy quite liked. He didn’t hurt him too much though, which was only right and proper given the nature of the man’s job – he was paid to be fucked, not hurt and abused. And with that in mind, MacLeod moved his eager member a little further up, settling his drooling knob over the man’s pucker which whorishly pulsed in anticipation.

It’s Brett, isn’t it – Brett from Canada. Which makes you the closest we’ve got to an actual cowboy, now that Texan Tex has shot the crow and buggered off back to the States, said MacLeod.

Brett didn’t answer immediately. He was too busy moaning as his guts were stuffed by a familiar mass of hard living meat, the boss sliding into him, leisurely feeding him his considerable length while his hands came round to grapple a pair of beefy pecs.

That’s right, Mr MacLeod, Brett eventually replied as he anally clenched to enhance both their pleasure. I’m the only North American working in the club at present. And I was raised on a farm, so I’m a cowboy of sorts.

The genuine article! That got the pulse racing and the hips doing some thrusting, rousing MacLeod to set off on his fucking. Not that he needed much in the way of added inspiration. Brett had become something of a favourite – one of the few house slaves the boss actively sought out when he came to his club. He gave a really good ride and seemed like such a nice guy – big and hunky, the way MacLeod liked them, and in no way arrogant about his stunning good looks. He was the sort of man that MacLeod wouldn’t mind owning: physically fine and a hell of a good shag; a personable lad who would fit into the household without putting anybody’s nose out of joint. The timing was potentially right as well, with a couple of contracts coming to an end quite soon. Something to think about and perhaps make some plans for – or at least test the waters on a number of fronts.

I hope you’re not intending to move back to Canada in the near future, asked the multi-tasking boss, mixing a little scheming with his good-natured fornication.

No way, sir. I’ll be hanging around London as long as you want me here.

It was an interesting answer, referring to the man and not his club, something that was noted but not picked up on. You’ve only been with us for six months. I’m sure the members aren’t tiring of you yet, so I wouldn’t worry about that, assured MacLeod – although he was aware there was a chance this might not actually be the case. The members expected a constant turnover, with tasty fresh meat being regularly brought in for them to carnally feast on. Some of the favourites might last beyond two years, but those were few and far between, with several being dropped after only a few months. He was on holiday at present, but as soon as he was back, it would be best to have a word with Mr Charles, just in case the club’s manager was thinking of replacing this very fine piece of prime Alberta beef. There was no way the owner would let that happen – not for a while at any rate.

Yes – there was a chance the members might be tiring of him, but Angus MacLeod certainly wasn’t. He could happily fuck this man every day for the foreseeable future, which was a definite requirement of a potential new slave. There were other requirements that Brett failed to meet, but those could always be taken care of, courtesy of Bears Den – a slave training camp in Kent that the boss also owned.

With his mind racing and his cock busy at work, another visitor to the Fantasy Zone wasn’t immediately noticed. It took MacLeod a few seconds to sense the presence, and a few seconds more to realise who it was – the man’s rich musky scent being sufficient clue.

Ralph! Are you going to join in and ride a few cowboys, or are you just going to stand there and watch the maestro in action?

Who said I was watching, you arrogant Jock?

MacLeod looked over his shoulder and smiled at his friend – another man he could happily fuck every day, although sadly there was no chance of that ever happening – not with a certified top like Ralph Daley who wouldn’t part his cheeks for love nor money. I could feel your beady eyes staring at my dick, he told him, making it sound like an accusation.

Only because it was ploughing that fine looking ass.

MacLeod scowled, engaging in the game that they frequently played. Get away with yourself, man. I’m far from convinced. I can smell your need for me. You’ll never admit it, but I know you’d sooner be in Brett’s place than mine… Anyway, do you fancy a turn? At Brett’s arse I mean. It is very fine, and I’m really enjoying my ride, but it’s only fair that I spread myself around and give some other men the benefit of what you’re too proud to ask for.

I wanted a word.

Aye, you mentioned on the phone. A word in private. All very mysterious. But I’m sure it can wait for a few more minutes. And now that you’re here, Barry would be offended if you didn’t take advantage of his latest creation.

Barry was Ralph’s slave and MacLeod’s Fallen Angel: a very hunky young lad who worked at the club designing the Fantasy Zones sets. MacLeod had met the pair of them on Christmas Eve, the same night that Brett had come to his attention, so in a way this was quite a little reunion, with Barry being here as well in a sense through the fruits of his labour.

Okay, Angus… If you insist, said a grinning Ralph Daley, taking a step forward and reaching for his flies. There was a time when such an act would be unthinkable, but thankfully the days of fidelity to his only slave were now in the distant past.

Despite the earlier teasing, Ralph watched as MacLeod withdrew his dick, admiring the erection that was eventually freed. With any other master he would have averted his eyes – the macho pride he’d been accused of coming into play. But with MacLeod there was no shame in the feelings that were inspired by the penile splendour the big Jock boasted. They knew each other far too well to be bothered by such stuff, regularly teaming up to share their slaves, and openly talking about their interesting sex lives. There was mutual attraction in an odd sort of way, but it rarely went further than watching each other, with the occasional grope or fleeting suck during a bout of steamy group sex. But never ever a sniff of a fuck – their masterful asses being totally off limits to anyone other than their doctor.

Equally comfortable with his unrequited desire, MacLeod watched as his friend took out his hard cock – a fine piece of meat that was almost the rival of his own. Making way, he continued to gaze with a huge smile on his face, as Ralph got on the bale and treated himself by burying his dick in the vacated hole and grinding against Brett’s denim clad buns before thrusting in and out, screwing the lad with no small amount of vigour.

Bugger off, you old pervert, Ralph snapped as he fucked. You’re putting me off by standing there watching.

Aye, that’ll be right, chuckled MacLeod, knowing fine well this was total nonsense. A stampede of wild horses wouldn’t put you off riding that boy’s arse. But I’ll bugger off anyway, as I want to do some more buggering of my own.

Still chuckling, MacLeod scanned the nearest options. There were a couple of cowboys to either side of Brett - one of whom he recognised, although not so well that he could put a name to the man. He was leaning on the fence with his dark blue jeans hitched around his thighs, combining with a matching waistcoat to make a denim frame of his smooth peachy ass. It looked mighty tempting and MacLeod decided to give it a poke, thrusting in and out for a couple of minutes, unconsciously matching Ralph’s feisty tempo. It was highly enjoyable – someone he’d undoubtedly screwed before, but MacLeod had no issue with doing repeats when the quality of flesh was as good as this. Without any competition he would happily come inside this familiar man, but he soon moved over to the other side of Brett, finding the stranger that was there a more appealing prospect.

This man was naked apart from his cowboy hat and boots. The right boot was on the ground, with the left one resting on the first rung of the fence, spreading his legs along with his ass. The man was leaning with his right forearm on top of the fence, while reaching behind with the other hand to pull on his left buttock and spread his crack even wider, offering up his hole which was ringed with black fur.

Nice!

Not everyone’s cup of tea, but MacLeod really liked it, preferring his men to be butch and rugged, especially when they were pretending to be a cowboy. That ring of anal hair was decidedly manly. As was the patch of black tufts on his lower back, and the pelt that covered most of his sturdy legs and drifted into his parted crack and coated his pair of low-hanging balls. The chest he couldn’t see, but there would be hair there as well – something that MacLeod would confirm in a moment when he had a good feel of the frontage. And to add to the rough rugged attraction, the cowboy’s face was there to be seen looking over his left shoulder - a manly face that showed a bit of maturity, sporting a few lines and plenty of black stubble, with a challenging look in his dark sultry eyes.

That was good! That was very, very, good. Charles had done well to find such a man who didn’t fit the mould of smooth chiselled perfection that most of the workers fell into. And Barry was learning how to provocatively tease, as even this rare breed of house slave wouldn’t dare offer up a look like that without instruction – at least not if he wanted to keep his job and the skin on his broad manly back.

No pleasantries. No chat. No ‘Howdy stranger, let’s get real friendly!’ Having took in the splendour, MacLeod positioned his knob at the fur ringed hole, then gazing at the eyes he drove brutally in, stuffing the man to the gunnels.

Wow!

Now that wasn’t nice – it was knee-tremblingly brilliant. MacLeod wallowed in the buzz of exhilaration as the man’s impaled guts convulsed around his shaft. He gloried in the warmth, the tightness and the life as the bowels tried to cope with the violence of the entry and the size of the thing that had been rammed inside them. Deeply rooted, MacLeod reached round on the right and was pleased to find a good-sized cock that was standing to attention and juicy at the end. So this was a man who enjoyed a bit of roughness, which was just as well, as that’s what he’d be getting. Roaming his hand upwards, MacLeod’s pleasure was enhanced by the wealth of frontal hair, first feeling it on the stomach and then the meaty chest. He went back to the cock to gather some of its juice, bringing it to his mouth to have a taste. Delicious it was: strong and tangy, like well matured hooch. No question about it, this was a man all right – a big hairy man, not some smooth pretty boy, and MacLeod was enjoying every aspect of him. Even the smell of him was pitched just right, with a suggestion of the ranch and a hard day in the saddle lingering on the body. But the best part of all was the look in those eyes. ‘You can use me’ they said, ‘but only on my terms. Now on you go and give me the hard fucking that I definitely deserve.’

And that’s what MacLeod did. No frills or subtlety or attempt to impress. He just rode the rugged cowboy hell for leather, hammering into him, revelling in the feel of his masculine body, thrilled to the high heavens by the look in those eyes – a look that he’d pay a small fortune to own, but knew for certain he could never do so. All he could have was this fleeting pleasure. Not because the man would refuse to be his slave – if he was prepared to whore himself at The Wild Side, then he would have a price on a few years of total servitude that MacLeod could definitely afford. But he couldn’t buy this man because he owned someone else, and he would never upset his favourite slave with competition like this. It would ruin the harmony of the household, and endanger the thing that MacLeod held dearest – his relationship with an Irishman called Paddy McGuire.

A fleeting pleasure was the limit, and that’s what MacLeod had. Hard and fast, and a hell of a good ride – living for the moment, forgetting all else, including the man who was rutting beside him, and the other two masters that came to join the Wild West party. He fucked and he bucked, revelling in the pureness of the fornication, conjoining with a man he knew little about other than the splendour of his rugged body and the boldness in those eyes that never diminished, refusing to cower as he was brutally screwed.

A few wonderful minutes was all it lasted. Trying to spin it out would have diluted the pleasure, which was raw and intense and all consuming. A few minutes of frantic non-stop rutting then the Master of The Wild Side roared to the rafters as his bull-sized balls contracted and blasted. He buried his dick all the way in, holding the man’s hips as he impaled him fully. His legs were shaking as the spunk spurted out, drenching the man’s guts with the volume of release. More