The atmosphere was charged, but not with desire... rather with something denser: uncertainty. The Master had announced it that morning with a soft, almost cruel voice:

—Today you will discover if your loyalty is obedience... or disguised attachment.

The submissives were in formation, four of them naked and on their knees. Joel, the most emotional, was breathing with difficulty. Íker avoided looking at anyone. The principal slave, standing in front of everyone, felt the weight of the night before it had even begun.

In the center of the room, the Master placed a punishment rack, made of dark leather. Álex was tied to it, naked, already marked by previous sessions, but this time immobile and exposed.

—One of you —the Master announced— broke a rule last night. Someone lied to me. I don't care who it was. I just want someone to pay.

The Master looked directly at the principal slave, his voice lowering a tone.

—You will execute the punishment. Twenty lashes. Short whip. Intense.

The bodybuilder swallowed hard, looking at Álex. The young man had his eyes full of fear, but he didn't say anything. He knew that protesting would only make things worse.

—Do you doubt my order? —the Master asked, approaching him.

—No, my Master. But... can I know if he was the culprit?

A slap in the face.

—Your duty is not to ask questions. It's to obey. We don't punish the body. We mold the soul.

The slave nodded, already holding the whip in his hand. He knew it well: braided, short, precise. He had felt it on his own skin.

He positioned himself behind Álex, who was trembling. He was strong, but not yet trained in emotional resistance. The skin on his back, still unmarked, seemed to beg for silent mercy.

The first lash was dry and strong. Álex clenched his teeth, but didn't scream. The slave tensed his muscles. Each lash was a betrayal. Each lash was obedience.

By the fourth lash, the young man moaned. By the seventh, he cried. And the slave doubted.

The Master noticed.

—Are you going to stop? Are you going to disobey me for an emotional bond?

Silence. The whip trembled in the slave's hand.

—What does your submission mean if you choose someone else over me?

One step closer. The Master whispered in the slave's ear:

—If you disobey, you will take his place. But if you finish... I will know that you are truly mine.

The slave closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He raised his arm.

The next thirteen lashes were even harder. Álex screamed. Not in anger, but in defeat. Tears and sweat covered his face. When the last lash fell, everything was silent.

The Master walked up to the slave, took the whip away from him, and looked at him for a long time.

—You did well.

—Thank you, my Master —he whispered, his voice broken...