She begins with your balls

“I’m afraid, Mr. Punch, that this is only the beginning,” Sue tells you. "You think you hurt now, hanging there, your back all whipped. Well, that’s just the first step on your road to destruction. I’m going to show you the full meaning of whipped, I’m going to hurt your body in ways I haven’t even dreamed of. By the end of this, your back will be your best feature.”

You continue hanging there, listening to Sue as she continues talking.

“Feel free to talk or struggle during all this, since it won’t make a difference. It’s the full-on no-mercy Sue Sylvester experience you’re getting, no changing that; I get to do all the choosing here. Masochists everywhere will envy you as I smash your man marbles.” Her foot flies into your testicles, lifting you off the ground. For a moment you forget about your back, as an explosion of pain fills your body.

“Oh baby, baby,” you say, but you don’t know why, and then you say it again, and then Sue resumes her ballkicking, while you bounce around like her puppet, strung across the goalmouth, singing at her to hit you, baby, one more time.

It seems like the longest three-minute pop song in history, with far too many high notes, as she continues to kick and punch your poor defenceless balls, but finally it stops, and she leaves you hanging, looking at you and admiring her handywork.

“Got to love those messticles, Mr. Punch, so much more swollen and glowing than before.” She strokes her chin, as she ponders your fate and how to twist it. “Still, can’t rest on our laurels, onwards and upwards. You hang there and hurt some more, while I go and fetch a baseball bat for some finishing touches. Might need some bricks and some scissors too.”

She wanders off, leaving you hanging there, too scared to wonder about what may happen next.