For you, I am Lord! My protégé

The sound of the basement door closing was final, a dull thud that sealed Víctor in the reddish darkness along with his defeat. The latch turned with a metallic click that echoed in the silent hallway of the house, and suddenly the world was reduced to the two of them: Alex and Marcos, owner and possession, the air still heavy with the smell of blood and sweat from the recent fight.

Alex said nothing. His hand moved with the speed of a snake, grabbing Marcos by the nape with enough force to make him gasp, to remind him who controlled his air, his balance, his world. His fingers dug into Marcos’s hair, pulling back, forcing him to look up, to meet his master’s eyes.

“Mine,” Alex growled, and it was not a question.

Then he descended on him. The kiss was an invasion, a brutal and necessary territorial mark. Alex’s split lips—swollen, still bleeding—crushed against Marcos’s with a force that bordered on pain. His tongue entered without asking permission, exploring, claiming every corner of Marcos’s mouth as if erasing there any lingering trace of Víctor, of fear, of doubt. Marcos tasted the metallic flavor of Alex’s blood, the salty taste of his sweat, and surrendered to the violence of the kiss, letting his body loosen in the hand holding him, letting his tongue respond with worshipful submission.

When Alex pulled away, both were panting. Alex’s breathing was a harsh, animal sound that came from the deepest part of his wounded chest.

“On all fours,” he ordered, and his voice did not tremble; it was a whip of silk and steel. “Now. Like the big, obedient dog you are.”

Marcos obeyed without thinking, his body responding to training, to the deepest need. He dropped onto his hands and knees on the wooden hallway floor, feeling the hardness against his palms, the weight of his body redistributed. The position opened him, exposed him, reduced him to the essence of his submission. From down there, Alex’s figure rose imposing, a tower of flesh and authority that blocked the light, that dominated his field of vision.

Alex walked slowly toward the coat rack in the entrance hall. From there he took the dog collar: thick black leather, with heavy metal buckles and a ring at the front where a tag with his name used to hang. He held it in his hands, contemplating it, letting the silence stretch, letting Marcos feel the anticipation like a knot in his stomach.

“Come here, dog,” Alex called, giving a gentle tug to the leash hanging from his hand.

Marcos crawled toward him; the movement was natural now, shame had been replaced by a kind of animal peace. He stopped at Alex’s feet, bowing his head in a sign of absolute submission, offering his neck.

Alex crouched. His hands worked efficiently, placing the collar around Marcos’s neck, tightening it more than before, until the leather bit into the skin, until every breath was a reminder of w...