Victor. Chapter III

Eduardo pushed the bathroom door open with one shoulder, and the noise of the music and muffled voices flooded the damp space like a wave. Víctor followed two steps behind, head lowered, eyes fixed on the heels of the military boots walking ahead of him. The black collar weighed on his neck, a constant presence that reminded him with every heartbeat who he was now.

In the narrow hallway connecting to the main room, a figure was waiting.

It was the mature slave he had seen before, the one who had carried the glass in his mouth. Now he was standing, upright, but with his gaze lowered, obedient. In his outstretched hands he held a thick black leather leash, with a polished steel clasp at one end. The collar he wore shone under the red light of the hallway.

The slave said nothing. There was no need for words. He simply bowed his head and offered the leash to Eduardo with both hands, as if presenting the reins of a horse to its true owner.

Eduardo took the leash without haste, wrapping it once around his fist. The leather creaked softly, a sound that made Víctor’s stomach tighten. Then he turned toward Víctor and, with a deliberate, almost ceremonial movement, clipped the clasp to the metal ring of the collar Víctor was wearing.

The click rang out dry, final, like the bolt of a cell locking shut.

“Now you’re truly leashed,” Eduardo murmured, giving a gentle but authoritative tug that made Víctor take a stumbling step forward. “Come, Dog. I’m going to show you where real Masters rest.”

Eduardo walked, and the leash tightened between them, an invisible thread of power transmitting every movement, every intention. Víctor followed, feeling the tug and slack of the leather against his neck, the warm humiliation of being guided like an animal, of feeling that his will no longer existed, that only the direction of the hand holding the other end existed.

They crossed the main room. The Masters with their red armbands looked on. Some laughed, others nodded respectfully toward Eduardo, acknowledging the transfer that had just occurred in the bathroom. Víctor felt their stares like burns on the bare skin of his torso, but he could not lift his gaze. The leash kept him from forgetting his place; every centimeter of leather connecting him to Eduardo was a chain stronger than any iron.

They reached the area where Eduardo had been sitting earlier: a corner beside the bar, with a tall black leather stool and a small round table. It was an observation point, an improvised throne from which the Master could visually dominate the room.

Eduardo sat down. The leather of the stool creaked beneath his weight. He made himself comfortable, spreading his legs naturally, the military boots shining under the dim light. Then he made an almost imperceptible gesture with his head toward the mature slave who had followed them.

The man obeyed instantly. He stood at Eduardo’s left side, ...