The Wild Side of Christmas
by
Jack Brighton
Copyright Jack Brighton, November 23, 2011
Published by Firm Hand Books at Smashwords
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Author’s Note
The main purpose of this book is to say thanks to all those people who have bought my other works and supported me over the past couple of years. I think it is right to give something back, and Christmas is the traditional time for such things, so hopefully you’ll enjoy this festive offering.
When I decided to write a Christmas gift book, The Wild Side was the obvious place to set it. I’ve done four previous stories based around the club, and I’m sure more will follow. It was fun to revisit the characters and explore them a bit more. I look forward to developing them further.
For those who are sampling my work for the first time, then I hope you enjoy as well. There’re lots more books on offer – about The Wild Side, and plenty of other fancies of the imagination.
Either way – to all of you out there, have A Very Merry Christmas – and of course as a Jock, I have to wish A Happy New Year.
All the best,
Jack Brighton
Chapter 1 – Paddy’s Christmas Treat
With his head upside down, draped over the dining table, Paddy McGuire was feeling mightily content. In the hearth to his left, a log fire was burning, merrily sparking, the scent of cedar wood subtly wafting, and chestnuts roasting at the edge. To his right, lights flickered on the Norwegian pine – a ten feet tree richly dressed in traditional decorations, as comforting as a pair of fur lined slippers. The sound of Christmas filled the air – Kings College Choir singing ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ in perfect harmony, that perpetual favourite in their annual broadcast. There was the lingering smell of freshly baked mince pies, and a glow to Paddy’s cheeks having chased two of them down with a sneaky glass of Bushmills Irish whiskey – the flavour still there on Paddy’s discerning palate.
And to add to these timeless innocent pleasures, that made modern day London feel almost Dickensian - there was a tongue up Paddy’s ass rimming really well, a mouth round his cock sucking superbly, clamps on his nipples giving a delicious pain, and ropes around his wrists and ankles binding him to the table in a spread-eagled position – small items of cheer that sadly Mr. Dickens didn’t think to include in his Christmas Carol, so no wonder Scrooge was a miserable old bugger!
It was a treat for the senses – decadent luxury some might say – the sounds, the smells, the tastes and naughty touches! But these were mere backdrops as far as Paddy McGuire was concerned, for it was his eyes that gave him the greatest pleasure on this most special of December nights.
It was every lad’s wish – even a six feet three one who weighed in at over two hundred pounds and was well past his twentieth year – for in front of Paddy’s inverted face sat the celebrity of the evening - Santa Claus himself – exactly the man you would want to be with you on a cold and wintry Christmas Eve, where oddly enough for London, it was actually snowing outside!
Okay, so this Santa wasn’t exactly the standard edition, fat and jolly, going ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ a bag over his shoulder full of Christmas gifts and a red nosed reindeer in tow. There was a traditional hat, a bit classier that normal – quality red velvet with white ermine for the furry edging and pom-pom at the end. He was wearing a jacket made of the same materials, and sporting red velvet trousers held up by a chunky black belt with a huge silver buckle. So far so good – it was Santa all right – but this was Santa Claus with a bit of an edge – an edge so sharp, that no mummy or daddy would be overly happy if he said, “Come here little boy, and sit on my lap - have I got a whopping big present for you!”
This particular Father Christmas had a black beard instead of white – a five day shadow he had recently taken to wearing which made his butch rugged features seem all the manlier. More black hair was on show covering his broad meaty chest – a lush mat that was kept neatly trimmed, fully displayed by the open jacket. Are you getting the idea? Santa’s a bit of a hunk – and a naughty hunk at that! His stomach was flat and decidedly solid, as was the massive fleshy phallus that stuck out of his flies and was being leisurely stroked as Santa watched his three little helpers at play.
He was watched in return.
Paddy gazed transfixed from his bound spread-eagled position as Santa Claus, aka Angus McCloud – the notorious owner of The Wild Side, London’s raunchiest club, reached out and picked up a Caithness crystal glass from the table beside him and took a sip of his favourite malt whisky. The generous measure was half consumed then much to Paddy’s delight the remainder was poured over the hard phallus that was his master’s incredible penis.
“That’ll make it even tastier for you Paddy,” said Angus with a laugh. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been up to – pouring out Bushmills, instead of proper whisky. I should take this belt to your arse for the impertinence - but as I’m in a festive mood, you can have this instead.”
Angus got up, his cock lewdly lobbing, drenched, dripping, demanding more attention, and stood before his favourite slave. “Open up, you big Irish hunk! Santa’s going to feed you some Scotch for Christmas.”
Paddy immediately obeyed. He opened his mouth wide and engulfed what was presented, sucking the huge whisky flavoured glans that swelled out his cheeks like a fist, stuffing him fuller than the Christmas goose they would be having for lunch tomorrow. He enjoyed the taste, but he preferred the juice that was seeping from his master’s piss slit – the rich salty sweetness of the Scotsman’s pre-cum that was nectar to Paddy McGuire.
As he was sucked and rimmed by his master’s two other slaves, Paddy serviced the cock head in his mouth. He lashed all around it, tracing the ridge. He tongue fucked the piss tube, knowing he was allowed, revelling in the even stronger flavour he found. Hands touched the two slabs of prime Irish beef that composed Paddy’s hunky chest, and fingers squeezed the big coral nipples that were protruding through the clamps, adding another delicious torture to this wonderful festive treat Paddy was being given.
Paddy could feel his master pressing forward, hips straining, feeding him the shaft. The Irishman relaxed and watched on, his eyes staring at the pair of heavy low hanging balls that were inching ever nearer to his face. He sniffed the musky aroma that his master bore – it was the unique smell of Angus McCloud - of his sex and notorious virility. It was a smell that drove Paddy wild with lust and a need to be possessed by the only man who could ever tame him – the only man who would ever know the joys of his stunning meaty ass, marked as it was with his claim.
His master pushed inwards, his intent all too clear. The glans was at Paddy’s throat. The big Irishman didn’t flinch – he relaxed his muscles the way he had been taught to do. Seamlessly the glans slid passed and entered Paddy’s gullet, stretching the tube to an enormous degree as it slowly invaded the throat. To the sound of deep satisfied groans, inch by inch the thick shaft was forced in, and Paddy took it without any hint of a gag – a feat that always amazed him, despite the amount of practice he got.
Then his master was there, the whole shaft was in his mouth and Paddy’s nose was being smothered by those beautiful big balls making it almost impossible for the slave to breath. His master held the cock fully in him, and Paddy could hear the man moaning, relishing the incredible sensation of the slave’s tight throat muscles wrapped around his massive glans and the warm moist mouth surrounding his thick shaft. And despite the discomfort and approaching asphyxiation, Paddy felt so happy for the pleasure he was giving, and the pleasure he received in return.
After savouring the position for almost a minute, Angus McCloud started to saw in and out of Paddy’s throat. He used his slave, but never abused the man, always respecting, managing Paddy like he’d continuously done over the past five years.
Paddy got his throat fucked for a good five minutes and he loved every second of the tortuous bliss, especially when his master took hold of his nipple clamps and twisted them around. With the intensity of having so much meat ploughing into his gullet, Paddy barely registered what was happening elsewhere on his body: the sucking of his own cock and the rimming of his asshole, but he certainly registered the shooting pain that emanated from his beefy tits – a pain so deliciously pleasurable to Paddy McGuire for it came from the man that he served and adored.
And pure pleasure was all Paddy knew as the cock was withdrawn from his ravaged throat and slapped across his face: left cheek, right cheek, on his mouth and his nose – his face was beaten up by a pillar of hard flesh.
“By Christ Paddy,” Angus chortled, “you haven’t lost your touch at taking my cock down your gullet. Very nice that was. But anyway, let’s move things along... Sven, get yourself on the table. Sit on him! Fuck your arse with his cock!” ordered the master.
Within seconds the hunky Swede had obeyed. Using only the saliva he had left there, and the pre-cum from Paddy’s cock, the blond blue-eyed Nordic Adonis from Stockholm, crouched above his fellow slave, facing his master, and anally impaled himself, taking all of Paddy’s thick nine inches up his hungry ass.
Paddy gasped as he felt his cock get gloriously engulfed by warm living flesh, and his groin get rubbed by two firm rounded buttocks when the sexy Swede bottomed out. Then he gasped again as Sven pulled away, to sink once more as he rode the shaft, fucking himself as ordered.
“Marco, kneel over his face,” Santa ordered. “I want your arsehole directly above his eyes so he can watch me fuck you.”
A moment later, Paddy’s vision was filled by two beautiful light brown buns which were spread by big Scottish hands to reveal a tightly knotted purple Italian pucker.
“Give him a lick, Paddy, and open him up – or would you prefer to see me fuck him dry?”
Paddy’s preference was an irrelevance, but he would never say as such, knowing that it would annoy his master when a choice was being given to his slave. The answer was easy anyway, Paddy strained his head upwards and licked along the crack then he prised the hole open and fucked it with his tongue. Paddy really enjoyed licking out a tasty ass. He liked the acrid flavour and the dirtiness of the act; and he especially like to do it at the command of his master, preparing the way for his master to fuck. But the pleasure he took from licking Marco’s delicious hole was not the driver behind the decision – a dry fuck might be interesting to watch, but it would be less pleasurable for his master, and nothing else could take priority over that.
Paddy finished the rimming and withdrew his face from Marco’s ass then waited for the spectacle. It never failed to enthral him when he watched his master’s cock in action, and to see it at such close quarters was an enormous thrill. Paddy gazed in utter delight as he saw the big glans prod at the ring, stretching it impossibly wide before it forced its way through, and the sphincter clamped around the shaft capturing its fabulous prize.
“Oh yes! Shit that’s good!” exclaimed Angus as he slid the cock inside his groaning Italian slave. “Are you enjoying the view, Paddy?”
It was a rhetorical question, there was no need to reply, of course Paddy liked what he saw – the view was amazing. His master’s cock was the most beautiful thing in the whole wide world as far as Paddy McGuire was concerned – and seeing it fuck an ass as fine as Marco’s was the icing on a sumptuous cake.
Paddy lay back and enjoyed the fucks – the one that was happening involving his cock as it got massage by a Swedish chute; and even more so the one in front of his face as Marco got thoroughly shafted. It was such a horny combination: passively fucking a fine piece of ass and watching a maestro in action only inches away. Paddy particularly enjoyed it when his master pulled out of Marco’s hole before ramming his big cock all the way back in him again. Marco’s asshole was stretched to an incredible degree and Paddy could see right in him as the cock came out. The hole would then partially close, but it never succeeded in regaining a pucker – it had been stretched and relaxed too much. It was always gaping to some degree before the cock opened it fully again as it punched into Marco’s bowels.
It was a leisurely ride that his master had. He fucked Marco with skilful control, taking his pleasure, giving so much as well: to the happy receiver, to the man who watched - and even to Sven the sexual electricity flowed, through Paddy’s throbbing cock and Marco’s starry eyes as they stared at his fellow slave in delirious wonder at the luxury of the shafting he was receiving.
For about twenty timeless minutes the four men conjoined like this, cocks fucking fine young asses, hands groping muscular flesh, Sven and Marco enjoying a kiss as both were rode over Paddy. Then Santa Claus brought it to a halt.
“Shit, I enjoyed that,” the big man announced as he pulled his cock out of Marco’s ass. “Right, Sven – your turn now to take a shafting from me. Prise yourself off Paddy and swap positions with Marco.”
The rearrangement was made and Paddy was treated to another twenty minutes of this fabulous show right above his face as his cock got skilfully rode. And if the truth be known, this was an even better arrangement for the lucky young man from the Emerald Isle. Both his fellow slaves were stunning to look at and a treat to have his cock inside, but visually Sven had the better ass in Paddy’s opinion, perfect golden globes and a succulent pink hole that looked especially delicious when stretched wide open by a big fat plundering cock. And Marco’s fiery nature made for the better passive fuck as he rode Paddy’s shaft with admirable enthusiasm.
Slowly and comfortably the four men took their pleasure. Paddy was immobile, so for him it was given. The others were active to varying degrees, riding or getting rode. Hands played with flesh, nipples and cocks. Mouths kissed, licked and bit. Fires were stoked, passions were flamed. Balls tightened and prepared to blow as the sex moved on and steadily heated.
Paddy watched through lust crazed eyes as his master started pounding Sven with more and more vigour, ramming his cock faster and faster into the Swede’s widely stretched hole. Marco was also riding Paddy harder, bouncing up and down like a manic Jack in the Box as he groaned out his lusty pleasure. The two men getting fucked jerked each other’s cock. Four bodies sweated in the orgy of sex. The whole tableau was getting ready to explode.
“Okay boys,” declared Angus as he punched his cock into Sven’s guts and banged his balls against Paddy’s face. “You all have permission. In fact I demand that you come.”
Then Angus set off on his final run up Sven’s ass. He humped and he pumped, slamming into the lad. Paddy watched in wonder as the huge cock powered in, watched the stroke until he was blinded by his master’s big churning balls clamping over his eyes before being drawn away for another vicious thrust.
“Oh fuck yes!” shouted Angus as his pace quickened further. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Sven was howling as his ass got seriously ploughed, his cock got wanked and his balls were squeezed. Marco was yelling as he banged up and down, riding a shaft as a hand jerked his own. Paddy was moaning with the sensory overload, having his cock humped and his clamped nipples twisted. But the Irishman’s focus was centred on a fuck taking place right in front of his eyes. He dipped his head so he could see it all - the climatic end he knew was coming having witnessed it so many times before. He saw the cock slam in, the shaft disappearing fully inside the ass. He saw his master quiver as he let out another yell. Sven and Marco were yelling as well.
“Arrrgh! Yes! Oh fuck! YES!!! YES!!! ARRRGH!!!” came the cries. A master and two slaves dissolved into one – a single mass of ejaculation over Paddy McGuire.
Paddy felt a blast of warmth hit his chest, another hot ribbon splashed across his stomach coming from the opposite direction. More spunk followed as Sven and Marco blew their loads. Paddy was almost there but he held himself back – hoping for the ultimate treat.
It was given!
As the shower of spunk lashing his body came to its inevitable end, Paddy saw to his delight Sven being pushed away and his master’s cock coming out of the Swede’s ass. The hole was a gaping chasm of pink and as soon as it was emptied of Scottish flesh it was pouring out Scottish cream. His master’s semen fell out of Sven’s chute and splattered Paddy on the face. More spunk followed. His master was still in mid-ejaculation and he pointed his cock downwards to spurt out the rest, slashing Paddy’s face with the thick creamy ropes. Paddy came immediately, blowing like a geyser into Marco’s bowels, growling out his passion, lapping at the spunk that landed round his mouth, swallowing it hungrily down.
When the final spurt was made, from a Swede, an Italian, an Irishman, and a Jock, a cock was presented and Paddy did his job. He sucked the cock clean, milking the final dollop, totally surrendered, totally owned, and totally content with his lot.
“God that was fun,” declared Angus once Paddy was finished. “It’s so nice to have a quiet night in for a change. Christmas Eve – if there’s one night I want to spend hidden away with my odd little family, then this has to be the one... So what shall we do now: a film; a game of scrabble perhaps? Or should we crack open a bottle of bubbly and adjourn to the Jacuzzi for another round of fucking?”
Dring! Dring!
“What the hell?”
Dring! Dring!
Four men turned to look at the mobile that sat on the coffee table – the only one in the apartment that was allowed to be on.
“Shall I answer it sir?” asked Marco, his nose seriously bothering him. That was his master’s emergency number which less than a dozen people knew. Who would dare call it on Christmas Eve of all nights – what on earth could be afoot?
“No, just get it for me,” replied a suddenly very serious Santa Claus.
The phone was fetched.
Angus answered.
“What!!!” he yelled a few seconds later – the noise cutting through the tension all around.
“No! I’ll deal with it personally,” was the only other thing he said.
The phone was handed back to Marco.
“That was Charles,” Santa reported, looking none too happy; although Paddy noted a glint to his master’s eye that spelt trouble for some poor sod. “Get yourselves sorted boys – and no faffing around spending hours deciding what to wear. There’s been a change of plan. We’re going to The Wild Side for Christmas Eve. Santa’s got some business to attend to.”
Chapter 2 – Sven and Marco’s Christmas Treat
Less than an hour later, one of several Santa Clauses on show at the club that night strode into in the foyer of The Wild Side, his face a jolly mask to hide his fury. But the scant notice he took of the new Canadian house slave who was currently on door duty betrayed his mood. Normally, a twenty-three year old hunk of prime Alberta beef dressed in a mountie outfit would have caught Angus McCloud’s attention, and plans would quickly be getting made to mount the mountie and introduce his sweet Canadian ass to the boss’s hard shaft, but Angus barely registered the young man’s worth.
“Right, as I’m here and dressed for the occasion, I might as well show my face,” said Angus as he shook off the snow from his costume. “Ten minutes should do then I’ll go to my office. Paddy, you go wait for me there. Sven, Marco – I’m sure you two lads can keep yourselves amused without me. Go have some fun. Have yourselves a Christmas treat - just don’t do anything to cause me embarrassment. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” they said in unison, both of them flicking glances over to the mountie, wondering when his stint on the door would end. All that fine looking Canadian beef would make for one very tasty sandwich, and there could be nothing embarrassing about enjoying some of that.
Angus strode off in the direction of the main room. Paddy followed with Sven a pace behind. Marco lingered for a moment to make some enquiries. Half an hour he was told and the mountie would be free. Half an hour the mountie was informed and he would be very, very, busy – giving and receiving – it was Christmas after all.
The men passed through the first door and into the check-in area – Santa opened up his jacket to bare his grizzly chest; Paddy stripped down to his leather trousers, proudly displaying his hunky torso that was easily the rival of his master’s for sheer splendour and brawn, auburn rather than black being the colour of his mat of shortly trimmed chest hair. Sven and Marco did likewise, displaying their own perfect smooth musculature that could easily adorn a men’s health and fitness magazine, so fine were their gym toned bodies. Then Santa and his slave harem walked into the main room.
As always the atmosphere on a busy night hit them in the face like a heavyweight’s punch. Lustful sounds were all around: orgasmic groans and cries of pain; masters demanding and slaves obeying. There was a sexual heat sizzling in the air – the smell of rutting and of skin being flayed. Flesh abounded – masculine flesh: hairy bear chests and smooth chiselled pecs, big hard cocks and peachy asses, all glistening with sweat from the heat and their sex. There was white in the dark air – spunk getting shot out in powerful blasts and snowflakes falling, fake ones of course. It was an infernal scene of Dante like proportions. This was The Wild Side on Christmas Eve, roaring proudly and loudly as ever.
It was at this point the four men’s paths diverged – instructions had been given so there was no need for more to be said. Angus strode onwards into the crowd, ignoring the circus, looking for the men – the most valued club members whose hands would be shaken and season’s greetings personally given. Paddy headed towards the bar where an inconspicuous door gave access to the staff area, and where Angus’s office was located – a room he rarely used, as the day to day running of the club was handled by the manager – the frighteningly large and incredibly hung, ebony black, Mr. Charles.
Leaving these two men to their mysterious purpose, Sven and Marco had other plans, and went off in search of some fun – two happy young men who adored each other and who intended to make the most of this unexpected Christmas treat.
“So Sven, my sexy Nordic fuck buddy,” said Marco as he patted his fellow slave’s ever so fine bum, “What shall we do to amuse ourselves whilst we wait for the mountie to come and find us?”
“He did look rather nice,” replied Sven grinning. “I hope he can top as well as bottom.”
“Of course he can!” exclaimed Marco. “I bet he fucks brilliantly. But we’ll need to go somewhere private if you want his cock up your ass.”
Sven nodded his head in agreement, “Yes – our master wouldn’t appreciate it if we were to get shafted in public without his express permission. He would definitely view such behaviour as embarrassing. Whereas going all butch and fucking other slaves – that would be all right, wouldn’t it?”
“Definitely! He would heartily approve.”
“Good! Then let’s do some of that. Shall we start at Ass Row? It might be fun, and who knows, we might recognise someone.”
“Visually – or with our cocks?” laughed Marco.
“Probably a better chance with our cocks,” laughed Sven in reply. “Come on, let’s go.”
Like a couple of puppies all excited about life, they headed to a play area off to the right of the room. ‘Ass Row’ was the nick name, and that’s pretty much what it was – a row of men’s bare asses - half a dozen naked guys kneeling along the length of a cushioned bench, their asses sticking out and available for use, whilst their upper bodies were hidden behind a curtain that draped down from above to cut them off at the waist. It was the custom for the club to put up the first group of slaves, to be rotated every hour to keep the row fresh. But at any time an ass could be replaced if a master wanted to take the lad away for more involved fun, leaving behind one of his own slaves to carry on the public service.
When they got there, a big hunk of a man in a pair of leather chaps was busy fucking the third ass from the left, slamming at it hard, grunting out loud, whilst frigging the asses on either side of him. Behind him knelt a young man wearing only a leather jockstrap and a collar and chain – his face was buried in the big hunks butt, rimming him as he fucked and frigged.
“Greedy bugger,” mumbled Marco. “Not to worry, there are three still available. Shall we separate and take the ones at either end, or shall we fuck alongside each other?”
“Together of course – I love watching you fuck,” was Sven’s decision.
Marco wasn’t totally convinced. “Hmmph! That one second from the end looks a bit hairy for my liking.”
“Chunky as well,” said Sven as he appraised the ass in question. “I bet he’s pretty butch. Not a house slave that’s for sure. I’ll have him. You can take the smooth peachy one who looks like he’s been fucked quite a few times. I hope he’s not too slack for you.”
“I doubt that. No one give a slack ride in The Wild Side.”
“True. Come on, let’s fuck.”
Out of politeness Sven asked the rutting hunk if he had any objections to them joining him on the row. At first he looked perplexed - normally the row was a free for all, the asses used like urinals in a public toilet – pick one, do your business, whistle while you work, have a look around at the men either side, but you don’t need to ask permission to get out your cock – only a slave would do something like that – so surely this couldn’t be right. He threw them a look of utter disdain then suddenly recognition hit – these were Big Bad Angus McCloud’s boys – of course he didn’t have an objection – they could have his slave lick out their asses if they wanted. The last thing he wanted was to cause offence and incur Angus’s wrath.
The lads considered this for a moment then politely declined – even baring their ass in public might be deemed inappropriate, and it wouldn’t do to spoil the evening by further upsetting their master – he was pretty pissed off as it was.
Taking up position side by side, Sven and Marco took out their cocks. The rutting hunk looked over and was mightily impressed, though far from surprised – they were Angus McCloud’s slaves – of course they were well blessed – he wouldn’t settle for anything else.
Ignoring the attention, Marco loudly announced as he prodded his knob at the pucker on offer, “You were right. He has been well used. This is going to slide in him like a warm knife into soft butter.”
Marco did just that. He thrust with his hips and sunk his fat erection all the way in, groaning as he bottomed out and writhed against the buttocks. Sven watched, happy for his friend and fellow slave, the man who was his lover in so many ways, in no way jealous that his cock was inside another man. He prodded as well at the purple pucker before him – anal flesh that was tufted by black hair. It yielded, as any ass on the row must, and Sven pushed in, finding the chute tight and a little dry – definitely not a house slave, for they were always well lubed up.
The lads began to fuck. They stood together, watching each other, riding an ass whilst looking at another. They shafted leisurely, no intension of coming. Without needing to speak they knew this to be the case – they would save their next climax for the hunky mountie – this was just a little foreplay – the real whorish behaviour would be done in private.
“Shall we swap?” asked Marco after five minutes. “He’s not my cup of tea, but I suppose I should try him. This one is good though, and quite familiar – test him out and see what you think.”
Revelling in the fun, the lads swapped over. They penetrated in synchrony, set the same rhythm – none of it conscious, they were just in tune with each other. They had been trained together and sold as a pair – in so many things they acted as one.
“It is very familiar,” agreed Sven after a couple of minutes. “I’m sure I’ve been up here before. “I think it’s that Russian lad, Peter – remember we had a Jacuzzi party in the new slaves flat when we were training up the schoolboy, Dylan.”
“Oh yes! That’s the one. I knew it felt familiar. As I recall, I fucked him a couple of times that day. He’s very cute – I definitely preferred screwing him when I could see his face. And as for this guy – well he’s not doing it for me, so I think I’m done. Shall we move on to something else?”
“Definitely!”
The lads pulled out, wiped their cocks and put them away; then with a courteous nod to the rutting hunk they set off for further adventures. Looking around, the main attraction of the moment was taking centre stage – literally on the stage in the centre of the room, around which master’s sat at tables, slaves on rugs at their feet, worshipping in some form or other.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Marco as they approached to get a better look. “I can’t believe it! They’ve only gone and created a Santa’s Grotto. What on earth is going on?”
What was going on, they soon picked up whilst watching discreetly, was that masters were taking it in turn to play the role of Santa dressed in an outfit similar to Angus’s. Other master’s came onto the stage, turned grotto for the night, where the Santa of the moment was holding court with a group of house slave helpers, dressed in festive red velvet loin cloths. The masters brought along a slave or two, on a leash or held by hand, like parents bringing their children, although these were all fully grown men. When it came their turn, with his master at his side, the slave sat down on Santa Claus’s lap.
“Have you been a good boy?” Santa would ask, whilst behaving very inappropriately, fondling the slave’s ass, fingering his hole, giving his cock a few hearty chugs.
The slave would naturally answer yes. All boys say the same when they come to visit Santa, otherwise they might not get a present. But his master, depending on his mood or whim, might decide to contradict his big boy slave. Santa would then look either very happy or very cross, and select a present from his bags – the ‘good boy’ bag, or the ‘bad boy’ bag. The slave would open it to see what it contained. ‘Good boys’ got nice presents – a silver collar to wear, a voucher entitling a fuck from Santa or a suck on his cock, a few minutes of rimming from each of Santa’s helpers, being some of the gifts on offer. ‘Bad boys’ were less lucky – a whip to be tested with six firm strokes on the back, draped over Santa’s lap for a bare assed spanking, put in the stocks and tormented by the helpers with cattle prods applied to sensitive places, being some of the punishments carried out. It doesn’t pay to be bad at The Wild Side – although everyone seemed to be having fun.
“Personally I think it’s all a bit high camp,” was Marco’s verdict after they’d watched this for a few minutes. “Mr. Charles needs to have some words with his set producers – those two Dutch queens have gone way over the top this time.”
“Not at all,” countered Sven. “It might be a bit camp for the club, but it’s Christmas after all. I think it’s very festive.”
“Shall I take you up to visit Santa?” asked Marco, patting his friend’s leather clad ass. “He looks rather hunky – I wouldn’t mind sitting on his lap.”
“Hmmph,” mused Sven, enjoying the attention. “Depends what you tell him. I’m not going in those stocks to get electrocuted, that’s for sure.”
“You’re not going to get fucked by Santa either – at least not that one on the stage, or else the real Santa would be furious, so best we pass on the grotto. Let’s go to the bar and get a drink and see what else is occurring.”
A few minutes later, beers in hand, Sven and Marco arrived at a cage, where a master in leather chaps and a chainmail codpiece had suspended a young tattooed man in a harness. He had been bound into the harness, arms and legs tied with leather straps to the chains from which the leather backrest was suspended. The lad was blindfolded – his face partially obscured, but Marco knew straight away who it was.
“Look, it’s Shane - that arrogant bloody Aussie. I’m still pissed off with him for saying what he did after that Jacuzzi party. I hope he’s in for some hideous torture.”
“Marco! You know that wouldn’t be allowed. And he wasn’t so bad – just a little insensitive.”
“Insensitive! Pig ignorant more like. Bloody good fuck though, let’s watch for a bit and see what’s afoot.”
What transpired to be afoot was the master clamping Shane’s nipples, eliciting moans of pleasurable pain from the harnessed Aussie house slave. The clamps were linked by a chain which the master roughly chugged at; pulling at each clamped nipple making Shane cry out even more. As the master pulled on the nipple chain, he fingered Shane’s ass, frigging him hard with two fingers. Then those smelly fingers were rammed into Shane’s mouth.
“Ha! I like that,” exclaimed Marco, mightily pleased. “If that’s his party trick then it’s no wonder he talks such a load of shit.”
In the cage, the master moved on to Shane’s erection, which at seven inches was supposedly above average, but for a lad working at The Wild Side was considered rather small. A flogger was taken to it – firm but not violent strokes, as per the house rules. Shane hollered and yelped within his harnessed bondage, and outside the cage Marco grinned with glee as he ungenerously revelled in the young Aussie’s suffering. Shane’s balls were attacked and Marco rejoiced all the more, the snivelling cries music to his ear.
After a few minutes of genital attack, Shane’s cock started to wane.
“He’s obviously not a pain freak,” said Sven on noting this. “I’m surprised he’s volunteered for such a thrashing.”
“Volunteered! Don’t make me laugh! I bet he’s being paid handsomely for agreeing to this!” hissed Marco. “He’s a greedy little sod from what I can remember. And he had the nerve to accuse us of being motivated by cash! Hit the bugger harder!”
The master smirked on hearing this advice but declined to take it up. Instead he stopped the genital flogging for a moment and rammed a vibrating dildo up Shane’s ass – the most active part centred over his prostate – Shane got hard again in a flash.
More blows rained down on the Aussie lad’s cock. He squirmed and squealed – the master pushed him real far, right to the limit of what had clearly been set. Then with Shane begging, having taken so much, the master relented, but only to a degree.
The master moved round to stand beside Shane’s blindfolded face, and unhinged the chainmail codpiece, unleashing his cock which he rammed into Shane’s obliging mouth. He pumped at him for a few minutes then withdrew. Knowing how to behave, Shane searched the air with his mouth, showing eager to reclaim the cock. It was kept out of reach as the master pointed it at the face; then much to Marco’s surprise and utter delight – he pissed into the Aussie lad’s gapping mouth.
“The dirty bugger!” Marco exclaimed. “He must be desperate for the money to have agreed to all this.”
Shane swallowed as much as he could before he started to choke and his mouth was forced closed. He moved his head around so that the remainder of the warm stream washed every part of his face. Once he’d finished his piss, the master opened the cage and invited the spectators to enter should they care to do likewise – Shane, it would appear, had agreed to a drenching!
“Well I’m not missing out on this,” was Marco’s enthusiastic reaction. “Care to join me in some yellow – a golden shower for our golden Aussie?”
“No thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
Marco joined a group of other men who had taken up the offer. They all stood around Shane and pissed on him from different angles, washing his face, his torso and his genitals in a tangy shower of pungent urine. Marco aimed mainly at his face, thinking of that night when Shane had offended him so much – his fiery Latin temperament set mightily ablaze, and now vengeance was his with a long stream of piss.
“Stinks a bit in there, but I enjoyed that enormously. Now where shall we go next?” Marco asked on his return.
“A private room I think,” replied Sven beaming his friend a breathtaking smile. “If I’m not mistaken, a Canadian mountie has just walked into the room and he’s searching around for his next task of the night. Let’s go and treat ourselves... God how I love my life!”
Chapter 3 – Santa’s Christmas Treat
Angus McCloud was seated at his desk, still festively dressed and savouring a malt whisky, when there was a knock on his office door. At the press of a button the door clicked open - Charles, the club manager, came through. He was followed by two beefy bouncers, who negotiated the door one at a time, bundling with them a bare-chested man wearing a pair of leather trousers, handcuffs on his wrists and duck-tape over his mouth. He also wore a very worried expression, and quite rightly so, for he was in deep, deep, shit. Nobody, but nobody, fucks this Santa around, especially on Christmas Eve!
“Thank you gentlemen, you can leave us now,” said Angus to the security men.
Both men nodded. Under other circumstances they would have concerns. The prisoner was cuffed but he might still be dangerous and that was the man who paid their wages sitting at the desk in a Santa outfit. But Paddy McGuire was standing in the corner, and that was all the protection Angus McCloud would ever need. Highly skilled in martial arts, even without weapons Paddy was lethal, especially if there was a risk to his master. They took their leave of Santa Claus, hoping that the fallout of tonight’s debacle wouldn’t see them losing their very lucrative jobs.
“This is what he was using,” Charles said, pulling a mobile phone from out of his pocket and placing it down on the desk.
It was looked at with contempt. Charles could have placed a smelly big turd on his desk and Angus wouldn’t have looked less pleased. A mobile phone! That in itself was indeed an offence – mobile phones were always checked in at the door. The Wild Side did not subscribe to ring tones going off and members chatting away to the outside world – it was a place to escape and leave such things behind.
“Thank you Charles. Make sure the security guard who spotted him is well rewarded for his vigilance.”
“The man was just doing his job, Boss.”
“And I appreciate it – in return I’m sure he’ll appreciate a tidy bonus for Christmas.”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you Charles. I won’t keep you any further from your duties.”
Charles curtly nodded, turned and left – the door closing and locking automatically behind him – the click echoing like a death knell round the room.
Angus picked up the phone. He didn’t know the make but soon had it working, going to the photographs stored on the memory – photographs that had been taken tonight at the club – another reason why mobile phones and other such devices were banned – privacy had to be guarded. This was a major breech of the masters’ code – for the man responsible was indeed a master, and all the more hurtful – one that was here as Angus’s guest.
“Lee! Lee! Lee! Why have you betrayed my friendship like this?” Angus exclaimed as he flicked through the snaps. There were quite a few, and all of them shocking in their nature – scenes of depravity, some involving men in high places in the outside world – titled gentry, business barons, show business celebrities. They were men who were open about their sexuality, but many would find it rather embarrassing if it was to be so graphically flaunted in a gutter press tabloid or some cheap scandal magazine. And to add to that, other club members who used the private rooms, and who guarded their identity for whatever reason, would be seriously concerned – some might panic and memberships get cancelled. Business could have suffered, and more importantly, Angus McCloud’s reputation would have been severely damaged.
“Nnnnngh!” was Lee’s response as he stood there gagged and shaking, his eyes darting everywhere, looking for escape.
“Paddy, Lee looks a little uncomfortable – perhaps you could assist him.”
Paddy moved to obey, stepping purposely in Lee’s direction. Lee backed away rightly afraid of the man and his reputation, but there was nowhere he could go. Paddy reached the terrified captive as he cowered in the corner by the door he couldn’t open. Lee’s cuffed hands were grasped. A thumb on a pressure point had Lee howling into his gag, his legs turning to jelly. Paddy dragged the limp prisoner to the centre of the room where a box had been placed. Onto the box Lee was hauled. A press of a button by Angus McCloud released a sturdy chain from the ceiling. It had a clasp at the end into which Lee’s handcuffs were looped and pulled over his head. Then Paddy got down and kicked the box away leaving Lee suspended, his toes a tormenting inch above the floor.
“Nnnnngh,” Lee cried in protest, his significant weight pulling agonisingly on his joints. In his struggles he kicked out, which Paddy didn’t like, so Lee’s trousers were roughly unfastened and pulled down to his shins. That was safer, and it made things more interesting – always good to have the ass and cock on show when you’re engaging in a bit of bondage.
Approving of the move, Angus took a moment and looked at the man who had so grievously offended him. Lee Baxter – not the normal type of master who came to the club. Lee was a master all right, but a History master at an elite public school. He had done Angus a great service earlier in the year when he had found him the perfect English Public Schoolboy, a just turned eighteen year old lad, to work in the club’s spanking room – the lad getting caned in his uniform amongst other party tricks involving his ever so fine teenage ass. That had earned Lee membership of The Wild Side for the summer – something that he could never have afforded on his teacher’s salary. And Angus agreed to Lee’s request to come here tonight, keen to keep the man sweet, for the public schoolboy had proved ever so popular and Angus wanted a steady source of the genuine article. Okay, so there was a motive behind the Christmas Eve invite, but that was neither here nor there – Angus had shown kindness – bestowed a favour on this man.
And he had done this! He had abused that kindness and took sneaky photographs!
Infuriating - but Angus needed to keep his cool – for there was a seriously big question that needed answering – WHY!
Angus got up and approached the suspended traitor. Staring into Lee’s eyes, he ran his hand over the swell of the man’s smooth muscular chest, quietly impressed by his fine physique. For a man in his early thirties, Lee was in excellent shape – rugby being his sport along with pumping iron for vanity – it made for an effect that Angus liked. Moving to his rear, his hand trailing over Lee’s trembling skin, Angus noted the sculpted V-shaped back that led on to the two bubbles Lee had for an ass – a pair of creamy mounds that had Angus’s angry blood flowing to tent his red velvet Santa Claus trousers.
A flash of memory suddenly came back. Six months ago, Lee had called him concerning the schoolboy, and not wanting to waste time, Angus suggested an audition through a hidden camera in Lee’s study. He had watched secretly and remotely as Lee first caned the lad – trousers on then trousers down. As part of the show Lee then fucked the boy and obligingly dropped his own trousers for the ride. Angus had watched on mightily impressed, but it wasn’t the lad that had turned him on – it was the sight of Lee Baxter’s wobbly ass as he rutted away that got Angus’s juices flowing. Now that ass was here, captive in his office, and Angus McCloud would be having a piece of it – but first he needed information.
Back to the front, and quick as a flash, Angus’s hand sprang out and ripped the duck tape off of Lee’s mouth.
“Who set you up to this?” Angus bawled in Lee’s face. “Tell me! Whose pocket have you crawled into, you disgusting piece of lowlife?”
“What do you mean? Look Angus... this is all a misunderstanding...”
The smack took Lee totally by surprise. A back handed slap, firm across his right cheek that spun his head around, to be followed by his suspended body.
“Don’t lie to me, Lee! Don’t make me madder at you than I already am!” Angus yelled.
“Look, Angus... please. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. There was no plan – I wasn’t working for someone.”
“Bollocks!” yelled Angus. “Nobody comes into the club with a camera without having a very clear purpose in mind. Either you were planning something yourself, or you were being paid for the photographs.”
“Angus, please.”
Angus gave him another crack across the face: an open handed slap with his palm that reddened Lee’s left cheek to the same shade as the right. Lee let out a yelp as his head twisted around then he grimaced as he absorbed the sting, bracing himself as well in case another blow came his way.
“My friends call me Angus, acquaintances call me Mr. McCloud, my enemies call me a bastard behind my back - you’ll call me sir. Now which one of those enemies set you up for this?”
“No one. Really Angus. AAAARGH!”
The blow this time came from behind - Paddy striking out with his thick leather belt, slashing Lee across the back, striping his skin a fiery red.
“You were told to show respect,” Paddy snarled in Lee’s ear. “Now remember your manners as you answer the question.”
“Sorry,” Lee hissed through gritted teeth; then looking to Angus, he did as he was told. “No one set me up to this... sir.”
Angus stared at the man’s eyes, looking for the lie. He saw fear – so much fear that it disguised all else. It could be the truth – Lee was idiotic enough about the realities of life to think he might actually get away with it – to act independently and find a buyer for the snaps, or engage in blackmail without betraying his identity.
But the more realistic scenario was that Lee was already working for someone. There were many men who would like to see Angus McCloud humbled, and in the wrong hands, those pictures could have had serious repercussions. Fortunately they hadn’t managed to find their way out of the building. Charles had already checked the phone for outgoing messages, of which there were none. And that single fact sat in Lee’s favour.
On balance, Angus reasoned that Lee was telling the truth – but he needed to know for sure. It would mean hurting the man, but he deserved what was coming, and it would serve a purpose along with establishing what was fact – it would give Angus McCloud an enormous thrill – to do this for real as opposed to playing a sex game. And to do it on a man who was definitely a top and supposedly a master – well that would be a Christmas treat for Santa, who revelled in dominating butch masculine men.
“Liar!” yelled Angus after a moments reflection. He struck out again, smacking Lee’s cheek; then grabbing him by the chin, Angus snarled at the man, “But I’ll have the truth out of you! By God I will. You’ll tell me who’s behind this then I’ll make the bastard pay.”
“No! Really! I was doing this on my own!”
Angus shook his head in mock disbelief. Again he allowed his hand to drift onto Lee’s meaty pec. “You know Lee, there are so many ways to make a man suffer and draw out a confession...” A nipple was seized and given a tweak, making Lee grimace. “...You must have seen quite a few yourself in your visits to the club. Free visits, I might add, here as my guest...” The other nipple was seized and similarly treated. “...Of course all of that was performed on slaves who are used to being abused – most actually liking it. You probably got involved lots of times in dishing out the hurt...” Both nipples were turned to an agonising degree, Lee yelling out under the pain. “...Well now the shoe is on the other foot. I wonder how much you’ll enjoy being the victim for a change – with me playing the sadistic torturing bastard!”
“No! Angus, please. ARRRGH!”
The belt came crashing down yet again, a thunderous blow across Lee’s shoulders. It was followed up by another hard crack across the centre.
“Two this time. The next mistake and I’ll double it again,” growled Paddy, “and keep on doubling every time you forget your manners. You do the Maths, Mr. Schoolteacher – after three or four more slips, I’ll be flaying you raw.”
“I’m sorry. Oh God. Please don’t do this sir. It was stupid of me. I regret it. Please don’t make me suffer.”
“Then tell me the name of the bastard you’re working for,” snarled Angus, getting seriously turned on by the violence.
“There is no name,” Lee bleated in reply.
“I don’t believe you – so we’ll carry on until you spill one out.”
Angus drifted his hands down over Lee’s flat ripped stomach, past his thatch of light brown pubes and onto his flaccid cock that hung limply in shrivelled fear.
“Not how I remember seeing it,” Angus mused as he played with the soft prick. “Anyone would think that you’re not enjoying yourself, Lee. Perhaps you would like some stimulation to get you more excited. Some oral perhaps? I’m not much of a cock sucker myself, but Paddy there gives excellent head – I’m sure he would be happy to oblige.”
Angus walked away. Lee followed him with his eyes feeling mightily confused – he saw him disappear behind his back then Paddy took his place at the front. The big Irishman sunk to his knees and slurped Lee’s soft cock into his mouth. And true to his master’s word – the man was good – he was very good in fact. So despite all his fears, Lee’s body responded, blood rushing to harden the meat into a fine eight inch erection.
Lee was so distracted by the blowjob, he forgot about Angus for a moment, so the first blow of the flogger came as a total surprise to him. The knotted tendrils landed across the top of Lee’s back and his skin tingled violently under the impact. He jerked his head back as he let out a yell then arched his back, forcing out his meaty chest. As he did so, Paddy sprang up and sunk his teeth into one of the proffered nipples and chewed on it vigorously whilst his hand took over from his mouth on Lee’s cock, grappling with the hard shaft and sinking to squeeze on his tender balls.
The flogger struck again across Lee’s shoulder blades, this time even harsher, agonisingly so. Paddy for his part attacked the other nipple, gnawing at the bud, making Lee’s howl from the strike to his back, drag on and on and on.
Two more whip blows struck Lee in quick succession, striking between the shoulder blades. As Lee absorbed the searing pain from the lick of the whip, one nipple then the other received a lick from Paddy’s tongue then a wondrous nip from his teeth. Lee’s cock was grasped in Paddy’s strong right hand and the skin was rubbed up and down – the flick from pain to pleasure making Lee groan out loud – his body just reacting – the brain no longer thinking – and that’s when the truth is more likely to come out. Angus and Paddy knew exactly what they were doing.
Keeping the man confused, Angus stepped up a gear. He started to strike out with more vicious blows; the flogger swooshing through the air to land on every part of Lee’s back, leaving a crazy pattern of red welts all over the broad expanse of the milky skin. All the while Lee’s chest was licked and nipped: sensuous laps and heavenly bites. His raging erection was thoroughly wanked, Paddy smearing his hand with a dollop of saliva to heighten Lee’s pleasure.
Lee groaned and groaned as the two men worked on him: one moment yelling with agonising pain and the other with erotic delight. Blows rained down on him time and time again until Lee was hanging limply from the chain, yet his cock was standing proud and erect, his balls churning and ready to explode.
Then Angus relented, but only for a moment so he could change his line of attack. He moved close behind him, slightly to the left, and pressed his groin into Lee’s buttock, his massive cock straining within the velvet trousers.
“So what’s it to be Lee? Are you going to give me the name? Tell me who you’re working for and I’ll stop all the bad stuff, and as a reward I’ll have Paddy suck you off till you come. Otherwise I’m going to start on this fine ass of yours.”
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