THE MAN WHO SOUGHT A MASTER VI by Patxus

The basement of the chalet smelled of concrete, leather, and truth. Patxus had put away the candles, the oil, the warm towels. Only the bare leather bed remained, the flogger with wide strips hanging on the wall, and the wooden chair in the center, under the only lightbulb illuminating the room.

The four of them were on their knees before him. Naked. With their collars on. Javier with the smooth black leather one. Marta with the red spiked one whose spikes bit into the white skin of her neck. Ana with the golden one that said GOLDEN WHORE. And Juanan with the new one, brown leather without rivets, which Patxus had put on him that very night without saying a word.

There was no music. There was no prior caressing. There was no warm-up ritual. Patxus was sitting in the chair, boots planted on the floor, forearms on his thighs, the flogger in his right hand, swinging it slightly. His face was a mask of absolute calm. That was the most terrifying thing.

“I have been patient,” he said, in a grave, measured voice, without a trace of anger. “I have been your Master, your punishment, and your consolation. I have given you pleasure when you deserved it and pain when you needed it. I have taken care of you as one takes care of what is valuable.”

He paused. The silence thickened.

“But there is something you have not told me. And I know it. A Master smells the lie before it leaves his submissives’ mouths. He smells the fear of being discovered. He smells the secret that rots beneath submission.”

He looked at Juanan. Then Ana. Then Marta. And finally Javier.

“Marisa Ibarrola. That neighbor who has taken care of your dog, that small woman with broad hips and brown hair who brought Cani to the porch a few days ago. The one who left trembling, with flushed cheeks and clenched legs after hearing me speak.”

The four of them lowered their gaze. None said anything.

“And Cani,” Patxus continued, savoring the word. “That dog that sleeps under the fig tree. That Border Collie you all treat as if he were another member of the family.”

He stood up. The flogger brushed the floor with a whisper of leather.

“I did not come here to play. I came here to build something true. And I cannot build anything on rotten foundations. So tonight we are going to do something different. Tonight there is no session. Tonight there is confession.”

He stopped in front of Juanan. He lifted his chin with two fingers, forcing him to look at him.

“Twenty questions. To each one. In order: you, Juanan, then Ana, then Marta, and finally my BISHOP, Javier. For each question, one lash. For each answer that seems like a lie to me, another lash and a better explanation. I want to strip your soul bare. I want to know what you feel. What you desire. What you fear. And I want every answer to come from the deepest part of your being. Without shields. Without lies. Without evasions.”

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