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: a sentence in a language he’d never learned but now could not forget.
“You are not broken,” she whispered. “Not yet. But you will be.
https://thesincenter.com/lacey/
Time had vanished.
There were no clocks in the Vault. No windows. No sun. Only soft ambient lighting that dimmed and brightened in rhythms he couldn’t track.
Sleep, if it came, came like drowning — silent, dreamless, sudden. He no longer asked when he would leave. The idea of outside had started to rot in his memory like fruit left in a sealed box.
He ate when fed. He drank when permitted. And he learned.
Pain was no longer punishment. It was instruction.
Mistress Seraphine returned in red.
A tailored suit, blood-colored silk gloves, and boots polished to a mirror sheen. There was no ceremony to her entrance — no announcement — yet the air itself changed when she stepped in.
Thicker.
Hungrier.
Elias, kneeling in the center of the padded chamber, instinctively pressed his forehead to the floor.