The Master's Farm — Episode 3: The Inspection.

Miguel arrived crawling at the entrance of the stable. His knees were already red, scraped by the earth and the pebbles on the road. The palms of his hands were dirty, full of dust. But none of that mattered to him because he felt his anus still throbbing from the thumb that the Master had inserted outside, and his cock was still leaking preseminal fluid that dripped onto the ground as he moved forward.

The stable was a large wooden structure, with a high corrugated iron roof. It smelled of hay, damp earth, leather, and beneath all that, something else. Sweat. Stale sex. Used bodies. Miguel registered that smell in some primitive part of his brain and his cock jumped.

"Halt," said the Master behind him.

Miguel stopped, still on all fours, right in the center of the stable. The floor there was made of polished concrete, cold against his knees and hands. There was little light; it entered through high windows covered in grime, and a pair of yellowish spotlights hung from the ceiling with their cables exposed.

To the right, Miguel managed to see three separate spaces divided by wooden partitions, like the compartments where horses are kept in stables. Individual enclosures. Each one had a thin mattress on the floor, a bucket, and metal rings embedded in the wall. No one was visible in them, but on one of the mattresses, there was a rumpled sheet. The other submissives must have been somewhere else.

To the left, there was a long wooden table with things on top that Miguel couldn't distinguish well from his position. And in the center of the stable, right in front of him, there was a structure that made his blood run cold and his cock hot at the same time: a sawhorse. A black leather sawhorse with straps, mounted on a metal base, with handholds on the sides and rings on the legs. It was the same one he had seen in the Grindr photo.

The Master walked past Miguel without looking at him, went to the wooden table, and turned on a large work lamp that illuminated that area of the stable with a white, almost clinical light. Then he dragged a metal bench and placed it beside the sawhorse.

"Come here. Crawl."

Miguel crawled to where the Master was, his buttocks swaying from side to side with the movement. Every time he advanced a knee, the buttock on that side rose and the other fell, alternating in a heavy, fleshy motion that the Master observed without blinking, with his arms crossed, leaning against the table.

"Stop," he said when Miguel arrived in front of him. "On your knees. Straight."

Miguel straightened up on his knees, his hands on his thighs. From that position, his face was at the height of the Master's belt. He could see the thick bulge that formed in the crotch of the Master's worn jeans, twisted to the left, clearly semi-erect.

But the Master didn't take out his cock. Not yet. Instead, he slowly walked around Miguel, like a rancher walking around a...