For you, I am Lord! The deconstruction of the Self.

The interior of the house was minimalist, impersonal, but Marcos barely had time to take it in. Alex took him by the neck of his T-shirt and pushed him toward a low door at the end of the hallway.

“The basement,” Alex announced, opening the door to reveal a staircase lit by a dim red light. “Go down. Get completely naked when you reach the last step. I want to see you naked, standing, with your hands behind your back and your eyes forward.”

Marcos went down. Each step echoed in his head like a war drum. When he reached the bottom, he found himself in a spacious room, perfectly climate-controlled, with walls lined with dark mirrors that multiplied the image. In the center there was a solid wooden structure with metal rings, but what made Marcos’s mouth go dry was the rest of the equipment: tables with black and silver silicone toys, sisal ropes, blindfolds, masks, and in one corner, what looked like a black wrought-iron cage, large enough to hold a person on their knees.

He undressed with trembling fingers. The T-shirt fell first, then the jeans. He was left completely exposed, his skin prickling from the air conditioning and excitement. His cock, already semi-erect from anticipation alone, hung heavy between his legs.

He heard Alex’s footsteps slowly descending. He didn’t dare turn around.

“Good boy,” Alex murmured from behind, his voice wrapping around Marcos like a boa constrictor. “Look at yourself. You’re already panting and I haven’t even started.”

Alex circled Marcos slowly, inspecting him as if he were livestock. With one finger, he lifted his chin to force him to look up, toward a chain hanging from the ceiling with a thick black leather collar.

“Today you are not Marcos. Today you are my possession. My object. My personal whore,” Alex said, and the harshness of the words sent a shiver down the boy’s back. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Marcos whispered, his voice breaking.

Alex smiled, a predatory expression. He took the collar and buckled it around Marcos’s neck, tightening it until the leather bit into his skin, leaving barely enough room to swallow. Then he clipped the chain to the front ring of the collar.

“Come,” he ordered, pulling on the chain.

Marcos followed, naked and vulnerable, to the center of the room. Alex positioned him in front of the wooden structure.

“Hands up, holding the rings,” he ordered.

Marcos obeyed. Alex took padded leather cuffs and fastened first his wrists to the upper rings, leaving Marcos’s arms stretched in a V shape. Then, with efficient movements, he fastened a spreader bar between his ankles, forcing Marcos to keep his legs more than a meter apart, completely exposing his crotch and his anus.

“Now then,” Alex said, taking a step back to admire his work. “You’re a picture, puppy. Look how you tremble.”

Marco...