In X Change

By Jack Brighton

So what would you give in exchange?
Well that would depend on in exchange for what.
In exchange for time is the answer. You need to buy time. The time of a powerful and influential man. The time to convince him not to scupper the biggest deal of your life – one that would earn you a ticket to the millionaires club.
You’d give him your own time – that’s a fair trade. But what else would you give him in exchange for the lifestyle you always dreamed of, and practically tasted having assumed the deal was in the bag? ...Your body ...Your suffering ...Your dignity ...Or perhaps you’d give him your mind.
What to give and how far to go? That’s the dilemma Max Cromwell faces. He’s an unscrupulous salesman from INX, who supply IT solutions to the global finance sector. Based in The City of London, to the backdrop of St Paul’s Cathedral, Max is challenged like never before when a man called Aksel Larsen takes him on in the game of... In X Change.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firm Hand Books
• Release date: Feb 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310066689

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

In X Change

(Flaming Hot Gay BDSM)

By Jack Brighton

Copyright Jack Brighton, 2016

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

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay BDSM Collection

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

HisNemesis Trilogy Extract – His Nemesis

The Beauville TrilogyExtract – The Pilot’s Surrender

OtherBDSM Books Extract – Loaded

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay Erotica Collection

Erotica Books Extract –Part of the Job

About the Author

Chapter 1

The City of London, January 2016

BLOODY HELL!

Too rough?

There was no immediate answer. The man leaning against the wall was gulping in air, muscles violently clenching as he tried to deal with the blast of pain that had just ripped through his body. He banged his brow against the back of his hands, head-butting a frantic rhythm that eventually slowed down. Then with the hurt still etched on his deeply freckled face, he looked over his shoulder with awe in his eyes. Don’t be daft, Max. It felt brilliant, mate. Always does. That cock of yours is something else. Finest piece of meat I’ve ever had the pleasure of. There’s nothing that beats the feel of it getting rammed right up my arse.

I’m glad to hear it, Fergal. And I’m always happy to oblige.

That was as much praise Max Cromwell would give, and a lot more than most men ever got from him. It wasn’t his style to gush like Fergal Flannigan, throwing around flattery as if it were confetti at a wedding. And anyway – he would be lying if he told him the admiration was mutual. Fergal was all right, reasonably good looking and a nice enough guy, but he wasn’t up to the standard Max would normally pull on a Saturday night and take home for a few hours of steamy fornication. The reality was, Max wouldn’t look twice at someone like Fergal unless there was an underhand agenda inspiring him to do so. There was the auburn hair for one thing, which was a bit too bright for Max’s liking. The face was okay if you overlooked all those freckles, but it showed his gratitude far too easily, which was always a bit of a turn off during sex. And while he had a reasonable upper body from what Max could gather, never having seen the majority of it naked, it was always hidden under baggy shirts rather than a slim-fit cut, implying there wasn’t much in the way of muscle worth flaunting - and pumped up muscle was essential for a grade A shag in Max’s opinion. Admittedly Fergal’s ass was up to scratch: pale fleshy buns that were pleasantly plump and perfect for slamming into; and a deliciously deep crack that needed plenty of spreading to reveal the pink starburst of a hole it contained. It looked really sweet, and it was great to be inside – wonderfully lively, and very receptive to a violent entry, pulsing like crazy around the plundering meat. So while Fergal was officially in a lower league, it was hardly a trial for Max to screw the young Irishman.

If he was to be frankly honest, Fergal was actually a bit of a godsend. Easily the best available when Mr Cromwell had cast his discerning eye around the bank three months ago and decided on his target: physically acceptable, with a very good ass; still in his twenties, which was a key thing for Max; and most important of all – he was involved in the evaluation of the IT systems the bank were considering for a global rollout to replace their out-dated in-house software. They met one morning during a routine sales call, and by the end of the day Max had buggered Fergal twice – gently to begin with, and then really rough, realising that’s what the Irishman liked.

Max had been screwing him ever since, making a point of doing so at least once a week, which tallied up to quite a few shags – certainly more than anyone else had ever got from the promiscuously non-committal Mr Cromwell. There were no illusions about them being boyfriends or anything daft like that. They just fucked every now and again – here at the bank, in the oddest of places. This morning they were in a cubicle, in a basement toilet that was rarely ever used. Like always, there had been no messing about with kisses or foreplay. The jackets were hung up, trousers came down, a few seconds of fingering with a slathering of spit, then Max’s hard cock went straight up the Irishman in one violent thrust – Fergal facing the wall as usual.

At least he had been facing the wall until that look over his shoulder.

Max eased the head round to its proper position – grateful eyes facing away so he wouldn’t have to see them. Then he slowly withdrew his impressively large erection from Fergal’s vandalised guts, watching the meat as it reappeared, dragging a fair part of Irish chute along with it. He pulled it all the way out, leaving the knob at the gaping hole which whorishly tried to slurp him back in. Refusing to oblige, Max teasingly prodded. It was a way of control, reminding Fergal who was in charge. It also felt good – the knob being the most sensitive part of the cock, and the ring being the tightest part of the ass. So Max focused his attention on those two things, stabbing at the hole with his tingling helmet, then sliding his meat partially back in, as far as the prostate which he rode with his cockhead.

So when will I be told the good news? Max asked, as Fergal softly groaned.

Erm…

Max froze. Erm! What the fuck does that mean?

Is there a problem, Fergal?

I’ll tell you later.

Tell me now! demanded Max with a brutal thrust, slamming his groin into the Irishman’s buttocks and grinding at the flesh.

Oh fuck, yeah! That’s the business, panted Fergal as he gyrated his hips, stirring his innards with Max’s big fleshy stick.

Max allowed him a moment before pulling his cock back out. Then he used the hard shaft to slap Fergal’s buns. I want to know now. What’s happening? Has something gone wrong?

Please, Max. Can’t you just fuck me for once without interrogating me at the same time?

Ouch! That was a bit below the belt.

But it was a fair comment. They both knew fine well that’s why Max had been screwing him – to get information – before, after, and most of all during the sex, as the threat of Max stopping always worked wonders on making Fergal yap. And boy did he yap when Max was humping him – he would sing like a canary to keep Cromwell at it. He’d told the unscrupulous salesman all sorts of things – information that gave Max the inside track in the evaluation process, and a big advantage over his competitors. Fergal wasn’t very senior, and had little strategic influence, but he was involved fulltime on the project and knew pretty much everything that was happening. He’d pointed out all the key issues facing the bank, and what was needed from IT to meet its business goals; given insights into how the decision makers were leaning, and what was required to sway them in Max’s favour. It was arguably unethical on Mr Cromwell’s part, but all is fair in corporate war is it not, and Fergal certainly wasn’t complaining. In exchange for information he was getting the finest piece of meat he’d ever had the pleasure of – grade A cock on a grade A guy, ploughing him and breeding him on a regular basis, hard and dirty in places like the basement, the best sex he was ever likely to get.

Normally Max wouldn’t stoop so low, but the deal was just too big. A global systems replacement that would come with an eight figure price tag, and for a salesman on an un-capped salary plan giving 5% commission on products, and 3% on services - that meant a scarily large amount of money was at stake. Max could be looking at a million quid over the course of the two year project.

Too much money to take any chances with, and this week was supposed to be decision time. The preferred supplier would be announced quite soon, and unless the bank made a very odd decision, or a major cock-up took place during the five day workshop that would then ensue, the preferred supplier would get the business, and the salesman involved would be rolling in clover.

Logic said it should be INX, with a ticket to untold riches for Max. And at the end of last week Fergal had unofficially informed him that the deal was in the bag, and only required rubber-stamping at head office. That should have been a formality. The boys in Copenhagen would do what London wanted. Copenhagen dealt with retail banking for the local Danish market, whereas London was the headquarters for global treasury, and treasury made the vast majority of the bank’s profits. It would be insane for head office to go against the London decision.

Max had tasted the cash, and stupidly broke a golden rule – he’d spent the weekend mentally spending the money before the deal was done and dusted with signatures on contracts. But it was in the bag! He’d been assured of this by his inside man. So why not take that Porsche he’d always wanted for a test drive, or view a few fabulous flats in Earls Court. This evasion on Fergal’s part was worrying, however. Had some sort of problem cropped up that needed his attention?

Trying to keep calm, Max pushed his cock back inside the Irishman and gave Fergal what he’d asked for – a few minutes of fucking without any questions, sliding luxuriously in and out of him, knowing that he liked a bit of tender stuff before the animalistic rutting took place. He even added a little affection, nuzzling Fergal’s neck, nibbling the flesh, while his hand reached round to grapple with a pec, which was something Max had never bothered with before, assuming he wouldn’t find anything worthwhile there. Surprisingly, it felt quite nice – firmer and bulkier than Max would have expected. There was hair under the shirt as well. Quite a lot of the stuff, which wasn’t necessarily to Max’s taste. He preferred his men to be totally smooth, or closely trimmed if they wanted some body hair, but not an untamed jungle like Fergal boasted. It still felt quite nice, though, and made for a bit of a change. So casting his predilection aside, Max unfastened a button and slipped his hand inside, finding a nipple hiding in the fur and giving it a soft tweak.

Still leisurely humping him, Max then restated his question, as there was no way he was ever going to hold it back. I can sense there’s something up. What is it, Fergal?

There was no verbal response. Instead, Fergal swayed his ass and purred like a cat, relishing this unexpected treat of having his body played with by Max.

The salesman wasn’t best pleased by the refusal to answer. Fergal! he snarled.

I said, I’ll tell you later.

The nipple was clamped down on and violently twisted. Tell me now! insisted Max.

Shit! That hurt... Now stop being such a bastard and fuck me, would you.

Max felt a growing panic – a very rare thing for him when he was shafting someone, but it was there and growing stronger. There was definitely a problem – something that Fergal didn’t want to tell him. This was so not good. Max saw a mountain of banknotes piled high before him, proper banknotes with an old queen’s face on them – a million pounds worth of the wonderful things, and some bastard was setting fire to them, which