3. Tuning

Wednesday, September 17. 22:12 hours.

Álex's vision at his feet momentarily left Jorge stunned. Without a doubt, the poor guy was traumatized by the experience.

—Come on, just go in already.

—Yes, Master.

He stood up and entered the suite. Jorge barely concealed his lustful gaze.

—I think a waiter will come to take our dinner order soon because I'm starving —Jorge wanted to joke—. What do you want? I mean, I don't want to embarrass myself by asking in front of the waiter, we don't even know if he'll bring you the same things as me.

—Whatever you order will be fine, my Master.

Since Álex had entered, he had stood there, motionless, his hands clasped behind him and his gaze on the floor, in a servile attitude. Jorge found it unbearably sexy, but he began to think that maybe he was crossing a line and who knows if Álex was mocking him just a little.

—Stop it, Álex, what do you want me to order?

The young man seemed hesitant.

—A hamburger with fries, Coca Cola, and some fruit would be great, Master —he said timidly.

—Wow, that took you a while. And enough with the "Master," I've had enough of that, I'll tell you why later. They told me the interrogation went well, but when we are alone, it's not necessary… or are there cameras here? —he said, thinking that maybe that justified Álex's pantomime—. What we needed… but no, I don't think so, to be honest.

At that moment, there were two knocks at the door, and as he had seen Kamar do earlier, he didn't reply. A waiter as black as coal opened the door, smiled, and made a huge bow.

—The illustrious lord can now order any dinner he likes.

—Don't you have a menu?

—Menu? I don't understand, sir… just tell me directly what you want and we will serve it.

Jorge thought of mocking a bit of such arrogant superiority. They were going too far.

—Oh, well, then bring a triple Angus hamburger with cheese and fries, several sauces… what else… four cans of Coca Cola, chocolate cake —he mentally started with his list—. Onion soup, cod in pil pil, potato omelet without onion, and… mandarins.

—Shall I serve it in the suite's dining room, my lord?

—Uh… yes, yes, but please don't take too long, it's really late.

—As soon as possible, of course, my lord.

Jorge was sure they weren't going to bring such Spanish food, they probably didn't even know what it was. But still, the little black boy wasn't bad, Jorge thought. He noticed that the waiter was glancing sideways at Álex.

—Would you like food for the slave, toys, a cage, or anything else?

—No, no, nothing, I'll give him some leftovers if anything.

—Of course, my lord, it will be as you command. May I leave?

—Yes, thank you.

The little black boy bowed at a ninety-degree angle and exited through the same door he had entered. He closed the door and took off running as if he had to break a world record.

—Thank you, Master, you're very good to me.

Jorge was starting to feel a bit tired. After all, he knew that if he laid a finger on that seemingly submissive boy, he would puff up his cheeks.

—That's enough, Álex. Let's go to the dining table, and you tell me everything in detail.

—As you command, Master.

They sat opposite each other. Then he realized that Álex wasn't sweaty; instead, he seemed to have just showered: he even smelled wonderful.

—Look, you're all showered and everything. Better, that way we won't waste time on that.

Jorge had already noticed that in the suite, there was only one huge bed they would have to share, and he hoped that at least that night he could enjoy the fantasy of sleeping next to the Russian and maybe brushing against his great body carefully...

—Tell me in detail everything that happened from the time we separated until now. I want to know everything in detail; don’t leave anything out.

—Yes, Master.

—And don’t call me that.

—Yes, Master… no, Master… I can't, Master —he said with a tone of true anguish. Alex was crying.

—You can't? What do you mean you can't? Are you scared of being overheard or what?

—It's not that, Master. I'm trying, Master, but I can't. Forgive my Master, punish me for that, I beg you, my Master.

For the first time, Jorge knew that something was wrong with Álex. He was truly unable to stop calling him Master. And that provoked a tremendous erection in him.

—Come on, calm down. What happened?

—I was taken to a little room; you saw me go in there, Master.

He definitely wasn't going to drop that catchphrase.

—They told me they were going to ask me some questions, to answer them sincerely. They put a kind of helmet on me and screens lit up with graphics and colors when I spoke. First, they asked me simple questions, my name, the color of the wall, if I liked men or women… things like that. I wanted to lie on some to see what would happen, but they caught on; for example, I said I was born in Belarus, and from their faces, I realized they had caught me, so I corrected myself as if I were nervous. So, I couldn't lie… Master.

—Very well, and then?

—Then… they brought out the paper I had signed, the one stating that I declared myself your voluntary slave, and all that, and they asked me if I had signed it under no pressure and if I desired everything that was written there. Then I remembered Sonia, Master, and I thought of you, that you're a real man and a gentleman, and I focused on the gratitude and respect I have for you because you are a real man and not a disgusting faggot, and I thought of you with much devotion and respect while I answered. And they believed me… Master.

—Well, well, then that’s that. What I don’t understand is why you say that nonsense about not being able to stop calling me Master even when we are alone.

—Something else happened, Master. When we were about to finish, I asked if I could go with you, Master, but I made the blunder of calling you… “Mr. Jorge” —said the boy, visibly struggling to pronounce those two words—. I can tell you because you've ordered me to speak to you in detail and sincerity, Master. Then they ordered me to be quiet, and they told me that was intolerable, and that the Master must be respected, adored, and that both his caresses and his punishments must be accepted. When they said to accept the caresses, they meant it with a second intention, I’m sure, as if we were two perverts, and I know you’re not like that, Master, nor am I, we are normal.

Although Jorge wanted to save the situation as best as possible, Álex's insistence on being homophobic was starting to become somewhat intolerable.

—And is that all?

—No, Master. They didn't like my behavior, and they called a superior; I don’t think they knew what to do because they had already determined that you were legitimately my owner. I think that prevented them from punishing me or interrogating me further, but they also didn't want to let me go. Then two people came, one who seemed to be in charge, and a doctor or paramedic, I think they discussed the situation a bit, and finally decided that they had to inject me with something called "soma." Since I didn't want to let them, they had to use force.

—That must be illegal, Álex. Where did they inject you in the end? —Jorge asked with the secret intention that it might be in the ass so he could see it with that excuse.

—In the arm. It hurt a lot, Master. First, a prick in the muscle, anyway, and when I calmed down, then the second was in the vein, but after the first I didn't resist anymore, although I was totally awake.

—And do you know what that was for?

—To obey, Master. It makes me serve you better. When they gave me the second injection, they tied me to a chair and for a few minutes they made me look at a huge TV screen with your photo, the one from the passport. I really liked seeing you, Master; I love you more each time.

—And the effects don’t eventually wear off? Did they explain anything to you?

—They told me everything, Master, because they said I must explain to you how the effects of soma are, Master.

Jorge felt a morbid and somewhat guilty pleasure with everything Álex was telling him, and he tried to see if he could take advantage of the situation. Every time he heard Álex call him "Master," a jolt of pleasure shook him from his testicles to his head. It's a shame he couldn't take photos or record it on video.

Wednesday, September 17. 23:22 hours.

The black waiter Jorge had ordered the food from knocked twice and entered followed by a small entourage of assistants. In an instant, they laid a tablecloth on the dining table they occupied, and a set of dishes in front of Jorge. The table could comfortably seat eight people, so the dishes with the food, properly covered with metal cloches, were readily at hand. Jorge carefully lifted one and observed that surprisingly the food corresponded to what he had ordered. Spanish cuisine seems to have made it far, he thought. They even had waiters who spoke Spanish.

—is everything alright, my lord? —asked the little black boy.

—Very good, thanks. But… —Jorge hesitated.

—Please, my lord, if there’s anything else you need or if something's not right, just say it, and we will try to solve it —the waiter said with evident concern.

—Well, there are two of us, and you’ve only set the table for me; there are two of us.

The waiter looked very wide-eyed at Álex. It already seemed strange to him that he was sitting in a chair, but did he eat from the masters' dishes? Quickly, he admonished himself for allowing himself to judge, and limited himself to obeying.

—Of course, my lord, shall we set the same tableware?

—Sure.

—Of course, my lord, sorry for the oversight, my lord.

With a few words, he ordered his assistants to set a complete table setting in front of Álex, and everything was quickly prepared. What Jorge didn’t know was that the next day, when they collected the dishes and other utensils, everything would go straight into the trash, because after a slave had used it, it was no longer worthy to serve the masters.

They ate hungrily in a few minutes. After brushing their teeth, they returned to sit in the same chairs in front of the remnants of the meal and resumed the conversation where they had left off.

—And after they injected you and all that, what did they do?

—they gave me a shower, Master. It was strange because it was in a room that didn't seem like a bathroom; there was a hose. I had to undress in front of everyone, Master, but I honestly didn't mind, and they didn't look at me strangely or anything. They showered me with cold water and high pressure; it felt like when I was in Russia, Master. The water had something like light soap and left a good smell; I like that, Master. Then they dried me with a jet of air, I got dressed, and they brought me to the suite door, Master. They told me to behave well, Master. I felt something different in me because of the soma. Then they looked at me and seemed surprised by everything: my hair, my body hair, but they didn’t touch me, Master. I think because of the injection, but I was calm and obedient, Master, and remembered that you ordered me to cooperate, so I obeyed.

—Then tell me everything you know about that drug.

—Almost everything I'm going to tell you are phrases they read to me for me to repeat to you, although some things I can already feel and know that they are true, my Master. The soma forces me to obey you, Master. Direct orders are the strongest. If you tell me to jump out a window, I'll do it, Master, if you tell me to injure myself, I'll do it, if you order me to dance, or do anything else, Master. Even tasks that I can't do, like climbing a smooth wall, I will constantly try until you tell me to stop if you order me to do them, Master. But also, your desires are orders for me, Master; if you show a desire for something, I will always try to satisfy it, it's like an obsession, Master. And you can order me to feel anything, to desire or detest anything, Master.

This already sounded too fantastic.

—Do you mean to say that you no longer have your own desires, that nothing matters to you?

—No, no, Master. I will obey you even if it goes against my natural convictions, but they are still inside me.

—Oh, I see. Then, for example, who do you love most in this world?

Álex hesitated before answering.

—You, my Master.

—Tell me, Álex, what is the first name that came to your mind, your most authentic idea to answer that question?

Álex flushed, and he even seemed to foam at the mouth.

—Nadia! I'm only hers! You ordered me to answer you, Master.

—Well, calm down. And did you say the effects aren't lasting?

—I haven't told you that part yet, Master. The soma spreads through my body, but they told me it would take another twelve hours to reach maximum effect, Master. Depending on what you decide, several things can be done, Master. If you let everything follow its natural course, in a week its influence will have disappeared, Master. You could also request that when it reaches its peak, which would be tomorrow morning, they apply a treatment to fix the effect permanently, Master. And likewise, they can provide me with an antidote that helps eliminate the soma in just two hours, Master. This antidote can be applied to me right now if you order it, Master, and the sooner it is done, the sooner the soma is eliminated, Master.

Jorge realized that Álex kept repeating the word "Master" more frequently, and he rightly attributed it to a stronger effect of the soma. Jorge began to feel encouraged to play a little; he was extremely excited.

—and tell me, slave… because you are my slave, right?

—Yes, my Master, I am your slave, your humble slave —Álex said as he automatically stood up from the chair and fell to his knees in front of Jorge.

—Then, slave, tell me… what do you want me to do? Tell me sincerely.

Álex flushed again. Undoubtedly the soma was fighting inside him to silence his own ideas, but these still managed to break through.

—The antí… the antí... antidote —he finally managed to say.

Jorge began to do the math. Álex was going to be more docile, at least for a few hours: enough to spend a dream night and speed off the next day. Yes, this little guy deserved an unforgettable lesson.

—You look handsome, Álex.

Jorge stood up and gently and easily stroked his face, since the slave remained kneeling.

At that moment, the boy realized with surprise that Jorge was not indifferent to male beauty. An inner surge of the most intense rage possessed him; he knew that Jorge was just another one of those disgusting faggots, a sick person, a pervert. A feeling of strong disgust and nausea spread throughout him; the soma controlled his external actions, but he was perfectly capable of reasoning and feeling freely. For the first time in his life, another man was touching him for pleasure… he had to stop it, he had to prevent it from going any further. But who was there was his Master, his owner, was his desire, and he also felt a tremendous urge to satisfy Jorge as much as possible, at any cost. However, even the soma had not yet taken control of all his cells.

—Faggot… faggot… fu… fuck… damn faggot —he managed to say as he tried to get up.

At first, Jorge was a bit scared, but he knew that in the worst case, he could call for help and they would surely help him, not Álex. And besides, it was clear that the young man's tremendous efforts weren’t working; he had barely managed to turn his face away a little and raise one knee, but he didn’t seem capable of achieving anything more. Time was on his side; the soma would spread more and more. Also, he remembered that the greatest obedience was achieved with direct orders, and that was precisely what he intended to verify.

—Stand up, slave.

Álex automatically did so, with the accustomed reply.

—Yes, Master.

—I’m going to touch you. Don’t move a muscle, slave.

—Yes, Master, I’m yours, I belong to you. Touch me as you wish.

Too easy. Let's see what he could do…

—Slave, I want you to feel all the rage and indignation of the moment, to let it show on your face, but just that, to manifest your feelings and sensations, but without stopping pleasing me.

—Yes, Master.

Jorge wanted to test the situation; lest perhaps some outbreak of willpower broke the effect of the soma. First, he stroked Álex’s face, and noticed that he leaned in to facilitate it since he was much taller. Then he caressed his nipples and even pinched them. He truly had firm, well-defined muscles, undoubtedly worked out in the gym but also a consequence of natural predisposition; and all of that was there, at his disposal. He put his hand on the package, and tried to feel his balls; gently, the slave spread his legs a bit so his master could do it comfortably. The virile heat of Álex transcended the thin fabric. Jorge squeezed them pretty hard, but the boy didn’t flinch. He thought of his ass and felt it with both hands. It was hard and appetizing. He got behind him and leaned a bit to rub his package against him, grinding his erection against him. He almost came just from that. The boy was crying, or rather, it would be more accurate to say that he was letting tears fall, but otherwise, he even seemed relaxed. In that uncomfortable position, with his package implanted in Álex’s ass, he caressed his arm muscles and finally felt his bare chest, racing until he found his nipples; he pinched them as hard as he could. At that moment, Álex was a piece of submissive meat. Jorge's dick throbbed inside his pants, and he let himself be swept up by the intensity of the moment, flooded with the sweet and salty scent of Álex, with his hands torturing the boy's nipples on that immense chest.

—Say you’re a faggot, you piece of shit.

—Yes, Master. I’m a faggot.

For the first time in many years, Jorge came without touching his dick.