Page 1 of Taste

Bound and Caged Nightclub – London

The thump of the bass was so loud I felt like my brain was vibrating inside my skull. My whole body moved with the beat, an involuntary motion pulsing through my veins, my heart thumping as my hips jerked and my arms swayed in a clumsy half-wave. I was trying to look like I was enjoying myself when the truth was, I wasn’t. I wasn’t a clubbing person. I didn’t really drink. Drugs didn’t agree with me, however much I sometimes craved something to snap me out of my carefully micromanaged life, and the dancing made me look insane. Clubs like this were my personal idea of hell, but there was no way Iwouldn’thave turned up for tonight’s festive little gathering.

I was one of those people who never allowed themselves to fully let go. I preferred to always be in control. It was a cage that gave me peace, or perhaps it was a form of protection. Well, what did I know? Right now, the only thing I knew was that there was something wrong with me because the thoughts in my head were more than irresponsible. I was quietly trying to talk myself down and make my feet take me out of here, throw myself in a cab home—even throwing myself in front of said cab sounded like a sensible option compared to what I was about to do. Anything to fix the madness that was clouding my still sober judgement. Control? I’d obviously lost that too.

This club, the one I had so carelessly decided to patronise for the evening, was a two-storey open area filled with the usual crowd drawn in by the lure of high-profile DJs, two-for-the-price-of-one drinks and the hottest men London had to offer. The walls were painted jet black with thick velvet curtains hanging from the ceiling in a vain attempt to create a regal vibe. The venue wasn’t known for its friendly bartenders or sexy dancers. No, this was the place to come for debauched frivolities, carefree hook-ups and activities that guaranteed a swift, no-strings-attached happy ending, thoughts of which usually sat comfortably with me.

I’d been here before, of course. These kinds of clubs were the perfect place to find another desperate soul for a few moments of nameless, faceless pleasure without commitment or regret. I had shamelessly sought out such encounters in the past. Tonight, though, I wasn’t sure I could do this. I was already half hard in my chinos, the heat on my chest under my now-damp silk shirt rising to my cheeks as I leaned against the railings on the mezzanine floor, hoping the flashing strobe lights meant nobody could see me adjusting myself.

I liked sex and had enjoyed my previous evenings at Bound and Caged immensely. I knew what turned me on and what didn’t, but sometimes I had that itch for more than I should need to scratch, and tonight…well, let’s just say the itch was freaking me out a bit.

I’d been watching him for a while, grinding his hips down on the dance floor. He got a lot of attention, which didn’t surprise me. The man was glorious, though I could barely find the words to describe him. He was golden. Beautiful. Completely lost in himself, seemingly unaware of those around him, whose hands wandered freely over his body. Colourful lights stroked his movements, accentuating the dimples in his cheeks as he sang along with eyes closed to the incomprehensible lyrics blasting from the vast myriad of speakers. His long hair swayed over his shoulders, slim arms reaching up in the air as his hips jutted and twisted to the music. His shirt looked like it had been sprayed on, and his arms were covered in those straps he always wore. Braided pieces of fabric and leather that I longed to touch. I wanted to feel them against my fingertips. Feel the taste of his sweat against my tongue.

Another man, sporting a stylish buzz cut and a black top that showed off firm shoulders and strong arms, had been moving in on the golden boy for a while now. He was taking his time, grinding his crotch against willing backsides, hands moving occasionally to stroke skin that glittered with sweat in the moving lights. Then buzz-cut guy turned around, and someone was kissing him—a slim redhead whom I hadn’t noticed until then, but they were suddenly entwined, making out, all arms and tongues and hips and no doubt moaning wildly under the cover of the too-loud music. I wished I could hear their sounds. Just watching the crowd below had my cock straining against my zipper. Not that the crowd turned me on. No. Only him, swaying in the sea of bodies, now trapped between the redhead and the man with the buzz cut.

I grabbed my crotch and tried to get myself under control, mesmerised by the scene playing out on the dance floor. My chosen triad weren’t the only ones getting down to serious business tonight. So many lips and tongues, kissing and licking and grabbing hands as the mass pumped and swayed to the beat. Up on the balcony, people were indulging in sex acts of all kinds in response to the sights below. An oiled-up dancer in a cage was stroking his nipples and licking his lips. He was only metres away from me, but he couldn’t grab my attention away from the golden boy, who was still dancing, his arse being kneaded by the redhead’s hand as they moved in almost perfectly synchronised steps. Buzz-cut guy leaned his head back in lust, looking so fucking sexy, while the redhead got busy licking my golden boy’s neck, his hands gripping onto hips, tugging at fabric so he could reach skin.

For a while, the redhead was all I could see, and he was hot as hell, but he had nothing like my man. And then he was right there, back in my line of vision, leaning over and locking lips with the redhead over buzz-cut’s shoulder, the three of them fused in a rhythmic dance that had my cock fully hard.

Him. Fuck him.

I wouldn’t have called the red-hot surge that shot through me jealousy. After all, the man down there didn’t belong to me and had the right to do whatever he wanted. I had no claim over him. He owed me nothing. No, this wasn’t jealousy. It was rage, that old familiar feeling, which the man down there had woken in me, a blinding, searing rage along with intense physical and sexual arousal. It was a heady mix my body once again struggled to control.

That was what was so great about going to clubs like Bound and Caged. Nobody talked here. It was all about lust. Pure and raw lust. About finding someone to fuck, someone to fuck you or even to watch you getting fucked by someone else, so you could forget about the real world for a while. It was pure escapism. No rules, no control. Just lust, sweat and the salty taste on your tongue of a stranger’s skin, with the bonus of the inevitable release before you simply wiped yourself down and moved on.

The dance floor hid dark corners with quirky alcoves and concealed corridors, the rich fabrics revealing little more than rhythmic movements to heavy beats as the strobe lights changed and bright white beams swept over the sea of bodies. I had to strain my eyes to find him again, having lost my throuple in the blinding lights. I looked over towards the toilets, more spaces with dim, purple strip lighting under which you could barely see your hands in front of you, yet they were constantly crowded with bare skin and heady moans. Fuck going for a wee; that’s not why people came here.

Up on the balconies, the mood was becoming tense as the music changed, and the humans below ground to the almost trancelike beat. Up here you were close, yet not close enough, but any closer and you would be halfway to getting off. Everyone’s eyes were rigidly fixed on the crowd below, bodies leaning over the railings transfixed by the action, faces flushed, skin taut and breaths held tight. Nobody cared. Everyone was at it.

I let out a breath of relief, having not noticed before how wound up I had become. But there he was again. My golden boy, now plastered across Buzz-cut’s back, still dancing and tongue-fucking the redhead, and I decided. It was time to set my plan into action, because I hadn’t come here for a random hook-up this time. Nor had I been invited to join my colleagues for a wild night of debauchery and laughter over tomorrow’s inevitable hangover. I allowed myself to smile into the crowd, shaking my head to the music and combing my fingers through the damp mess of my hair. I was stone cold sober, and I’d come here with a mission.

You see, I knew the guy down there, and I’d come here tonight to finally scratch that fucking annoying itch. I had waited too long, letting whatever we had become drag on into insanity. It was time to do this, end it and move on. Have him and have my way with him, and then I would let him go. Once and for all.

I’d overheard a casual conversation between the staff at work, and they’d mentioned coming here tonight for a well-deserved post-Christmas blow-off. Note: aconversation, not an invitation, despite parts of it being aimed straight at me. So here I was, questioning my sanity. Me on my own, in a crush of bodies where everyone was a stranger. I hadn’t noticed any of my colleagues on the dance floor, since I’d had my eyes on my prize all night. He was down there, and the way he was closing in on Mr Buzz-cut? I could tell he was going for the final kill. One he would never ever get. I could taste his horniness from where I was standing. I could feel him, how he had slowed down, how his hands were antsy, trying to touch more than he could reach. I was confident in my plan. There was no way he would reject me once I had him where I wanted him. With me.

I drained the last of my soft drink, slamming the empty glass down on the table next to me.

“You leaving?” a voice shouted in my ear accompanied by a hand grasping my wrist.

I didn’t turn to look at whomever he was. I just removed his hand with a shrug and shouted, “Sorry, mate, another time,” over my shoulder. Normally, I would have paid attention, and if he’d looked like he’d let me, maybe I would have lingered. But not today. Today, I walked firmly down the stairs and confidently made my way through the mass of dancing flesh.

By now, the three of them had moved close to the back wall, which suited me perfectly. He was just where I needed him—in the dark corners where nobody could see you or hear you scream, mainly because everyone else in those corners was busy fucking anyway.

The blonde streaks in his dark-auburn hair glittered every time the strobes hit his face, the sweat on his neck almost blinding with the effects pulsing over the crowd. He had his eyes closed, chest heaving as he swayed to the music. Another soul lost to the trance-inducing beat.

He didn’t notice me approaching, nor the slight shake in my hands when I grabbed his hips from behind and in one firm move turned him around and slammed his chest into the wall now conveniently right in front of us. With the sea of bodies pulsating at my back, there was just enough room in this quiet corner where we wouldn’t be seen by anyone, including his friends. Not that Mr Buzz-cut was paying attention, too engrossed in his own pleasure, as someone, I assumed it was the redhead, was on his knees slammed up against said wall with Mr Buzz-cut’s cock sinking in and out of his willing mouth.

My man was completely oblivious until he hit the cool concrete, catching himself with the palms of his hands, then attempting to push away as I again caught him and slammed his chest back to where it belonged, my body pinning him in place. Grabbing a fistful of his ridiculous hair, I forced his head to the side, and my lips finally hit that delectably damp, stubbled skin on his cheek.

“You up for it?” I snarled in his ear, my voice full of venom. This wasn’t the time or place for romance, and I didn’t sweet talk anyway. There was no need for it in a club like this where everyone was here for the same reason. It was small enough to be intimate, loud enough for people not to care and dark enough that no one could ever be sure what they’d seen or heard.

He didn’t fight my grip on his neck or pull away when I curled my hand around his front so I could rip open his belt. He just let me, his head dropping to the side when my mouth latched onto his neck and I sucked the first little bruise into his skin.

He tasted delicious, like I knew he would, this annoying fucker of a man who had annoyed the shit out of me for as long as I could remember. The anger was brewing in my chest again, and I was a little more forceful than perhaps I should’ve been. Dragging his jeans down with one foul rip, I scratched his skin with my fingernails, marking him so he would have something to remember me by when he blushed at his naked reflection in the morning. Sucking hickeys into his naked shoulder, I ripped his shirt open and walked one hand up his chest, twisting a nipple as the other tugged at his cock. The dirty bastard. He’d come prepared. No underwear. I knew there was a reason I liked him. Well, I didn’t. I didn’t fuck around with people I liked.

My hand was now firmly on his back, keeping him pinned against the wall, his bum arching out giving me better access. I stroked his cock with firm, fast movements, his skin warm, hard and erect. He was a lovely size, fitting perfectly in my grip, thick and a little damp at the tip. I moved my hand up over his chest so I could taste his wetness, lick the sweet, musky pre-come off my fingers, my head keeping his head pinned to the other side.

His whole body shivered with need, and I couldn’t tell if it was part of his arousal or a tiny bit of fear of what I was about to do to him. I suppose there was a need in me too. If I had stopped to think about what I was doing, I would probably have recoiled at my own stupid actions, because not only had I not really asked his consent, but I also hadn’t given him the chance to respond to my polite invitation to fuck.

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