After the last session, something broke in the air. It wasn't Alex's body —although he still walked with caution— but the silent balance that kept the submissives united in their obedience. Now, there were twisted glances, uncomfortable silences, and at the center of everything... Íker.

The Master didn't ignore anything. He never did.

That night, he summoned everyone to the main room. They were naked, lined up, but this time there was no lust in their gazes... just tension. Íker kept his head down, knowing that his lie had made someone else pay.

The Master entered in silence. His presence was enough to make everyone tense.

"There has been betrayal," he said with a tempered voice. "Not towards me. That's impossible. But among yourselves."

Everyone knew he was talking about Íker. The principal slave looked at him for a second. There was anger, yes... but also pity. They were brothers in submission. That made it worse.

"But lies are useful," the Master continued. "They allow us to test who deserves their collar... and who only wears it out of desire."

He approached Íker.

"Your punishment will be public. Not because I need it... but because they deserve it."

He placed a soft gag on him. He tied his wrists above his head with black rope. He took him to the center of the room and left him hanging from the iron frame. His body was exposed, vulnerable, but not yet humiliated.

"Today, I won't be the one to correct you," he said. "They will."

He turned to the other submissives. Alex was the first to react. His hands still remembered the leather on his back. The Master offered him a short wooden rod. He looked him in the eye. He didn't order. He just waited.

Alex approached. Not with anger, but with decision. He gave him a blow right on the buttocks. Íker gasped. He didn't resist.

Then came Nico, then Joel. Each one with a punishment: a slap, a word. Nothing brutal, but each gesture was a reaffirmation. Íker accepted everything without protest. He knew he deserved it. He knew that forgiveness isn't demanded... it's earned.

When it was the principal slave's turn, the silence became even denser. He walked up to Íker. He didn't take an instrument. He approached him, brushed his chest, and said just one phrase in his ear:

"I'm still here. But not for you."

Then he stepped aside.

The Master smiled. Not out of cruelty, but because everything was going according to his plan.

"Now," he said, "you're going to look at each other again. You're going to touch each other. You're going to test if what unites you is the desire to serve me... or just the fear of being alone."

And so, in a night without explicit lust, but filled with forced contact, burning glances, and silences that weighed more than a whip, the balance began to readjust.

Íker cried in the end. Not from pain. From gra...