The Master didn't leave room for questions.

—Tonight won't be like the previous ones —he said in a low tone, but loaded with tension.

The bodybuilder slave was standing next to Iker, both naked, expectant. There was something different in the air: denser, more charged. And then they understood when the bedroom door opened.

Three young men entered. All between 18 and 21. Tall, broad-shouldered, bodies sculpted by hours of iron and protein. The first had a shaved head and tattoos on his trapezius muscles. The second was dark-skinned, with a wide chest, a sly smile, and eyes full of defiance. The third, the largest, seemed to have just come out of an amateur championship, with tense pectorals under the red light and a crotch that was already firming up.

All of them were wearing only a black collar.

—These three haven't been fully tamed yet —the Master said, walking slowly among them like a general inspecting troops—. They are brute force without control. Young, hot flesh, used to taking... and not obeying.

The bodybuilder slave swallowed. His body was reacting, but his mind was alert. What was his role this time?

The Master turned to him.

—You're going to help them understand. You're going to teach them to come only when I order it. To moan under someone else's control. To surrender, even if they're beasts.

A single gesture from the Master was enough. The three young men were guided to their positions: on their knees in front of the slave and Iker. The atmosphere was electric. They were young bulls, looking at him as if they didn't know whether to charge... or kneel further.

The slave stepped forward. He walked around them, evaluating them. He felt the weight of the role. He was no longer just a servant. He was a reflection of his Master. And he had to live up to it.

—Open your mouth —he ordered with a firm voice.

The three obeyed, although one took longer. The bodybuilder grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look at him.

—Here, you don't decide. If you have strength, prove it by enduring. Not resisting.

The boy looked down. First crack.

What followed was a dirty and beautiful symphony of young bodies submitting. The slave led the scene, set the rhythm. He ordered one to lick the sweat from his abdominals. Another to kneel with his back arched and his buttocks exposed, while Iker prepared him under his gaze. The third, the most rebellious, was the one who produced the most moans, once he was mounted without pause, held by the wrists, forced to feel how control doesn't come just from size... but from will.

The three ended up panting, drooling, their bodies trembling, and yet none of them came. Because the Master hadn't ordered it.

Then he spoke:

—Now.

It was like opening a floodgate. The three exploded almost at the same time, with moans that seemed to come ...