The Master of the Cage

First Contact

The notification arrived on a Tuesday afternoon. Verified profile, 29 years old, athletic build. In the description: "Active seeking demanding Master. I need to truly serve."

I reviewed his photos. Rodrigo. Square jaw, thick arms, that air of a man that anyone on the street would confuse with a heterosexual alpha male. But there he was, on Xtudr, looking for someone to put him in his place.

I wrote to him directly, without beating around the bush: "How serious are you when you say you need to serve?"

The response was immediate: "Completely serious, sir. I've been looking for a true Master for months. Someone who understands that my cock doesn't make me dominant. I need orders, discipline, purpose."

I smiled. This guy understood.

For two weeks, we exchanged messages. I established the rules clearly: I was passive, but absolute dominant. He would be my active slave—his cock at the service of my pleasure, his body a tool for my satisfaction, his will completely submitted to mine.

"Have you ever served a passive Master?" I asked him.

"No, sir. But it's exactly what I'm looking for. I want someone to use me, for my cock to serve a purpose greater than my own pleasure. I want to be his instrument."

Perfect.

I gave him my address and a date: Saturday, 8 pm. I ordered him to arrive showered, shaved, without underwear under his jeans. And the most important thing: "You will come prepared to obey without questioning. One doubt, one hesitation, and you're out."

"Understood, Master. I'll be there."

The Arrival

The doorbell rang exactly at 8:00 pm. Punctuality. Good start.

I opened the door. Rodrigo was there, more imposing in person—six feet tall, broad shoulders, fitted shirt that highlighted his worked-out torso. But in his eyes, I saw something that confirmed everything: contained submission, hunger for surrender.

"Come in."

He entered with cautious steps, looking around the apartment. Minimalist, orderly, everything in its place—a reflection of my need for control.

"Sit down." I pointed to the sofa.

He obeyed. He sat with his back straight, hands on his knees, like a soldier waiting for orders.

I settled in front of him in the individual armchair, legs crossed, posture relaxed but authority in every gesture.

"Before we start, I want to make sure you understood everything. Repeat what we agreed."

Rodrigo took a breath. "I'm your active slave. My cock exists for your pleasure, not mine. You decide when, how, and where I use it. I don't come without your permission. I obey without questioning. My purpose is to serve you."

"Good. Any doubts?"

"None, Master."

"Perfect. Take off your shirt."

Without hesitation, Rodrigo pulled the garment over his head. His torso was exposed—defined pectorals, marked abdomen, the kind ...