Unmasking the Master: Book Three in the Ring of Sodom Trilogy

By Jack Brighton

Gomorrah is unique as a country, in that all the inhabitants are homosexual. And after centuries of selective breeding, promoting very desirable traits, most of the inhabitants are incredibly fine physical specimens. Not only do they look great, but the men have unusually high sex-drives, which their culture encourages to be fully expressed.
Not surprisingly, Hunter Conway very much enjoyed his first three days in the country, with one man in particular making a big impression. And the man continues to impress in true Gomorrahen style, but has to back off for a while. In the final part of the Ring of Sodom trilogy, Hunter must confront a masked man known as the master, who has a hidden lair and an extensive harem of foreign slaves. It’s quite a show the master puts on for his hunky young guest, and Hunter takes full advantage. But it’s more than the master he has to deal with. Hunter must come to terms with himself, and this is the opportunity to do so.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firm Hand Books
• Release date: Jun 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463999943

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

Unmasking the Master

Book Three in the Ring of Sodom Trilogy

By Jack Brighton

Copyright Jack Brighton, 2019

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

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

Hunter Conway had spent his third night in Gomorrah, and a pattern seemed to be emerging with the process of waking up. It involved warm breath on the nape of his neck, a furry chest pressed against his back, an arm wrapped over him with the hand at the end softly massaging his muscular pecs, and a very large cock ever so gently riding the crack of his ass. That last one had cause a bit of concern when he’d felt it on the first morning, but it didn’t bother Hunter now. He’d arrived in Gomorrah as a certified top, and was still in possession of his anal cherry, but there was another awakening going on, and his ass was no longer strictly off limits. If the truth be told, he’d actually grown to like this intimate challenging of a self-imposed boundary. He liked everything about Officer Bartok, the cop who’d been assigned to protect him on the secret mission Hunter was involved with.

A secret mission!

That took some effort to get the head around. And he was still a teenager, ten days shy of his twentieth birthday. It beggared belief, like so many other things that had happened of late. But it was actually the case. Hunter was working as an undercover agent reporting to Captain Wrath, the man in charge of the country’s police force, and liaising with the effervescent President Vandar whose progressive administration could be at risk. Added to that, he was currently being spooned by a ludicrously attractive hunk of a man, who was going to mentor him in the art of being a master. Hunter had come to Gomorrah for fun and adventure, but he’d never expected anything like this.

Young Mr Conway was an anthropology student, who’d been sent to Gomorrah on a cultural exchange. It was an unusual country, which had adopted a policy of isolationism for most of its history, and where the entire population was homosexual. Because of that last point, Hunter had been selected for his hunky good looks and the fact that he was gay, rather than his academic prowess, which wasn’t exactly great - the poorest student who has ever passed through the department being one of the references given. Perhaps if he’d been smarter, Hunter would have said no when asked to take a ring to Gomorrah, and return it to its rightful owner – the broodingly handsome Jocken Serp, one of the students at Gomor University where the cultural exchange was to be based. But having been shown a sample of what Gomorrahen men looked like, and been appraised of their hyper-active sex drives, Hunter had been so keen to go on the exchange, he happily agreed when the request was made, thinking little of it. But the ring had landed him in a whole heap of trouble when it was found by chance at customs by the very special Officer Krank. Captain Wrath went ballistic, living up to his name with an eruption of fury, and Hunter had been carted off to jail, cuffed to Officer Bartok. He ended up in the torture chamber, which didn’t bode well at all. But thankfully things turned out fine in the end, and Hunter was allowed to continue with the exchange, on the condition that he acted as a secret agent.

The mission to date had gone very well. Having targeted Serp and won him over, one huge concern had been ruled out. The ring had its roots in a bygone sect which was assumed to have been eradicated centuries ago. Sodomites they were called – anarchists who had challenged the establishment, and openly flouted the country’s golden rule – that when it came male/male fornication, the older man always topped. But the ring wasn’t intended for modern day anarchists. Jocken had asked for its return on behalf the master who had entrapped then enslaved him. A man who was suspected of trading in illegal potions, and always wore a mask to conceal his identity. A man who’d agreed for Hunter to visit him in place of Jocken at the weekend. A risk that Hunter had to take if the master was going to be exposed, along with any other enemies of the liberal regime Hunter had sworn loyalty to.

What a busy three days he’d spent in Gomorrah!

And what a man he’d spent each night with, naked and spooned and totally safe.

Soft lips brushed against Hunter’s neck and sent a tingle down his spine. Then came a lick from a long Gomorrahen tongue, tender and oh so delicious. The hand on his pecs wandered lower, over the ridges of his well-defined abs to find an eager erection.

That’s a fine morning glory, said Bartok as he gave the sizeable piece of meat a squeeze.

Randy as always first thing in the morning, Hunter pumped at the fist – an act which had an interesting side effect with some pleasurable rubbing going on at the rear. I can feel that you’ve got one as well. Does that thing ever go down?

Sometimes, chuckled Bartok as he humped with more vigour. But not for a while. It’s been hard all night. How could it not be, wedged where it is. Ten whole hours in the gateway to heaven. It’s been an agony of restraint. But I couldn’t take it out.

I’ve been asleep for ten hours! That’s terrible. Nine is usually enough. What about you? It’s been a hectic few days. Did you catch up with your sleep?

No. I spent the whole night fretting about tomorrow. But that’s okay. I don’t need much sleep, and can go for days without any. Which is just as well, because I’ll keep on fretting until you’re safely back on Sunday.

Touched to the core, Hunter entangled himself and turned round to lie face to face, smiling as he took in the view. The man was stupidly handsome, if you liked the butch rugged type, with a mop of wavy dark brown hair, and a three day shadow on his strong square chin, emerald eyes that normally sparkled with mischief but currently spoke of concern, a broad fleshy nose that could sniff out danger, and a pair of luscious lips that begged to be kissed. Yet tempted as he was, Hunter resisted. Alone with Bartok, feeling horny as sin, kissing those lips could lead to trouble. With too much uncertainly plaguing his mind, it was safer to kiss them with someone else around - someone who bottomed and was happy to be shared.

I’ll be fine, said Hunter, reaching out to stroke a furry pec. That in itself was a bit of a risk, but Bartok’s chest was hard to resist - a truly magnificent combination of muscle and hair, with the most fabulous pair of ruby nipples crowning the beefy pecs.

Bartok forced a smile of his own. Yeah, of course you will. I’m being silly. I’d be a lot happier if I could be with you, though. There’s the master’s harem for one thing – a bunch of butch versatile foreigners, professional sex workers who should know a few tricks. Around twenty of them according to Jocken. Maybe more. I’d love to watch you tackle them, and join in the fun. It would be a good opportunity to do some mentoring… But more importantly, I’d be able to keep guard. I’m your minder after all. That’s my job. And I won’t be there to do it… So be careful what you say. If he suspects for a second that Jocken has betrayed him and there’s a plot to expose him…

…I know my lines.

Not well enough. So now that you’re awake, we’ll have a shower and some breakfast then go over them again, and again and again, until it’s all perfect. Every…

…Word, nuance, and gesture. Yeah, I know what’s expected… Fine. We’ll practice them again. And then I need to go to the university, otherwise suspicions might be raised. I’m meeting another group this afternoon. Which begs a question - what should I wear. I was dressed like a tart for the first class, and felt hideously embarrassed in front of the lesbians. I don’t want to make the same mistake.

That was Krank’s blunder. Don’t worry. I’ll dress you this time. Everything will be fine.

Chapter 2

Hunter had been sceptical, but was now glad he’d gone along with Bartok’s decision – dressing him similar to what Krank had done, in a pair of cunningly ripped jeans which showed off more flesh than they managed to conceal. Unbuttoned at the top, and held up by chunky leather braces, there was a fair amount of pubic hair on show, light brown in colour, with a little red devil laughing at the side adding a novel touch. Wearing nothing else on top, Hunter’s hunky body was brazenly flaunted – washboard abs and smooth chiselled pecs, bulging biceps and pert coral nipples. And wearing nothing underneath the snug fitting jeans, there was little left to the imagination. Anyone who looked would see straight away that Hunter was a big lad in every respect.

And he was getting bigger by the second, much to the approval of the group he was meeting - a horny looking bunch who were similarly dressed and packing equally well. He’d met with his first class two days earlier – sixteen freshers, evenly split by gender – a friendly lot, if somewhat wary when it came to the male half, thanks to a reputation Hunter had gained as part of the mission. Now it was the turn of the fourth year class, which was a very different proposition. They were obviously older, ages ranging from twenty-three to twenty-four, and there were significantly less of them with only six in attendance. But it was the fact they were all male which struck Hunter as strange.

Not that he was complaining. They were the stuff of gay dreams – the sort of dreams which in Gomorrah became reality and part of everyday life. One reason for this was that over many centuries, the country had embraced a policy of selective breeding, nurturing traits that were deemed desirable, resulting in a population very pleasing to the eye.

Very pleasing indeed, and these were six of the best. Amazing hunks of youthful masculinity, who had a lot more confidence than their male fresher counterparts, and a lot less clothing on their upper bodies – braces being the most anyone was wearing, which was why Hunter was glad he’d taken the advice with regards to his own raunchy outfit.

Flaunting the goods they were right to be proud of, the six students brazenly checked Hunter out, and made it very clear they liked what they saw. There was no wariness here. These men weren’t concerned about Hunter’s reputation, having proved himself as a competent top at a day club for teenagers two days earlier. Given their ages, they probably had all gone through the change – part of the male Gomorrahen life cycle. With a few rare exceptions, who tended to become cops, men exclusively bottomed on turning eighteen, such was their nature at that age, and the cultural expectation. Then in the early twenties a change occurred, and they took an interest in the active role, becoming sexually versatile. So it was perfectly legitimate for them to be interested in Hunter, although that wasn’t the case the other way round.

Thanks to the golden rule!

Hunter had been devastated when he was told about it. He’d been promised a riot of gay fornication, and had assumed he’d be free to play the active role with a whole range of willing men. And it was men, rather than lads, he was finding the more attractive in this gay wonderland. But the law in Gomorrah was very clear – when it came to buggery, the older man always topped. It was a crime to do otherwise – engage in sodomy as it was called. The penalty until recently being anal cauterisation for the older man, which had been a pretty strong incentive not to let anyone younger screw you. Luckily for Hunter there was an exception to the rule – the men who strictly enforced the law were allowed to break it under certain circumstances. And as he was now an agent working for the police, some older men had already featured in Hunter’s gluttonous fornicating diet.

This lot would make for one heck of a feast, and Hunter could feel his juices flowing as he returned the favour and checked them all out, making it blatantly clear that he also liked what he was seeing.

Then his attention was caught by a polite cough from his side.

Also in attendance was Professor Dragor, who headed the foreign affairs department, and was coordinating the cultural exchange. With a knowing smile, he kicked the session off with an explanation, being very frank about the reason for lack of women. They were simply not allowed to study foreign affairs under the previous regime – something that he’d always been opposed to, but the hardliners could be unbearably obstinate in their ways. Historically, the study of foreign affairs had centred on trade, and that was a male dominated business. The subject had moved on dramatically, as had the world and women’s place in it. But the isolationists had refused to budge from their patriarchal mentality. Thankfully President Vandar saw things differently. He’d come to power the previous year and had authorised the admission of women. It would take a little time for them to filter through, but the next generation in charge of state controlled trade would be more balanced with respect to gender.

Then it was over to the students to introduce themselves as the freshers had done, and mention topics of interest. They seemed equally friendly, raising similar stuff - but with a lot more confidence and no women around, the tone was decidedly sexual – something which Dragor was happy to allow for, being