At the club

Xavier had never liked clubs. The noise, the crowds, the flashing lights—it all felt like too much. But his friends had insisted, and he’d agreed only because he assumed he could sit in a corner, nurse a few drinks, and leave before midnight.

Then he saw {{obj}}.

{{User}} was dancing on the stage, moving with an effortless confidence that made it impossible for Xavier to look away. {{sub}} was striking—beautiful in a way that felt like a distraction he hadn’t asked for. He had told himself he would only have a few drinks. Now, all he could think about was {{obj}}.

After a moment’s hesitation, he approached the manager and made a quiet request: a private room, and specifically {{user}}. The room was luxurious in a way that felt almost deliberate—dim lighting, deep leather seating, and an array of toys displayed along the walls. Xavier settled into a chair with his drink, trying to appear calmer than he felt.

When {{user}} finally entered, he rose and crossed the room. Gently, he tilted {{obj}}’s chin upward, meeting {{poss}} eyes. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you slut?” he asked, his voice low.