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<block quote=""></block>Alistair let the pounding beat of the music soak into his body. The deep thrum of the bass reverberated through his feet, up his spine and into his brain. He moved instinctively, twisting his hips and swaying, lost to the euphoria of the dance. The Underground's dance floor wasn't big, as if it had been deliberately designed to bring overheated bodies closer together. Alistair liked to be in the centre of the press of writhing flesh because there he could be anonymous. Nobody would notice that he was dancing alone. Occasionally someone would slide a sweaty arm around his waist or press a hard cock against his arse-he could just slip free and disappear into the crowd. No offence given and none taken.
It wasn't often that he had the freedom to really let go, but it was his night off and he was determined to enjoy himself. It was so stifling that for a moment he wished he were still wearing the short leather kilt that formed The Underground's skimpy staff uniform. The black PVC trousers he had on were ludicrously hot. Perspiration ran down his bare back and chest and his hair was soaked. It was time for a long, cool drink and he really needed to towel off.
Alistair made his way gradually to the edge of the dance floor. It took a while-the music was intoxicating and hard to withdraw from. He hovered on the periphery for a while, still dancing but aware now of what was going on in the wider room. The stage was empty apart from two men who were manhandling a large wooden cross into its centre, cursing and swearing at the weight of the thing. Alistair knew that some eager sub would be chained to it later, enjoying the kiss of the whip.
Many of the tables that circled the dance floor were occupied. Alistair knew all of the regulars by name and recognised quite a few of the less frequent visitors. A team of waiters, unashamedly employed for their looks and desire to please, attended the tables. On six nights out of seven he was one of them and enjoyed being part of the team. They were well paid and, though subservience was required, they had no other obligation to the clientele. The members were well aware of the rules and kept their hands to themselves, but it was perfectly proper to ask a server if he would be available to play when he got off his shift. Most of the boys Alistair knew were more than willing. For an unattached sub, The Underground was safe. It also attracted dominant men who were committed enough to the lifestyle to pay the exorbitant fees. For those that wanted them, there were plenty of opportunities to test compatibility or just to find someone happy to deliver a sound spanking with no strings.
Alistair had taken advantage of his position many times. He was slim, blond and pretty-all attributes that appealed to a large proportion of the members. He never had a problem finding a Dom for an evening of fun and games that they would both enjoy. It helped that he adored having his arse paddled until it glowed and if he was tied up while it happened, so much the better. He scanned the room catching several interested glances, but Alistair was only looking for one man. The man who was always present, whomever Alistair played with. The only man he had ever allowed to fuck him. It was dark and crowded-spotlights blinded him as he peered up at the gallery, his stomach knotted with anxiety. Where was he?
Bodies between Alistair and the bar moved apart and there he was-Carey Hoffman-and he was looking directly at Alistair, a slight smile curving his lips. Alistair relaxed as soon as he locked gazes with the darkly handsome man. Carey was his anchor in a bewildering world and there was no way Alistair would have walked across the club alone unless he knew Carey was watching. He began to move, careful not to brush against anyone or make eye contact. He didn't like rejecting people, but he wasn't wearing a collar and that made him fair game. He made it three paces before a huge, leather-clad guy loomed over him with a leer.
"Well, pretty boy, what are you doing here all alone?"
Alistair looked up and took in the extensive tattoos that covered his new friend's heavily muscled arms, then the thick neck and shaved head.
"Iâ€¦ I'm notâ€¦"
Alistair flinched as the stranger took his arm, gripping his biceps tightly. "Don't be scared, little one, we can have a good time together." He tugged Alistair towards the tables.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I'm not available tonight," Alistair finally managed to get out.
"Or any night," Carey said as he appeared next to him and stroked his hair. "This one's taken, Frank." The big guy looked disappointed, but he smiled, revealing a dimple that was completely incongruous.
"S'all right, Carey. Haven't been in for a while-didn't realise." Frank released Alistair's arm and stepped back.
"Not a problem. In fact I think Toby over there might suit you." Carey gestured towards a server with dark hair and a cheeky grin.
Frank grinned right back. "Pretty. Is he interested, Carey?"
Carey crooked a finger at Toby and the slight waiter came scuttling over with undignified speed.
"Oh, I think you might say that."
Toby bounced on the spot, his dark brown eyes glinting. He looked like a puppy that had just been given the best treat ever. He disappeared with a squeak as Frank wrapped a beefy, decorated arm around his shoulders.