That Night I Chose My New Slave at La Forja

I had been waiting for that email for weeks. When it arrived—with La Forja’s silver logo in the subject line—I opened it before finishing my coffee. Annual spring liquidation: slaves freed by their former masters, available to anyone who wanted to keep them. No price, no contract. Only the will of both parties and the desire to start from scratch.

That was exactly what I needed. I didn’t want someone with a history, mannerisms learned in another bed, or habits inherited from another master. I wanted a clean slate. A body that didn’t yet know what I liked and would learn it from the beginning, with time and precision.

My regular slave—the one I called the Dog—stayed home with his cage on. I saw it in his jaw when I told him I was going alone. That characteristic tension of his, blending jealousy with fear of being replaced. I told him that what he felt was not my problem. That possessive attitude was precisely the kind of behavior that made me consider giving him permanently to another master.

I said nothing more. I closed the door and took to the road.

***

Marc was waiting for me at the entrance to the complex, as always. He was a thin man with a soft voice and exaggerated manners, holding a glass of champagne even though it wasn’t yet three in the afternoon. Exactly one meter behind him walked his current slave: an imposing, completely naked man, his cock locked in a polished steel device and his eyes fixed on the ground. His shoulders were pulled back in that submissive posture that can only be achieved after months of constant training.

“Nora, what a pleasure to see you.” Marc kissed me twice. He smelled of tobacco and expensive cologne. “Are you alone this time?”

“Alone. The Dog stayed home brooding. I needed to remind him that the world doesn’t revolve around what he wants.”

Marc let out his usual laugh, one that always sounded more like courtesy than genuine amusement.

“You’re far too generous with him. You should leave him with us for a while. We have a reconditioning program that works wonders. The masters who try it tell us it’s like getting them brand-new. They come back docile, focused, without that scattered energy that’s so irritating.”

“I wouldn’t rule anything out,” I replied, although we both knew I wasn’t going to do it. The Dog was a problem, but he was mine.

Marc indicated his slave with a vague gesture, almost as though he were talking about a piece of furniture he was considering moving to another room.

“What do you think of this one? He’s been with me for two years and I’m already bored. He’s too obedient; there’s no tension. If they don’t resist a little, punishing them loses all its appeal. I’ve trained him well: he obeys, endures, and doesn’t speak more than necessary. I’ll give you the custom cage I had made for him, too. The first one I put him in was too small and made my life difficult; it took too long to get it on him before every outing.”

I looked at the slave. He didn’t blink. He kept his eyes on the ground, his hands at his sides, breathing slowly and without moving. His cock, compressed against the steel of the cage, hung heavily between his thighs, his balls red and squeezed beneath the ring. There was something about that stillness that was attractive and, at the same time, slightly tedious. Marc was right: he was too domesticated. He lacked an edge.

“I appreciate the offer,” I said, “but I’m looking for something more manageable this time. Something that can stay close without taking up too much space. Though, if you don’t mind, I might borrow him this afternoon. I need to move around after spending so long in the car.”

Marc smiled with satisfaction, wearing the expression of a host who knows he has everything under control.

“He’s yours whenever you want. And now come on—I’ve assigned Clara as your domestic slave. I know you were pleased with her work last time. She’s waiting for you in your room. The liquidation is tonight after dinner, so you’ll have time to try out those available over the weekend and decide at your leisure.”

We crossed the main hall together. Marc talked nonstop, as he always did when he wanted to seem busy. I listened with half an ear, already thinking about what I would find at the liquidation.

***

The suite wasn’t the largest in the complex, but it had everything I needed: a wide bed with a steel headboard and anchor points at all four corners, a jacuzzi in the corner beside the picture window overlooking the gardens, and a central table waiting for the toys I had brought. The windows had no curtains. La Forja never had any. Exhibition was part of the atmosphere, just like the low music that always played in the corridors or the smell of leather and wood permeating every corner.

Clara was waiting for me beside the bathroom door. Thirty, perhaps a little younger. Black hair pulled into a tight bun, a round, warm body, completely shaved. Heavy breasts, with dark nipples stippled by the cool air in the room. Her pussy shaved bare, with thick lips visible between her thighs. She wore a thin leather strap around her neck—the mark of a domestic-service slave—and her bare feet rested on the cold marble. Her eyes faced forward, not seeking mine, waiting for instructions with that learned patience that cannot be improvised.

I gestured toward the suitcases. She began unpacking them in silence, with the efficiency of someone who had done it many times. Clothes into the wardrobe, folded precisely. The toys—the leather whip, nipple clamps, straps of various widths, wand vibrator, steel plug, and black dildo with harness—arranged on the table according to the same logic I used at home: from least to greatest intensity, left to right. I didn’t have to tell her anything. She had learned it during my last visit.

I went out onto the terrace. I needed air and a few minutes without anyone watching me.

***

In the garden, a group of submissives was in the middle of training. I counted them from the railing: three men and three women, all naked, walking in single file along the stone path. They wore waist harnesses with metal rings, and from each ring extended a thin chain that ended in the nipple clamps of the submissive in front. The effect was mechanical and merciless: if the person in front sped up, the one behind felt the tug; if the one behind fell back, the person in front paid the price. The men had their cocks tied at the base with leather cord, marked and dangling; the women’s pussies were spread open by a metal spacer that kept their lips apart with every step.

A trainer I didn’t recognize walked beside the line at a steady pace. He didn’t watch them closely. There was no need. The system punished itself.

One of the women—the second in line—was several steps behind the person in front of her. Every time her pace faltered, the chain tightened and she hurried up, but then the person behind her suffered the tug. The trap had caught her in a cycle with no clean way out.

Finally, one of the men at the end of the line lost a clamp. The cry was sharp and cut short. Everyone stopped dead.

“What did I tell you?” The trainer’s voice didn’t rise much, but it had the edge that needs no volume to cut. “We’ve been doing this exercise all morning. It isn’t complicated. And yet, here we are. Punishment room. All of you.”

The submissives lowered their heads. None protested or said a single word.

That was when Marc appeared in the garden, a long-handled crop in his hand and the expression I knew well: the look of someone who had been searching for an excuse to use it.

“Sebastián, did I hear that right? Punishment?”

The trainer nodded with half a smile.

“Master Marc, choose whichever you prefer. They’re all equally clumsy this morning.”

Marc took less than ten seconds to decide. He pointed to the woman who had failed to keep pace and the man who had lost the clamp.

“Those two.”

The others exhaled almost in unison. They knew perfectly well what it meant to be left out of his selection.

***

Marc worked methodically and without haste. He made the two submissives kneel, hooked their wrists to the rings on their harnesses, and pressed their heads toward the ground with a firm hand, leaving their asses raised and their thighs spread. The woman trembled, her shaved pussy exposed, her red lips already wet and gleaming between her parted thighs. Beside her, the man’s anus was exposed and his hard cock hung between his legs, swollen beneath the cord holding it tight at the base. Neither of them said anything. They both knew that any sound other than what he wanted to hear would only add time to the punishment.

He began with the woman. The crop struck without warning, without counting, without a word. The first lash crossed her entire ass and left a red line that swelled immediately. The second landed lower, on the crease where thigh met buttock. The third struck directly between her legs, across the open lips of her pussy. She let out a cut-off gasp and her hips trembled. Marc struck the same spot again, and the crop made a wet snap against the slick flesh. The woman arched her back involuntarily, pushing her ass backward as though asking for more.

“Look at the little slut offering herself,” Marc murmured, almost to himself. “She can’t even hide it.”

He kept striking her. Her entire ass turned red, with overlapping crisscrossed marks, and her legs began to fail. At one point they gave way and she fell onto her side on the path, her throbbing pussy exposed and a thread of moisture gleaming along the inside of her thigh. Marc took her by the harness chain and put her back into position without unnecessary roughness. He was efficient, not furious. He knew exactly how much to give before it stopped making sense.

As he repositioned her, he ran his hand between her thighs. He spread the lips of her pussy with two fingers, pushed them inside calmly up to the knuckles, and slowly turned his wrist, searching out the texture within. She let out a muffled moan that she tried and failed to suppress. Marc withdrew his shining fingers and displayed them to Sebastián with his palm open, like someone presenting evidence.

“Look at this. Now we know why she couldn’t concentrate on the exercise. Soaking wet since first thing this morning.” He wiped his fingers through the submissive’s hair without hurrying. “Leave her near my room tonight. I think she’ll need more than today’s training to get it all out. I’m going to fist her up to the elbow and see if that cures her lack of concentration.”

Then he turned toward the submissive. He dropped the crop onto the ground with a sharp smack. He calmly unbuttoned his trousers, without hurrying, like someone performing a gesture repeated so many times he no longer needed to think about it. He pulled out his half-hard cock and gripped it in his right hand, giving it a couple of strokes as he looked at the kneeling submissive’s open ass.

“Spit here,” he told Sebastián, holding out his free palm. The trainer spat without comment, and Marc spread the saliva over his cock from top to bottom in two quick strokes. Then he spat directly onto the submissive’s exposed anus himself, pressed his thumb to work the saliva inside, and spread the buttocks with both hands.

I watched from the terrace without moving. There was no need to move.

The submissive did not resist. Marc pressed the head of his cock against the asshole and thrust in all at once, without preparation, until he was buried completely. The submissive released a hoarse grunt, his throat clenched, and the harness chains tinkled against the stones of the path. Marc gripped his hips with both hands and began fucking him with short, deep thrusts, marking every stroke with the smack of skin against skin. His cock slid in and out, shining with saliva and the slick his ass was already beginning to release under the pressure.

“Squeeze, you bastard,” Marc said through his teeth, without raising his voice. “Squeeze your ass like I taught you or you’ll spend tonight hanging from the basement ceiling.”

The submissive obeyed. The tension showed in his back, and Marc gave a brief, satisfied laugh. He increased the pace. The thrusts grew longer, pulling his cock almost all the way out before burying it again to the base. The sound of his pelvis striking the submissive’s buttocks mixed with the moans he could no longer fully contain: a low, hoarse sound emerging from somewhere between pain and something else he probably wouldn’t have known how to name.

Marc bent over him without stopping his strokes, grabbed the caged cock beneath it, and yanked the ring roughly. The submissive screamed for the first time, a sharp cry that ended immediately when Marc covered his mouth with his free hand.

“Not another fucking sound. Endure it.”

He kept fucking him like that, one hand over his mouth and the other pulling on the harness belt to thrust deeper. Sebastián watched from a meter away, his hands folded behind his back, saying nothing. The woman, kneeling beside them, had turned her face toward what was happening and could not stop watching. Marc glanced at her and smiled.

“You’re next, don’t worry. When I’m finished with him, I’m going to make you suck his cock while I fist you from behind. You’ll learn to concentrate.”

He sped up. The final thrusts were brutal and arrhythmic, driving all the way in with his whole pelvis and staying there for a second before pulling back out. The submissive was crying silently now, tears falling onto the stones. Marc clenched his teeth, grunted once—a low, almost animal sound—and came inside him with two final thrusts, buried to the base and with his fingers digging into the submissive’s hips.

He remained like that for a few seconds, breathing through his nose, letting his cock continue pulsing inside him. Then he withdrew slowly. His cum seeped from the submissive’s dilated anus and ran down the inside of his thigh to the ground.

When he was finished, Marc gathered what remained with his fingers—scraping it, still warm, from the crease of the submissive’s buttocks—and offered it to him on his open palm.

“Swallow it all. And clean up.”

The submissive obeyed without hesitation. He licked Marc’s palm from side to side, sucked each finger to the base, and then, when Marc put his half-soft cock in front of his face, sucked that too without needing to be told. He took it slowly, his tongue flat, cleaning it down to the last drop. Marc gave him a few gentle pats on the cheek when he was done, almost affectionately.

“Good boy.”

Marc buttoned his trousers, exchanged a few quiet words with Sebastián, and disappeared among the garden hedges with the same calmness with which he had arrived.

***

I went back inside.

Clara had finished with the suitcases. The toys were on the table, sorted as I liked them. The jacuzzi was filling slowly, steam fogging the picture window. Marc’s slave, whom he had lent me for the afternoon, was kneeling in the corner beside the door, his hands on his thighs, his gaze fixed on the floor. His cock pressed against the bars of the steel cage, swollen as far as the metal allowed, a drop of pre-cum hanging from the end of the tube.

He had heard everything that happened in the garden. I could tell from the way he was breathing: deeper, more controlled, like someone trying not to reveal what he was feeling.

It showed anyway.

I went to the table. I picked up the thin leather straps—the ones I use to begin, before anything else—and laid them on the bed without a sound. I sat on the edge, crossed my legs, and looked directly at him.

“Stand up,” I said.

He stood without hesitation.

That was what I needed. Not the grand gesture or the theatrical obedience some slaves displayed when they knew they were being evaluated. Just “stand up” and the body rising to its feet. No pause, no silent fraction-of-a-second negotiation the Dog indulged in when he didn’t feel like obeying.

The liquidation wouldn’t take place until that night. After dinner, Marc would present the available submissives in the great hall, and interested masters could keep them or leave them with the complex for general use. I still had time to see what was available, compare them, and decide without hurrying.

But in the meantime, I had an entire afternoon ahead of me, a table full of toys, and two bodies ready to do exactly what I told them.

I signaled to Clara.

“Come closer.”

She obeyed immediately. She stood in front of me, breasts bare and nipples already hard, waiting. Marc’s slave remained standing beside the door, silently waiting his turn, his caged cock pulsing in small, impossible spasms against the metal. Outside, in the garden, the submissives from the training session were already filing toward the punishment room in an orderly line, the chains tinkling with every step over the stones of the path.

I picked up the clamps from the table and held them in my palm for a moment, letting Clara see them, letting her understand what would come next. I pinched her left nipple between two fingers, stretched it outward until she let out a gasp through her teeth, and closed the clamp over it with a dry snap. Then the other. Clara endured without moving a muscle, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged, while the clamps’ chains swayed between her breasts.

The afternoon at La Forja had only just begun.