I Went to La Guarida to Choose a New Slave

I had carried that fixed idea for weeks. I wasn’t thinking of a specific body or a particular face, but of something more abstract and more urgent: the possibility of having someone completely emptied of his own will close at hand. A being who would not speak unless ordered, who would not move without permission, who would exist only for whatever I decided at any given moment. When the email from La Guarida announcing the annual liquidation arrived, I knew the time had come.

La Guarida was a private complex on the outskirts, so discreet that it didn’t even appear in any public directory. Once a year, for one weekend, the masters who had grown tired of their submissives handed them over there. It wasn’t a sale. The submissives had no assigned price. In practical terms, they were leftovers: bodies someone had owned, used, and discarded, and that could now be picked up by whoever wanted them. Those who didn’t find a new owner became part of the complex’s permanent staff, available to guests during regular stays. For anyone with no other destination, it wasn’t a bad outcome.

I went alone. I had left my Puppy at home with the cage on and the radio off. He didn’t like it. When I said goodbye, he looked at me with that mixture of contained rage and genuine fear that is sometimes charming and other times simply exhausting. His possessive instinct had its proper place, but there were other moments when he crossed a line I was not willing to tolerate. It was useful for him to remember from time to time that he wasn’t indispensable. A weekend with no news from me would do him good, locked up with his cock trapped in steel and no one to touch so much as a hair on his body.

I arrived at the facilities in the late morning. Marc was waiting for me at the main entrance, as always. He was a short Frenchman with a deep voice and expansive gestures, who ran the complex with the efficiency of someone who had spent far too many years enjoying his work far too much. Behind him, exactly one step back, walked one of his trusted slaves: a tall, powerfully built man, completely naked and obviously aroused. His cock stood hard against his belly, the tip shining with a thick drop hanging from the glans without quite falling. He followed Marc like a shadow, making no effort to hide his state.

—Valeria. —Marc kissed me on both cheeks with the customary exuberance.— How was the trip? I thought maybe you were bringing company this time.

—Not this time. I left my Puppy at home brooding. It’s good for him to remember where he stands.

Marc clicked his tongue with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

—You’re too generous with that one. You should let us have him for a season. We’ve got a rehabilitation program with excellent reviews. Masters who leave them with us for a couple of months always say it’s like getting them brand-new from the beginning.

—I won’t say no for later. But this time I came for the liquidation. I want something manageable, something that won’t cause problems, something that stays close without being too obvious. As for the rest, I have no preferences whatsoever. I’m coming with an entirely open mind.

Marc nodded slowly and tipped his head toward the man behind him.

—What do you think of this one? I’ve had him for two years and I’m bored. He obeys too well for my taste, and when there’s no resistance, punishing them doesn’t do it for me. He lacks spark. That said, he’s got a good build, he’s had a vasectomy, and he’ll take anything you give him without complaint. I can also hand over the chastity cage I had made to measure for him: the first one was too small and was a nuisance. The only downside is that he understands Spanish only halfway, so you have to guide him more with gestures than with words.

—I appreciate the offer. But I’m looking for something more discreet, something that stays in a corner and doesn’t take up too much room. —I paused.— Though if you don’t mind, lend him to me for a while this afternoon. I’m in the mood to move around after so long in the car, and he looks promising.

—He’s yours until you get tired of him. —He snapped his fingers at the slave, who immediately stepped forward without hesitation.— I’ve also assigned Sofía to you as domestic service in your suite. You remember her from the last visit, don’t you?

—Very well, yes.

—She’s waiting for you upstairs. Tonight, after dinner, the official liquidation begins. The weekend is for you to try the candidates at your leisure and decide. No obligation to take anyone.

We crossed the main hall, which smelled of dark wood and something warm I couldn’t describe precisely but that was unmistakable to anyone who knew it: clean sweat, oiled leather, a sour undertone of dried semen on tile. Marc’s slave walked behind me carrying my two bags, without anyone having told him which ones they were. He had paid more attention than his owner was letting on, or perhaps he had been invisible for so long that he’d developed a special sense for anticipating what was expected of him. His cock moved with every step, heavy, keeping time.

***

The suite door opened before I could touch it. Sofía had that reflex, or she had developed it after years of sustained practice. She was a redhead in her early thirties, full-bodied and with a perpetually focused expression. She wore her hair gathered into a tight bun that slightly pulled her facial features upward. She was completely shaved, barefoot, and wearing nothing at all, as befitted her rank in the complex. Her breasts hung heavy, with dark, wide nipples already hardened the moment she saw me enter. Between her thighs, her bare cunt shone faintly, not enough to catch the eye of anyone who didn’t know how to look. She wasn’t the kind of slave who took part in guests’ sessions as a direct object of desire. She was service: massages, constant attention, silent company when needed, and invisible presence when not. Extraordinarily competent at all three.

—Goodbye, Marc. See you tonight. I’ll return the boy later. —Marc inclined his head slightly before disappearing down the corridor without saying anything else.

I went in. The room wasn’t the largest in the complex, but it had what it needed: a wide bed with a reinforced headboard for restraints if necessary, and a jacuzzi in the corner beside a large window overlooking the inner gardens. No curtains. No privacy. Here none of that was considered relevant, and not one of the people present seemed to care in the least.

I gestured for Sofía to unpack the bags. Clothes in the wardrobe; toys on the coffee table. She did it without asking anything, with the efficiency of someone who has learned over time that questions are not welcome. I went out onto the terrace to get some air.

***

Below, in the garden, a group training session was in full swing. Six submissives in single file, naked, with a ring belt around their waists. From each belt hung chains connecting each submissive to the one ahead of him or her, clipped to metal pinchers on the nipples. The trainer, Luis, led the first in line at a steady, deliberate pace. The logic was simple and ruthless: if someone fell behind, the chain pulled back and pinched the nipples of the one behind. If someone sped up too much, it did the same in the other direction. Keeping the rhythm was the exercise. Not losing it was the only way to avoid pain.

It wasn’t simple. One of the submissives, the third in line, had been at the limit of the pull for several minutes. Every time she felt the tension building behind her, she picked up her pace by a step, which shifted the discomfort to the submissive directly behind her. It was a domino effect of controlled pain that Luis watched without intervening, waiting for the exact moment of greatest chaos to step in.

That moment came when one of the men at the back of the line lost the rhythm and stumbled. The chain tightened too hard, the pinchers gave way all at once, and the scream that came out of his mouth was dry, brief, and genuine. The entire group froze.

Luis let a few seconds pass in silence before speaking. It was more effective than shouting.

—We’ve been doing this exercise all morning. I’m not asking for perfect coordination. I’m asking for basic attention, and none of you is even managing that. —He nodded toward the inside of the building.— All of you to the punishment room. If your masters left you here, it was for a reason, and I think this morning you’ve shown me exactly what that reason was.

None of them argued. They set off in a line, heads bowed and nipples red, toward the complex doors. The submissive at the back had wet cheeks, but she walked upright.

***

Marc appeared from the side of the garden with a new crop in his hand and the calm expression of someone who has heard exactly what he wanted to hear.

—Luis, did I hear that right? General punishment?

—Master Marc, if you want to choose anyone, they’re all at your disposal. The six of them are equally clumsy.

Marc went over them one by one with his eyes, unhurried. He pointed with the crop at the submissive who had been on the edge throughout the exercise, and at the man who had lost the clamps.

—These two.

The other four moved on without hiding their relief. The two chosen knelt without needing to be told twice: wrists held to the belt, foreheads inclined toward the ground, buttocks exposed. They knew protesting only made things worse. Marc rolled up his shirt sleeves slowly, with all the calm in the world.

He started with the submissive woman. He didn’t count the blows or announce how many there would be. The crop fell on her skin at an even pace, neither fast nor slow, and between blows the only sound was leather against flesh and the small whimpers that escaped her without her being able to help it. Her buttocks took on red parallel stripes, crossed, swollen. With each lash her legs opened a little by reflex, and from the terrace it was perfectly visible how her cunt gleamed between her thighs, soaked, with a thread of fluid already running down to her knee. After a while, her knees gave out and she collapsed onto one side. Marc pulled on the chain to reposition her, and before withdrawing his hand he slid two fingers between her legs, drove them without hesitation into the submissive woman’s cunt to the knuckles, and withdrew them dripping. He examined them for a moment with the same expression as always.

—Luis. —Marc’s voice was almost bored.— Tonight, have her stay near my suite. I know why she wasn’t keeping the rhythm. She’s completely soaked. The slut was coming with every stroke of the crop.

Luis nodded without commenting. Marc brought his fingers to the submissive woman’s mouth, and she licked them without opening her eyes, with that clumsy diligence of someone on the verge of coming again just from the gesture. Marc turned to the man, who kept his eyes fixed on the ground even though his shoulders were trembling visibly. Marc laid the crop on the grass. He unfastened his belt without hurrying, lowered his trousers to mid-thigh, and drew out his cock with a calm that made everything even more humiliating for the one who was about to receive it. It was thick, dark, already half hard, and he gave it two slow strokes against his palm without urgency while studying the ass before him.

What followed was direct and without ceremony. Marc prepared him with two fingers and saliva: he spat into his hand, smeared his cock, then spat again, this time directly into the submissive’s hole, pushing the saliva inward with his thumb until the ring opened a little. With two straight fingers he entered without warning to the second knuckle and twisted his wrist. The submissive let out a growl and arched his back instinctively. Marc waited exactly three seconds, withdrew his fingers, pulled the buttocks apart with both hands, and drove in with one sustained thrust until his hips hit the red cheeks. The sound that came from the submissive was long and confused, half protest, half something else with no clear name. Marc took him by the ring belt for leverage and began moving with a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and then burying himself to the hilt again, never once losing his composure or the slightly bored look he’d worn since arriving in the garden. Each thrust made the submissive’s ass bounce and a muffled gasp escape against the grass. The submissive’s cock, trapped under his belly, hung heavy and dripped silently onto the lawn, a small puddle growing with every movement Marc made.

—Squeeze —Marc ordered through clenched teeth, and slapped the left cheek with a sharp smack—. Tighten your ass or I’ll leave it so open you won’t be able to close it for a week.

The submissive obeyed as best he could, clenching the ring around the cock that was opening him. Marc gave a short sigh of satisfaction and accelerated for a few seconds, fucking him with shorter, harder thrusts, until he felt like returning to the slow cadence from before. He liked to stretch the moment.

Luis, meanwhile, had advanced toward the other end. He had unfastened his trousers without lowering them and had pulled the submissive’s cock out from the front, gripping his hair with one hand and guiding the cock with the other. The submissive was servicing him with his mouth, eyes closed and breathing broken, swallowing every time Luis pushed his head against his groin. He was choking, tears sprang to his eyes, that wet sound of a strained throat came out of him, and Luis did not let up. When the submissive managed to breathe through his nose, Luis pushed another finger deeper, until his chin touched his balls and his face went red. A thick thread of saliva hung from his chin and dripped onto his chest.

The four remaining submissive women stood motionless a few meters away, eyes forward as they had been taught. But their legs were clamped together and their thighs shone with dampness. Two of them had nipples dripping from the tension of the clamps, hardened to the point of pain. Their bodies spoke for themselves.

Marc finished without warning. He sank in one last time to the hilt, held still for a moment with his jaw tight, and came inside with a short, deep grunt. He stayed there for a few seconds, breathing through his nose, while semen filled the submissive man’s ass. Then he withdrew calmly, watching the red, open ring release a thick stream that ran down the submissive’s perineum to his balls. He gathered what remained with two fingers, scraping around the hole, and brought it to the submissive’s mouth, which accepted it without resistance, still red and breathing in short gasps.

—All of it —said Marc—. Lick them clean and swallow it.

The submissive obeyed. He licked the fingers one by one, with his tongue flat, swallowed, and opened his mouth so Marc could check that it was empty. Luis, a meter farther on, had pulled out of the other one’s throat and was finishing on his face, one firm hand at the base and the first spurts striking the cheek and closed eyelid. The submissive kept his mouth open as he had been taught and didn’t move until Luis ran the glans over his lips so he could clean the last drop.

Marc fastened his belt, picked up the crop from the ground, and gave Luis a brief gesture of satisfaction before disappearing the way he had come, without once looking back.

***

I went back into the room. Sofía had finished arranging everything. My toys were on the coffee table, lined up with a precision no one had asked of her but that I appreciated in silence: the harness with the thick black dildo on the left, the slimmer one beside it, the short crop, the steel plug, the open bottle of lubricant, the leather gags. The jacuzzi was full and the water was still steaming near the window. The afternoon light came in unfiltered and painted the floor in long, warm bands.

Marc’s slave was still kneeling by the door, hands on his thighs and eyes lowered, exactly in the same position where I had left him. He had heard everything that had happened in the garden. It showed in the way he controlled his breathing: regular, too regular, the kind of control you only exercise when there is something to hold back. His cock gave him away: it was pointed at the ceiling, thick, with the glans purple, and a fresh drop hung from the tip. He was ready for what came next, and he knew it, and I knew he knew it.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at them both for a moment. Sofía waited standing by the wardrobe, perfectly still. The slave still didn’t lift his eyes from the floor, although his posture said everything.

—The jacuzzi can wait —I said—. Come here.

Sofía moved toward me without a sound, her breasts swaying slowly with each step. The slave didn’t look up, but the tension in his shoulders shifted perceptibly. He had learned to listen with his whole body. I beckoned with two fingers and he crawled on his knees until he was in front of me, his head level with my thighs.

I pulled my skirt up to my waist and spread my legs without getting off the bed. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The slave understood without needing to be told and lowered his face to my cunt, but stopped two fingers’ width before touching me, waiting for permission. Well trained. I liked that.

—Flat tongue. Slowly. From bottom to top —I told him.

He began exactly as I had asked. One long lick from the entrance of my cunt to the clit, and another, and another, without pressing, without taking shortcuts, without slipping the tip in yet. His tongue was broad and hot and knew how to move without haste. I gestured for Sofía to come to the other side and took one breast with my free hand, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger until she let out a contained sigh.

—Get on the bed and straddle my face.

Sofía obeyed without a word. I lay back completely, she settled over me with her knees on either side of my head, and I took her by the hips and pulled her down until her shaved cunt was right over my mouth. She was as wet as I had imagined from the second she opened the door. I drove my tongue between her lips without ceremony, searching for her clit, and she let out a short moan she tried to muffle by biting the inside of her cheek.

—Don’t hold back —I said against her cunt—. This is where the women who serve well moan.

Sofía let go. Really let go. She began to move her hips against my face, to rub her clit against my tongue with a desperation she hadn’t shown before, and for the first time since I had entered the suite her composure broke. Below, the slave was eating my cunt with more eagerness too, and he had already gone from long licks to the insistent tip, flicking it against my clit with a steady rhythm that was starting to bring me to the edge.

I reached toward the table, grabbed the bottle of lubricant, and threw it to the slave at his feet without taking Sofía off my face.

—The plug. Put the plug in. The big one.

I heard him detach from me for a second, coat the metal, and slide the plug into himself without complaint. When he came back to my cunt he did it with a changed breath, shorter, more broken, and with an even more diligent tongue, as if the weight of steel in his ass had reminded him exactly what he was and why he was there.

Sofía came first. Her thighs began to tremble around my head, then her belly, then everything. She leaned forward, gripping the headboard, gushed against my chin, and stifled her cry against her own arm. I didn’t let her pull away. I kept her hips against my mouth and licked her cunt while she came again, shorter, sharper, a shiver running through her entire back. Only then did I let her fall to one side, exhausted and flushed.

I pushed the slave away with my knee, sat up, grabbed the harness, and strapped it around my hips without looking at him. I chose the thick dildo.

—Face down, on the bed. Ass up.

He moved at once. He climbed up, pressed his forehead against the mattress, and arched his back until his ass was lifted with the plug still inside. I yanked the plug free and pulled it out in one firm motion, without care. The hole was left open for a few seconds, dilated, shining with lubricant. I positioned myself behind him, pressed the tip of the dildo to the ring, and shoved all the way in in one stroke. The slave groaned against the mattress and his hands clenched in the sheets.

I started fucking him with long thrusts, gripping his hips, looking at myself in the open wardrobe mirror. The image was worth it: me behind him, still dressed from the waist up, moving against him with the harness tight, and Sofía lying on her side on the bed, one hand between her legs, watching us without even pretending otherwise as she touched herself.

—Sofía —I said without breaking rhythm—, get in front. Let him eat your cunt while I fuck him.

Sofía knelt in front of the slave’s face. He lifted his mouth from the mattress and went straight between her thighs without anyone needing to explain it. He ate her with the same diligence he had given me, and every time I drove in hard, his face sank deeper into Sofía’s cunt and she let out a new moan.

I sped up. I forgot all restraint, dug my fingers into his waist, and fucked him until I could hear his voice starting to slip, until the muffled grunts turned into full gasps, until his whole body went rigid between my harness and Sofía’s mouth. His cock had gotten so hard and had leaked so much onto the sheets that it barely needed touching.

—Now —I told him—. Come without hands. Like that, against the bed.

I gave him two more thrusts, dry and deep, and he came. He gushed onto the sheet in several thick spurts, never taking his face out from between Sofía’s legs, and the roughness in his throat mixed with her new moan, as she came against his mouth almost at the same time. I stayed inside a few seconds longer, pressing all the way in, enjoying the tremor that was still running through him. Then I withdrew slowly, leaving the hole red and open.

I took off the harness, let it drop to the floor, and looked at the two bodies sprawled on the bed, breathing hard, shining with sweat and semen and saliva. The plug was still on the sheet. Sofía still had her hand between her legs. The slave hadn’t moved from the position in which he had come.

The official liquidation didn’t begin until after dinner. I had the whole afternoon ahead of me, and I intended to make the most of it.