The training of Master Felipe

Master Felipe was not a man of improvisations; for him, ownership required structure, design, and a meticulous calibration of mind and body. The first night in his private chambers had been only the initial contact, the baptism by fire that fractured my former conception of submission under Domina Amanda’s framework to make way for a strictly masculine, direct, and possessive paradigm. At dawn, the dull pain of the lashes on my back had transformed into a map of heat that reminded me with every vibration whom I belonged to. I was not allowed to sleep in the bed, but on a leather cot at its foot, with a short chain linking my collar to one of the bronze posts of his bed.

At exactly six in the morning, the metallic sound of Master Felipe’s keys jolted me awake. I sat up immediately, adopting the kneeling posture with my head lowered, just as the survival instinct I had polished over the years dictated, although I knew the rules here were about to be rewritten.

“Up, edumiso,” ordered his deep voice, stripped of the theatrical rigidity of the auction, but charged with a natural authority that allowed no reply.

He wore an impeccable black silk robe. He sat in a wingback chair in front of me, crossed his legs, and observed me carefully while holding a black leather notebook and a fountain pen. The silence stretched on for several minutes, a psychological tactic that raised my heart rate. I knew I was being evaluated, catalogued not as an inanimate object, but as moldable clay.

“Your education with Amanda was acceptable as regards restraint of speech and physical endurance,” he began, sliding the pen over the paper with a rhythmic rasp. “But a Domina often seeks aesthetic humiliation or catharsis through distant pain. With me, your submission will be utilitarian, formative, and deeply physical. You are not an ornament, edumiso. You are an extension of my will. And for that extension to function without friction, we will implement the Property Code.”

He stood up, walked toward me, and placed the tip of his leather boot beneath my chin, forcing me to lift my head to hold his gaze. Holding a Master’s gaze was something Amanda punished severely; with Felipe, I discovered immediately that avoiding eye contact was considered an act of cowardice or dishonesty.

“Rule number one,” he pronounced, staring directly into my eyes. “You will always look at me when I speak to you, unless I expressly order otherwise. Submission is not hiding; it is facing my authority head-on. Understood?”

“Yes, Master Felipe,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper trembling from the intensity of his nearness.

“Rule number two: the use of your name is suspended outside these walls. In here you are edumiso, written and conceived in lowercase, because your individuality is subordinated to the benefit of the pairing we form. When you address me, you will always use the terms ‘Master Fel...