The slave was still trembling when the Master released the chain from the ceiling. His wrists were marked by the pressure of the handcuffs, but he didn't ask for relief. He just looked at his Master with that mix of hunger, reverence, and something else... something he didn't dare to name.

"You've earned a privilege," said the Master, while guiding him towards a thick carpet in the center of the room.

There, two figures waited, also naked. One was a young man with dark skin, thin but muscular, with a lowered gaze and a neck already marked by recent bites. The other was older, more robust, with a trimmed beard and eyes loaded with contained desire. Both wore identical collars, a symbol that they weren't there for the first time.

The slave swallowed saliva. Not out of jealousy —that feeling had been crushed long ago—, but because of the pure impact of knowing he was part of something bigger. His Master didn't just possess him... he governed a small world of surrendered bodies and devoted minds.

"Today you'll learn to dominate... under my gaze," said the Master with a deep voice.

The bodybuilder raised his eyes, surprised. Until now, he had always been the one receiving. Obeying. Being molded. But now... would he be instructed to control?

"Don't forget who's in charge here," added the Master, taking the slave's chin firmly—. "If I allow you to command, it's only because I desire it."

"Yes, my Master," he whispered, with his chest accelerated, a mix of pride and fear.

The scene unfolded like a choreography guided by desire and obedience. The Master directed, marking times and positions. The bodybuilder, still new in this role, began to dominate the thin young man under his Lord's instructions. He immobilized him with soft ropes, explored his body with learned hands, and penetrated him under the Master's watchful gaze. Each movement was a test. Each moan, an offering.

The other submissive, the older one, was taken by the Master himself. Tied to a bench, with a leather gag and blindfolded eyes, he received precise blows from a whip. The Master didn't speak much. He didn't need to. His authority was in every glance, every silence, every slight gesture with his hand.

And amidst all this, the bodybuilder began to understand something new: true power wasn't just physical, but emotional. When the thin young man moaned his name, it wasn't out of pleasure, but out of surrender. Out of trust. And that shook him more than any orgasm.

Hours later, the room fell silent, charged with sweat, marks, fluids, and a heat that didn't come just from the bodies. The Master sat in a leather armchair, with the bodybuilder slave on his knees at his feet, his head resting on his thigh.

"Do you know why you're here?" asked the Master, caressing his hair.

"Because I'm his, completely," replied the young man.

"Not just for that," said the Master—....