House Rules
Sleep doesn't come easy with the cage. You keep waking up... too aware of it, too conscious of every shift and pressure. You drift in and out for hours before exhaustion finally pulls you under properly.
And then the dream starts.
You're in a boxing gym. Dim lights, smell of sweat, the distant sound of a speed bag somewhere. You're standing in the middle of the room and something feels off... your feet don't move right, your arms don't respond. You look down.
You are the punching bag.
Two large, powerfully built men walk in, wrapping their hands, rolling their shoulders. They don't look at you like you're a person. They look at you like you're equipment.
The first punch lands.
You feel it directly in your testicles. A deep, nauseating impact that radiates outward in waves. The second lands harder. Then the third. They settle into a rhythm... methodical, unhurried, completely focused... and with each impact the pain builds, layers on top of layers, your whole body vibrating with it.
You can't move. You can't speak. You just hang there and take it.