The second strike was slower. She pressed her hand to his chest, grounding him, before slamming her palm upward with mechanical precision. The cage dug inward. Flesh compressed. He thought he might vomit — but didn’t. She wouldn’t let him.…

Hours Passed. Or days. He was blindfolded most of the time now. Spoken to only when necessary. He ate from her fingers. He pissed on command. He dreamed of nothing. But each time she entered, his body reacted. Not with…

“You crawl well,” she said. “But posture is not obedience. Still too much pride behind your spine.” She circled him again. Always circling. He was her center. Her axis. Her specimen. “Today,” she said, “we begin the Ritual of Ash.…

He couldn’t. The cage throbbed between his legs, tight and unyielding. No arousal. No release. Only pressure. Pain. Control. She moved with patience. Not to hurt — not yet — but to reshape. Each motion was a lesson. Each thrust:…

The words should have made him laugh. But they didn’t. Because as she stepped closer, she radiated not cruelty — but certainty. The same certainty as the steel locked between his legs. The kind you don’t argue with. The kind…