Chapter VII – The Sadistic Friends of Sánchez

On weekends the house filled up in an almost ritual way, as if the building itself breathed differently when Friday afternoon arrived.

Sánchez invited a small circle of men who shared his darkest tastes: experienced sadists, with money, in no hurry, and without any unnecessary empathy. They were always the same faces, or almost. Men of different ages, but with the same cold, assessing gaze.

They arrived at dusk, parked their cars discreetly, and went up to the living room on the upper floor, where whiskey and low conversation filled the atmosphere for hours. They talked about business, travel, other properties... and, barely changing tone, about bodies, endurance, how this or that slave had held up the last time.

Gustavo and Vince, downstairs, already knew what was coming. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses was the signal. They had to be on their knees, naked, clean on the outside, open on the inside, and in absolute silence when the dungeon door opened. Any flaw in posture, any noise, any gaze raised too soon, was paid for later.

When they finally came down, the basement atmosphere changed completely. The men inspected them like quality merchandise at a private market. They opened their mouths with their fingers, pressing the tongue, checking the throat, sometimes inserting two or three fingers until triggering the gag reflex. They spread their buttocks with both hands, evaluating how open they were, the color of the skin, the marks from the previous day.

They touched their bruises with graphic, cold comments: "This one is still sensitive," "Here you can keep at it," "The thigh area withstands more than it seems." Sometimes they chose one and left the other on his knees watching. Sometimes they wanted both at the same time, one sucking while the other was being penetrated, or both on all fours side by side to compare.

Gustavo quickly learned the unwritten rules. Not to look anyone in the face unless expressly ordered. To keep his eyes on the floor or on whatever point they indicated. To answer only when spoken to, and always with the exact formulas: "yes, sir" or "thank you, sir," even if his voice came out broken, choppy, or almost inaudible. Silence, when he was not asked, was mandatory. The body had to remain available, but the mind had to appear switched off.

One night, one of them—a tall, thin man with a soft voice and long, pale hands—took a special interest in Gustavo. He watched him in silence for several minutes while the others talked with Sánchez. Then he came closer, lifted his face with two fingers, and examined his mouth calmly.

He seemed satisfied. Without saying almost anything, he made him get on all fours in the center of the basement, exactly under the strongest light. He opened his buttocks with both hands, spreading them until the muscles protested, and inspected him with deliberate slowness. He spat, then penetrated him with a single deep thrust...