The room was in silence. Not the peaceful silence of rest, but that which was charged with tension, where every glance said more than words.

The three young bodybuilders —Nico, Joel, and Álex— were standing, lined up against the wall. They still had dry remnants of the previous session on their skin, not due to neglect, but by order of the Master. It was part of the punishment: walking all day smelling of submission. But today... what was brewing was not shame, but something more primitive. Envy.

The original slave was in the center of the room, on a padded platform. Naked. Illuminated. Adorned with a leather harness adjusted to the torso, and a loose gag hanging from the neck like a reminder: today he didn't need to speak. He only needed to receive.

The Master walked slowly through the room. He observed. He measured.

—I've noticed something unpleasant in the atmosphere —he said in a cold voice—. Jealousy. Unpermitted competition. Desire to be "my favorite".

None of them responded. They all knew: speaking without being ordered was punishment.

—Do you want to be my favorites? Do you think it's enough to unload cum and whimper nicely to earn my attention?

The Master stopped in front of Álex, the youngest. The boy didn't raise his gaze, but the tremble in his jaw betrayed him.

—I saw you looking at him with anger when I kissed him. Do you think I don't notice?

The Master gave him a dry slap. Not brutal, but strong enough for him to let out a humiliated gasp. There was no hatred in his gaze... only pain. Desire to belong more.

—Today I will remind you of your place.

He ordered the three bodybuilders to get on all fours, in a line, in front of the original slave. Then he looked at the slave and spoke with calculated calm:

—They envy you. They want what you already have. Tonight, you're going to use them... one by one. Like toys. And they won't protest. Because you're mine. And they're just aspirants.

The slave swallowed, his heart beating strongly. He wasn't used to dominating with such freedom. But the fire was already lit.

He approached Nico first. He pushed his face against the floor with one hand.

—Ask for permission to be used —he ordered with a hoarse voice.

—Please, use me... I need to earn your place…

—You'll never have it —the slave whispered in his ear, before penetrating him without compassion.

The Master smiled in his armchair, watching how his servant acted as an extension of his will.

One by one, the three were taken. The slave wasn't seeking pleasure, but to humiliate, submit, demonstrate to them that he was the favorite. That his place wasn't earned with body, but with surrender.

Joel whimpered when the slave spat on his back and used him as a seat.

—Did you think that having more biceps would make you something here...